More mac’n’cheese than machismo, that’s what the world needs. And, yippee… it’s started in my kitchen

“Breakfast is ready, girls,” he called out from the kitchen. The two sisters looked at each other and burst into shocked giggles. “What did you make?” they yelled. “Cereal,” he shouted back. I had to inspect this. In the next room, the table was made – three placemats, three bowls of cereal and milk, and three spoons. It was like walking into the fairytale of the three bears.

My five-year-old boy jumped next to one of the bowls, and started eating. He couldn’t wait for his sisters. Wow. THAT was my little boy! I’d taught him well, and could have been assumed into heaven that minute – job well done, good and faithful, mother.

This sweet boy, who is the baby of the house, had made breakfast.

This sweet boy who is just learning to read, and is delighting us with his phonetic pronunciations and spellings! Last week, he texted his Dad – “I mis yoo. Cum bak qwiklee”. This little fellow, who wakes up with the appetite of a giant (and cannot wait for mum to roll out of bed on a Sunday morning), had fixed a meal. “I’m waiting SUCH FOR A LONG TIME,” he told me. I’ve never corrected him. I love that mix-up of words!

There’s pride in me, that he can fix a meal. Yes, it wasn’t cooked, but hey! He can get himself food. He can also, cuddle all day; if hunger doesn’t gnaw at him, that is. Snuggling is a morning ritual… with his Dad. He gets just as many squeezes as our two girls. Now, I’ve been told that I’m “making him a softie”, that he needs to get tough.

And I could be wrong, but I think that’s drivel.

It’s impressive to people that my girls help around with dinner, but they worry for the boy?

What have I done wrong? Hug him too much? Listen when he speaks? Correct him without a thrashing? Get help with making dinner? Hmm. The way I see it, I’m prepping a boy for life; just like I prep my girls for life. The real reason is, I love getting help, but this ‘prepping’ bit sounds philosophical and nicer. Yes?

I’m trusting that our efforts will bring out the true personalities that these kids were born with. I pray the three turn out to be sensitive, loving, and thankful. Then it won’t matter where they live, and what they earn.

Our aim is not to raise a “sissy” boy; ‘feeble/cowardly/weakling’, the dictionary tells me. Then again, by whose definition of ‘feeble’ and ‘cowardly’, I wonder? Is a man who walks away from a fight, cowardly? Is a boy who apologises, feeble? Does being sensitive make him a ‘weakling’?

If yes, maybe our world needs more “sissy” people. We’ve had enough of the other kind, haven’t we? I married one who’s more mac’n’cheese than machismo – and I’m thankful every day. When I dated him, there were a few people seriously worried about him in every sense! We’d seen too many Oprah shows, of course, and believed that sensitive, caring men were to be viewed with suspicion. What a sad world.

I guess that’s enough encouragement to continue showing kindness to my boy. And good-intentioned as I am, I can’t help myself… plus, sigh! kids copy everything. An hour later, I heard him again, single palm raised in the air.

“K! I made your cereal with love and you didn’t even eat it. It’s just been lying there SUCH FOR A LONG TIME!”

This column was first published in the Bangalore Mirror in August 2016