ABOUT WOMEN
It's bad news when boys shop

By Christie Wilson
Advertiser Staff Writer

I was just about to nod off for a nap on a warm Sunday afternoon when my husband and 10-year-old son made a break for the carport.

"We're going to Wal-Mart," my husband said as he shoved the boy out the back door.

Too groggy to grasp the full import of his statement, I muttered, "Wha? Why are you going to Wal-Mart?"

"Because it's air-conditioned, and I need to buy some golf balls," he replied as the door slammed shut.

By the time I snapped to and ran out to throw myself in front of the car, they were speeding off down the road. A clean getaway.

I returned to the couch and curled up in a ball to anxiously await their return with the latest what-were-you-thinking? purchase.

These include such items as drum sets, BB guns and kiddie karaoke machines, which are cute for the first three hours of high-volume screeching and simulated police sirens before the thing breaks or the batteries are surreptitiously removed, whichever comes first.

Most of the time I am able to successfully nip these purchases in the bud, but once in a while my husband slips one past me. Like the laser pointer that came with an assortment of tips, including one with a middle-finger salute. That one ended up in the boy's hands — briefly — after an unchaperoned trip to the swap meet.

That warm Sunday afternoon I was especially worried, since a month or two earlier my son had announced he would be using his wad of birthday and Christmas cash to buy a paintball gun.

I immediately pictured a bull's-eye on his teenage sister's forehead. And on the hallway walls and the TV. And the cat.

Although his father seemed to be giving the idea some serious thought, I put a swift and certain end to the discussion, as it were.

"N-O. No. No way. No how. A paintball gun is not a toy," I explained to both father and son.

More recently there had been talk of bow and arrows. So I was somewhat relieved when they returned home from Wal-Mart with an Everlast punching bag and a pair of kid-sized boxing gloves.

I still had a vision of a bull's-eye on his sister's forehead, but at least the blows would be cushioned, and there wouldn't be any paint stains to clean up or holes to patch.

The punching bag and gloves were no doubt inspired by an excursion to watch youth boxing matches at the local gym.

Since the purchase involved physical activity that didn't require my supervision or participation, I accepted it with grace.

But if my husband thinks I'm going to let my son into the boxing ring, N-O, no, no way, no how.

Neighbor Island editor Christie Wilson reports from the Advertiser's Maui bureau. Reach her at cwilson@honoluluadvertiser.com or (808) 244-4880.