My son, my darling boy, the light of my life and holy terror in velcro sneakers. My beautiful 3 year old, almost 4. I’m afraid he’s the preschool equivalent of the bad influence on the street corner peddling cigarettes to impressionable young minds. You know, if cigarettes were the highlight of our worries.
It seems Buzz is a trailblazer. And an instigator.
I’ve been a daily witness to the power of his persuasion firsthand when it comes to Abby at home. She takes after him, looks up to him, and follows in his mischievous little footsteps. Whatever he can do, she likes to think that she can do better. Whether it’s scaling tables or marking up the walls or screeching through the house with their pants on their head. They’ve become partners in crime. These days, I’m yelling just as much at her as I am at him for stunts that he hand-crafted.
This was even more evident at the park a few days ago, though. He slid down the slide with gusto, tailed closely by another little boy about the same age. Buzz was laughing and playing, a mile-wide smile durably affixed from ear to ear. Safe to say, he was having a great time. Until he decided that going DOWN the slide wasn’t quite enough fun. He wanted to climb UP the slide.
And so he did. And after a few tries, that impressionable little boy eagerly followed my son’s negative example. Giddy and free in their blatant disregard of the rules. Until that little boy’s mother came over and reprimanded him. It’s almost like I could hear Buzz tempting, “Hey kid, wanna smoke?”.