Burying the Weapons

When I became a mother I was certain my children would grow up enlightened. And for me enlightenment meant my children would not ascribe to any traditional gender stereotypes or roles. My girls would play sports and revile Barbie. My boys would wear bow ties and be fabulous dancers and artists. And there would be no guns or violence.

In the daily struggle to get everyone properly shuttled and dinner on the table, gone are my daydreams, and I’m accepting who they are as people rather than who I imagined them to be. Welcoming Barbie to the family was difficult, but the biggest adaptation for me has been learning to appreciate the traditional masculinity of my boys. I’m all about honoring them finding their nurturing characteristics, celebrating their wanting to wear pink or being enthralled with cleaning the bathroom. But when it comes to rough and tumble play, toy weapons and killing the bad guys, I get squeamish. How can I teach them to respect the inner-connectedness of all life yet engage in a light sabre battle? How can I tell them killing is wrong but let them play Angry Birds?

We were going to be a weapons-free home. Until my boys began making guns from their duplo legos at church and aiming them at the speaker. Until they bit their toast into guns and shot each other at the breakfast table. Until innocent sticks became guns. Even this week my 7 yr old son told me he had made pizza with his nanny for lunch and got to shape the dough any way he wanted. I asked what he made his into and he replied “a gun.”

I spent a lot of time judging myself and my boys over this, believing these tendencies to be fundamentally flawed. Worried I was raising future felons, I banned the very thought of touching another person with anything other than a hug. But there was no containing it, particularly with my oldest boy.

Instead I began to channel this energy. I enrolled him in karate. There he learns control, respect and discipline as necessary components. For him, it feels like jedi training. For me, it’s an outlet for his love of weapons and intensity tied to an age-old tradition.

For some boys, playing cops and robbers, superhero and war comes as naturally as playing house or dancing comes for some girls. Rather than judge them, we came up with some rules I feel good about. Chatting up other mothers who’ve been down this road, I’ve heard everything from “no guns” to “no killing people” to “eat what you kill.” For us what seems to work is that playing is limited to those who agree to be in the game. That means no attacking those who are uncomfortable with this kind of play. We also limit screen time and monitor the violence they are exposed to.

But it also means we have killer (excuse the pun) water fights as a family. It means we play Star Wars in real life and on the Wii. And it means occasionally someone gets hurt and we need to apologize for our overzealousness.

There are many schools of thought on rough play and weaponry. I tend to believe the most important thing is that we teach empathy along with it. Those times it gets out of hand, when something playful turns into something hurtful, are the times to teach about how there are other ways to see things besides the way we see them. To me, more important than what the rules actually are is the idea that my rules show that I value and respect life and people.

I still wince when I watch him do a sword routine or spar. I still get squeamish when the brotherly wrestling takes a turn for the worse. And it’s still hard to hear that my son dreams of going to war. But rather than see this as violent aggression and something that needs to be corrected, I choose to see it as his way of expressing a desire to keep the world a safe place.

How have you handled toys and weapons in your home? Is it different if a daughter likes to play like this instead of a son?

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