Last week a friend of mine came through town. She and her three children spent the night with us. Her oldest son, B, is Finn’s age. They’d never met before, but they hit it off immediately. B plays the cello, and he and Finn had a drum/cello jam session, while Porter added some electric guitar here and there.
The addition of a stringed instrument to our usual rehearsals made it all sound quite highbrow to me. It worked in reverse for my friend. She is used to hearing only piano, cello and violin; hearing the racket the boys made trying to eke out the beginning of “Smoke on the Water” with a cello accompaniment sounded like cacophony to her.
Finn and B raced bikes in the driveway, played foursquare, listened to music, and took frequent breaks to eat massive amounts of yogurt and peanut butter crackers.
At 10 pm, with everyone else in bed, they were in the kitchen eating cereal, talking.
At 11 pm, I heard them retire to Finn’s room and continue whispering.
At 11:30 pm, I fell asleep, while they continued to discuss matters of grave importance.
The next day, after my friend left, I asked Finn what he and B had talked about for so long.
“Just stuff,” he said.
“What kind of stuff?” I pressed.
“Just, like, school, and our friends, and what kind of things we like to do when we hang out,” Finn said.
We were quiet a minute as he chewed and swallowed a bite of peanut butter cracker.
“This might surprise you, Mom, because everybody knows that girls talk all the time. But if two guys have a glass of milk and some cereal and a quiet spot, they can spend a lot of time swapping manly stories.”
That did surprise me. I plan to get my friend to debrief B and report to me immediately so I’ll know what’s going on in Finn’s life.