A day in the life of this American Man at age 10

There is a seminal profile, well-known in literary journalism circles, about a 10-year-old boy and his world.

Published in Esquire in 1992, "The American Man at Age 10," by Susan Orlean, twisted the notion of a journalistic portrait and more importantly foregrounded how 10-year-old boys think. (Link below).

https://classic.esquire.com/article/1992/12/1/the-american-man-at-age-ten

I have so much to say about one particular 10-year-old boy -- but not much time to say it because he will soon be 11! Yep -- double hockey sticks.

In this past year -- his final before middle school -- I made a particular effort to jot down moments that reflected our routine and his state of mind.

How he spoons with our dog, Caramel, every morning before school (as you might with your college boyfriend). How he weaves in and out of the dotted lines on the bike trail in our town -- he reads them as an invitation to zig zag. Do you?

I took note of a certain Sunday evening -- a perfect one, by my standards -- where we biked to a nearby restaurant for dinner, then watched the Mets game, followed by our ritual Harry Potter reading. That night, while I read Harry's adventures aloud, Leo looked up curse words in my Italian dictionary.

So what does the American man, age 10, think about? Pepperoni pizza.

Fifth grade was full of special activities to mark the final year of elementary school -- including a whopper of a field trip: a visit to Lake Compounce, an amusement park in Connecticut.

Except it got canceled. So to make up for it, the school arranged a pizza party for the 5th graders. And my American man, age 10, intoned, "I hope they have peperoni pizza. They better have it."

Not that Leo is only focused on the mundane -- far from it! He's a dedicated reader of The Week Junior (as I call it, "the best magazine you've never read" -- because you're not 10) and regular peruser of the front page of The New York Times (especially on the days something ghastly has happened and I am trying to confiscate the paper but on the sly).

Over Memorial Day Weekend, Leo and I were talking about American presidents as we walked to the beach, and when the conversation turned to Pres. Obama (an important figure to him for many reasons, not least of which: he was born when Obama was president), I said offhand that he was such a nice person. 

To which Leo, somewhat dismissively, replied, “Of course! You have to be nice to be President.”

Whoa, stop the presses. This is a missive from the “other side” that stuns me. The other side being childhood (my side, regrettably, broken-down adulthood).

I thought: Does he know what he said? Is that really how he sees the world? That a qualification for an important job such as President -- or maybe specifically for the job of President, not just any important job -- is you have to be nice. Age 35 or above, no criminal record, lots of stamina, oh and you have to be nice. 

A child’s perspective on the world. One more reason children are superior to adults.

I check on him while he walks Caramel down the block, and peering down the sidewalk, I see he's a tiny figure in determined motion with a bobbing white blur next to him. Something about their frenetic, untamed movement tells me childhood can still be Paradise Island.

Similarly, when he bikes, he is unwittingly trying to break my heart out of cuteness. With his still petite size, shaggy hair and ubiquitous grin, he forever reminds me of Elmo from "Sesame Street" when he's on two wheels. Perhaps it's the delight he feels that becomes like a current, emanating toward me?

(We biked twice to school in May, a goal I'd set years ago, and it turned the morning drop-off into a magical errand for this mama).

(He also ran a 5K this year -- not his first!)

He still lobs a lot of questions my way -- and when they stop, a part of me will die. In the past year, quite often, these questions consisted of car choices. Specifically, "Mommy! Would you rather have an MG or a Triumph?"

Perhaps because for Christmas last year, my American man, age 10, received a book called, "Classic Car: The Definitive Visual History," and I swear to you he spent more time flipping through this book than he spent moving the joy stick on his little Gameboy (the particular art of the coffee table book can take a lot of credit).

(He also asked me one day if I would prefer being a dog rather than a human. I had to tell him that I think being human has the edge).

What else does he like? Well, he likes to fish. In fact, in the spring, he and his pal, Nicolas, went fishing in the woods behind his school. As they traversed the packed, after-school playground with their rods, they were followed by a small army of curious onlookers, all of whom had opinions about what to do fishing (use the bobber, no don’t use the bobber, get a pack of worms, no, no worms).

Oh and he reads. A lot. Of the many books he's read so far this year, I will brag about THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER, which I’m thrilled to say we bought at the Mark Twain House in Hartford.

He's also begun reading collections of Calvin and Hobbes comic strips.

Leo loves baseball and hates the Houston Astros because they cheated.

He still likes chit-chatting, with his mother, though he might not admit it -- though he would enjoy teasing me about the verb 'chit-chatting,' which he would probably pronounce with the exaggerated Brooklyn accent he's learned from me when I am mimicking my mother (he does a good impression of Pat, too).

He likes staying up late ("Mommy! I've got a question for you! What's the latest you've ever stayed up?" That was Wednesday morning's question).

He likes New Yorker cartoons, pancakes, oreos and hot cocoa even when it's hot outside. He enjoys collecting Pokemon cards and baseball cards, plus he likes TV! Shows like "The Adventures of Gumball" and "Scooby Doo" and revamped versions of Looney Tunes.

And I hope he likes being 11.

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