Boy, oh boy!

Frogs snails and pistoleros:

Gaston de Rosayro

So what is it about little boys? You know I have nothing against them. I used to be one. In fact, some would say that I never really stopped being one. But the things they do and say make me want to blush!

Yes boys decidedly are an intriguing bundle of contradictions. They grow into men, but at some level, boys remain boys. They never shed their fetishes - be it games, gadgets, or girls.

My maternal aunt Therese was the last to marry among my Dad’s siblings. Until she did and had two girls of her own she took it upon herself to parent us De Rosayro boys. Now raising an untamed bunch of hellions was no easy enterprise. She often lamented that raising the family boys had been like raising wild animals. Some days were better, some days worse, but all days were wild.

There were times she would chase us around the garden like a bounty hunter, capture us and drag us to the washroom where she would soak us and scrub the dust and grime off us with sadistic glee.

My little sister and the younger girl cousins would witness the roundup drama with a perverse delight while chanting the sexist nursery rhyme: “Frogs and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails... That is What Little boys are made of.” When she had done with us we were all glowing and a couple of complexions lighter. That was when she would hug us and say: “Filthy but adorable, naughty yet angelic, strong yet helpless.”

She always referred to us as ‘paradoxes,’ heaping hugs and kisses on us and treating us to some of her super delectable pastries and cakes. Aunt Therese was a great raconteur and never failed to recount the story of how she had taken me for Sunday mass when I was four and a half. It seems she had slipped me a coin just as the ushers were coming round for the collection. I pocketed it. When they neared the pew where we sat I was supposed to have uttered these immortal words: “Do not pay for me Aunty Therro, I am under five.” She says that everyone within hearing distance had gone into titters.

Although she looked after a mixed menagerie of nephews and nieces before making her own contribution of two girls to the clan you could tell she missed the presence of the boys. She would often complain that those who had girl only households were not aware of the fun they were missing in this department.

My brother two cousins and I were booted off to a junior military cadet school at Diyatalawa during the school vacation. But two days later we were all back at home. It turned out that the military did not generally approve of rebellious rapscallions raising the commanding officer’s boxer shorts on the flagpole before morning parade.

A really funny thing happened recently when I was asked by a niece whether I could take her turn at the school her son attended for playground duty. I agreed and was keeping a watchful eye on them when a group of four-year-olds came up to me and said that a child had got angry with them and had used the ‘C’ word.

I figured this was quite a serious infringement of bad language in the school so asked them to send the lad over to me. He came over looking anxious and I asked him if he had any idea why I had called him over. After a few moments of him telling me how the others had been annoying him, I interrupted and asked if he had used bad language?

He replied that yes he had. So I went further did you use the ‘C’ word?

Again he replied that yes he had. I then gave him a talk about using bad language in the playground and how I would have to punish him for using it.

He replied meekly that he knew he was going to be in trouble, then suddenly burst out that he did not know ‘Crap’ was such a bad word ! Trying hard not to laugh I asked the others if that was the word they had heard. And yes, it was. So I told him on this occasion I would not punish him but not to use such language again. He apologised and ran off, leaving me fit to burst with laughter.

Aunt Therese always referred to her nephews as “My boys!” She once wrote to my mother: “My boys have been a source of entertainment since the day they were born! I mean, literally! But that Gaston of ours has always been the over the top kid. He is usually the centre of attention, because he commands it.” The letter went on to remind my mother about my birth: “In the middle of pushing, we had to wait 30 minutes for him to take a nap in your womb. The nurse said he was probably tired! Yeah right, who was not tired? Minutes old , we heard this screaming coming from the nurses. We all freaked out because we thought something was horribly wrong with our brand new baby. The doctor asked what the problem was and they tell him our beautiful, innocent child had christened them, if you get my drift.”

Aunt Therese would embarrass the masculine runts in the family by quickly making everyone fully aware of the power of ‘number one.’She said that she would carry us home from the hospital completely bundled. Upon removal of the diaper, liquid would hit the target with unerring accuracy. She boasted that she had learned to duck the unwanted baby shower facials.

She quipped: “Boy, oh boy! What long-range ‘piss-toleros!”

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