There seems to come a time in every young boy's life, when the activity most desirable (and natural!) to them is the destruction of anything they can lay their chubby little hands on.
Fortunuately if they are a blonde, long-lashed, angelic four year old version of Elijah Wood, this destructive tendency can usually be forgiven. It can even be endearing! I have qickly come to learn their mindset is 'So what if you spent 20 minutes perfectly constructing that lego submarine-car for my enjoyment, complete with steering wheel, headlights, satellite capabilities and a fully intact driver with a matching helmet? Throwing it into the air as high as I can then watching it split into thousands of pieces is awesome!'
Nothing is safe. Not Teddy bears, not books, not delicate little doggies made of Murano glass, not scooby doo collector cards, not plasticine figures.
As I hand the little one my latest lego creation (I truly believe I am getting more techinical with each one) he gasps and claps his hnds together, snatches it from my grasp whilst piping a voracious 'Grazia!' and promptly destroys it by smashing it into the wreckages of the one (two, three or four) of the other cars I crafted for him previously. 'MORTE!'
I have learned this violence, although often loud and alarming and aimed at my head, is a sign of his true apprecation of my work for him. In destruction there is love apparently, when it comes to four year old boys.
Destruction however is not just an activity that resides in the domains of lego, cowboys and indians or toy cars and trucks. I have learned from my little four year old companion that if one is creative enough they can bring about destruction for the sheer thrill of it when doing even the most peaceful of activities: painting, playing with clay, reading a book, doing a puzzle, playing with one's miniature kitchen.
In fact it is in these banal peaceful places that wrecking havoc can bring the most satisfaction because even they are aware it is most forbbiden or improper therefore more exciting. My youngest companion's new favourite game is to fling open the door to his little play fridge, select an item whether it be model frozen peas or a doughnut, pretend to eat it by pressing it to his mouth making loud munching noises, then, whilst making careful deliberate eye contact with me, throws the item as far or high as he can. Preferably while shrieking very loudly. It is also preferable if the food is flung so far it tumbles down the stairs of the playroom or into a lego tower causing further destruction. He will then without fail toss his little blonde head back, blue eyes rolling, and laugh manically as I pull a face of exaggerated shock. We usually conclude this activity with me jumping up and chasing him around the house in order to catch and tickle the cheeky messy eater.
So if I had to say anything about taking care of a four year old boy it would be that I think I have practically visited all four corners of the earth whilst trying to find the missing lego pieces his joyful destruction has distributed. But mostly smiling affectionately whilst doing so, I must admit!
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