Boys and Their Toys

This is the Week of the Penis.

Oh, you didn't know? That's probably 'cause you don't spend your mornings with preschoolers.

I really hate to bring it up right on the heels of the weinermobile and all, but, hey, it is what it is and I can't control the timing of things, especially where 3- and 4-year-old boys are concerned. What I can say is that this week they are fascinated with their tiny little penii. The good news is that there are no visual aids in the following scenarios. The bad news is that I had to talk to little boys about their wangs.

Now, keeping in mind that I always change the names of my little devils when I write about them so don't even think you can come to my school demanding to meet cute little Ozzie or adorable Harriet, here's how things went down:

Little Herkemberger is a sweet, angel-faced thing with verbal language that is limited to the word "no!" and giggles. Because I am really good at my job, I have figured out that this is because he is deaf. Any communication is good communication with him, so when I found myself next to him during Play-doh time, I was thrilled at the opportunity to work on some language skills. Herkemberger decided that he wanted to make a face with his clay, so he rolled out two eyes, then looked at them, looked at me, and pointed to his eyes. Eureka! He has communicated that these are eyes! Woo hoo! This is a big step and good stuff from a boy who would barely make eye contact at the beginning of the year. I was hooked and wanted more, so I looked back at him with arched eyebrows and a questioning look. Well, whaddyaknow, Mr. Diddleydoo pointed to his nose and looked back at me. Oh, I think, he must want a nose! He must want me to pick his nose (ha!) So I made him a nose out of clay because he had just made a request, praise the Lord and pass the gravy. He was delighted to see that this tactic worked, and so pointed to his chin. Yessir, I can do that, too. And so our game goes, covering cheeks and mouth and teeth and eyebrows and even a few nose hairs. It is great fun and I am beside myself with the fact that he is making his desires known.

Are you beginning to see where this is going?

He's a boy, after all. They are helplessly fascinated with those little fleshy appendages that dangle so delightfully between their legs. They can't help it. If I had one, I'd probably be sneaking peaks at it all day, wondering what it might do next. So I could hardly blame him when the next body part he pointed to was right...down...there. I wish I could tell you I handled it well. But me, being so in touch with the children and all, thought he was telling me that he needed to go to the bathroom. So I gave him the sign for "bathroom" accompanied by another questioning look (you'd be amazed how much you can communicate with just facial expressions), and he looked at me like I was crazy. He then pointed to his wazoomba again. Huh? I wondered. And I tried to haul his ass up out of the chair and run to the potty, because even though he's 4 years old, we are working on that and don't want to miss any opportunity. Again I get the crazy lady look and an emphatic grabbing between his legs.

Realization dawns slowly on the dain bramaged, but I finally got it. Oh. He wanted me to mold him a wee-wee. So I looked him straight in the eye and for a long moment, and on some very deep level, I think we understood each other. Just to be sure, though, I raised my hand and very slowly and deliberately gave him the sign for "no." And then we were done with that. Wicked suddenly remembered some pressing engagement in her office and fled with a very red face.

The next time the whole penis thing came up (ha! ha ha!), it wasn't such a shock to my system. I was working with the class on concepts such as sizes, colors, and prepositions--you know, regular preschooly stuff. These guys don't know their over from their under and without my help, they could go through their entire lives never understanding what their wife means when she says, "The remote's under the coffee table, jackass. Just look down." Poor things, if they looked down they'd get so distracted by their little wankers that they'd forget the remote ever even existed. So I'm pretty important in the grand scheme of things, and I do not take this responsibility lightly. Therefore, I decided to target this Very Important Stuff by making our very own night sky using small, medium, and large stars and placing them in various locations on a piece of black butcher paper. "Hey," I would say, "put the big blue star under the little red one!" And they would rush to do my bidding.

Except for young Tallywhacker, who marches to his own beat and owns his own drummer and is pretty happy most of the time just making up his own names for things and scaring us with his complete lack of learning. What a faker. He'll be principal some day. So I'm giving directions and feeling the love and I turn to him and say, "Okay, Tallywhacker, it's your turn. I want you to choose the small yellow star." And he looks at me with those beautiful eyes of his and says in a very loud voice, "I want a big ding-dong!"

Well, hello, I think, what man doesn't???

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that he wasn't talking about a very large penis, and that I should be ashamed of myself for even thinking such a thing. You're thinking that he just wanted one of those fabulously yummy chocolatey goo-filled snack cakes. Let me tell you something--no, he didn't. You're just going to have to trust me on this one.

Geesh. Boys.