Male bonding

I believe in male bonding. Not the kind where grown men sloth about on a couch belching and scratching and cussing at the umpires. But the kind of male bonding that takes place between a father and his sons.

A fair share of that bonding, at least at our house, takes the form of the physical. Not just hugs and kisses-that happens often enough. But the rolling around on the floor, climbing on the back, tickling the ribs kind of bonding that keeps the house full of laughter and the kids full of love.

And it works, too. There are definitely times when our boys want their mama to hold them or want to cuddle in my lap with “some covers and a snack”. But given the choice, especially as of late, I’m pretty sure they’d opt for a wrestling match with Dad.

Early on, it was hard for me to understand this physical communication, these roustabouts, this roughhousing that was taking place in my living room floor, wreaking havoc down my hallways, taking every picture frame hanging on every wall of my home to the edge of destruction and back.

I simply couldn’t understand why it was necessary, much less important, that my two and three year olds be taught how to play “Attack” where the object is to run screaming through the house avoiding Daddy while he pelts baseballs and basketballs and footballs at their heads. Or why little boys need to learn (from their father) how to “boom” each other with their fists and laugh uncontrollably at one another’s pretend-pain. But for some reason, I’ve come to believe that it is important. For fathers and for sons.

Of course they have to be taught that there’s a time and a place for this kind of fun. We don’t play “Attack” with grown ups when we are guests in their home. And we don’t “boom” other little boys in the belly (and then wonder why they are crying while we are laughing our heads off).

We just returned from a few nights away from the boys, and I was a little disconcerted when I called mid-trip to check on them and all they had to say to me was, “I wanna talk to my dad!” But listening to the grown-up end of that conversation (“What kind of prize do you want me to bring you?”), I pretty much understand why they had that preference. And if that wasn’t bad enough, when we walked in the door after being gone for four days, all they could say was, “Daddy! Where have you been?!”

Of course I know they love me as much as they love their dad. Love just comes in different forms. And the display of that affection between fathers and sons is a special bond no mother can match, nor should she try.

I want our kids to know that we show our love to others through our actions, no matter what our age. A goodnight kiss at the end of the day is just not enough. I want our boys to feel the love of their parents literally, in their bones and their bellies; in their hearts and their hands. Yes, I believe in male bonding. Regardless of the mess.

And that’s All in a day’s work!