My kid is the epitome of extroverted. Most days, when he gets dressed, he adopts a particular persona and makes sure every item he is wearing or carrying reflects it. Like when he dresses like a cowboy, he talks with a drawl. And he greets everyone…everywhere. He knows the whole neighborhood (and they all know him…it’s hard to ignore the loud, friendly kid!). He likes to stop and chit chat while out riding his bike. He informs me daily of playdates that he’s added to his social calendar. And has gone so far as to ask the little old man at the end of the street if he would like to have a sleepover some time. When we are at restaurants, he orders for himself and has been known to flag down the waiter (politely) for refills. When we are at stop lights he will roll down his window to holler at people who are driving a car he likes, especially if they have a dog in the front seat. One time when he was cruising with daddy they overheard some girls singing in the car next to them. When they finished, he yelled out, “that was some good singing!” And the grocery store, well, that’s where he shines as a pick-up artist. Typically in the produce aisle.
My son has moves. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a handsome little dude with big blue eyes and long lashes that reach out and pull you in. Little pimp always chooses those giant car carts at the grocery store. As he “drives” the cart, he waves at people, shouting out “excuse me,” and commenting on what people have in their baskets. It’s *not* embarrassing at all for this introverted mama. Every once in a while, he’ll spot a lady that strikes his fancy and gets to work.
He will yell from the end of the aisle, “Hi!”
Surprised, she says hi back.
He quickly follows,
“do you have a dog?”
Shockingly, most have one!
“I do!” she says…not sure what to expect from the conversation.
Interested, he’ll ask,
“What’s his name?”
Smiling, she’ll tell him the name (or names) of her dog.
And that’s when she usually asks,
“do you have a dog?”
And then he swoops in for the kill…
“no…my dogs died,” with a sorrowful glance.
Completely melted, they usually lean in for a little hug while he smiles sheepishly.
I typically stand there, baffled by how many women he has lured in with this line. It’s hard to not wonder (and worry) what his teenage years will look like. Lord help us.
But more than anything, I am trying my best to not shush him too much or discourage his passionate spirit just because I’m huddled in the corner, red-faced and rocking back and forth.