Today Shawn Joaquin returned home with yet another scratch on his face, possibly self-inflicted in some spastic moment of joy or anger. I asked him where the scratch came from.
Peyton scratch me.
Why did he scratch you?
We're Power Rangers. It's what we DO, MAMA.
I'm only hoping that retaliation is not another characteristic of Power Rangers, and that Peyton's sweet little face is unscathed. Seven months ago this would have led me to worry about who was doing what to whom and how long it might be before someone is blinded, followed by a slew of phone calls to other parents. Now I am wise and jaded enough to know that if Peyton scratched Shawn Joaquin it was most likely amidst some Shawn Joaquin-driven wrestling and he may even have his own scratch or bump and is equally unfazed by it. After all, they're Power Rangers. It's what they DO.
We're not sure where this new obsession with Power Rangers and Ninja Turtles came from, given that Shawn Joaquin's TV is limited to 30 minutes of PBS and his action toys have names like Big Bird, Elmo and Franklin the turtle. And I know I have raised my son in a gender-neutral household, and his toy cabinet includes Dora and my baby doll next to his dump truck and fire engine puzzle. Yet other than his occasional desire to use my make up sponges to put on just a touch of complexion enhancing foundation, he's all boy. Boy boy. Run around and fall down and eat dirt boy. Cautious — never one to leap off of ledges or climb further than his legs might easily get him down — he still turns toys over first to find their screws and regularly pounds the crap out of the table with oranges and rocks and any inanimate object that he can turn into a blunt force instrument.
I think that upon either birth or entry into the U.S., a small subcutaneous chip was implanted with the ability to feed his little brain brand names of action heroes. And a burning desire to turn every object into a loud truck or drum. And the yearning for a ride in a muscle car and instructions on how to dismantle a phone while mama naps. And finally, an inexplicable urge to eat chips and put his hand inside his waistband whenever ESPN or Fox Sports comes on, no matter how briefly.
About which Gregg proudly says, YES, yes. That's my boy.
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