Raising Calvin

I have always loved Calvin and his trusted sidekick, Hobbes. But it wasn't until the other day that I realized Calvin was no longer just a fictional character. He was my son.

I don't know why I didn't see the similarities sooner:

• the love of cartoons (and all things electronic for that matter)
  
• the regurgitative sounds that spontaneously erupt at certain dinner items
  
• the avoidance of all things academic
  
• the daydreams of being the world's greatest superhero, "Stupendous Man,"
  (and the underwear to go along with it)
  
• and the creative ploys to avoid any and all forms of bodily hygiene
  

For example, the other day after he had finished his "business" in the bathroom, he walked out non-chalantly as if everything were fine. I then peppered him with the usual questions:

"Did you flush?"

"Is the lid down?"

"Did you wash your hands?"

After his usual smacking his hand to his forehead followed by the "Oh, I forgot" with the sheepish grin, he trotted back to the bathroom to finish.

Seconds later he came out and said, "Mommy, did you hear the water running?"

Now I did hear the water running for a brief second, but he's been my son a little too long for that one to escape notice. "Yes dear," I said. "But did your hands actually come in contact with the water?"

He then slumped his shoulders, dangled his arms in defeat and moped back to the bathroom to complete this hygenic torture treatment I was imposing on him.

I couldn't help but laugh.

And this summer, I fully expect to see him in his wagon careening over the ravine in our backyard contemplating the great mysteries of life.

And when he comes in dirty from a full day of play I'm sure that he'll try to negotiate out of a much-needed bath again.

The l'il stinker.