So The Boy was playing tag with the others after piano class this morning. (Don't we sound cultured!) Other Boy was accusing The Boy of faking a stomach ache and was taunting him by clucking. Both boys, of course, were complaining to me. I told Other Boy that it wasn't nice to call names, and he claimed that clucking wasn't the same as calling someone a chicken. I asked him what it meant then, and he insisted that it wasn't name calling. Before a fight broke out, I called The Boy over and told him that if Other Boy wanted to act like a poop-head, he could, but that he (The Boy) didn't have to play with him. Two minutes later, Other Boy follows me to the car, complaining that The Boy said that I had called him a bad name. Blah, blah, blah.
On the way home, The Boy tried to explain the subtle playground nuances of name calling, noise making, and when it's okay. I sighed and said, "I'll never understand boys." He looked up and said reassuringly, "You'll learn someday."
I doubt it. I think it's beyond my mortal powers.
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