Full Contact

In college, I spent most of my time hanging around with a bunch of guys. It was kind of a Lost-Boys-and-Wendy type arrangement: I was just one of the guys, playing wiffle ball and video games, sharing late-night pizza, and avoiding schoolwork as much as possible, unless of course a button needed sewing on or someone needed to choose a present for a girlfriend. One of the Lost Boys was a rough-around-the-edges hockey player, whose last name, appropriately enough, was Beiermeister (pronounced BEER-meister, no joke!). He was a hard worker, but it took a lot for him to get through his pre-med science courses, especially "Orgo," that is, organic chemistry. He had a word for such coursework: Full Contact Homework.

I now know what kind of boy Beiermeister must have been. Come to think of it, I now can imagine what kind of boy many of the men I know (including my husband, one of the original Lost Boys) must have been. Everything--and I mean everything--my four-and-a-half year old does is Full Contact. Who knew it was possible? It's not just wrestling and swordfighting and chasing I'm talking about, though he does do his share of that stuff, too. I'm talking about Full Contact Go Fish. Full Contact Coloring. Full Contact Puzzles. Full Contact Reading, for crying out loud. The boy is in motion all the time. How can you get injured helping fold the laundry? Full Contact Laundry, of course. Opening the front door? Yup, Full Contact.

I can only hope organic chemistry--or at least kindergarten--is ready for him.