Stevie Wisdom #1: boys don't dress like Kitties

For all of you, who, for some reason, don't know yet, I have a 7-year-old brother, named Stevie. He is my world, my fucking life. No joke. When people offhandedly ask on facebook "hows your life," I'm like "he's good, he's learning to tie his shoes." Since he is seven now, and apparently into all sorts of big boy shit like multiplication and baseball he has requested that me and my family start calling him "Stephen." This name, he believes to be more sophisticated, more worthy of a boy (pardon me, young man) who is transitioning out of velcro shoes and rolling around town on a two wheeler (no training wheels...thats right bitches.) Anyways, "Stephen" will occasionally drop some knowledge on me, out of nowhere, like from the sky, like from some place deep inside his little boy pockets hidden among pennies and crumpled up fruit by the foot rappers - and these observations will either rock my world, make me poop my pants in laughter (only a little poop), or a strange combination of the two. Today's gem of 7-year old wisdom goes like this:

We were sitting in the dinning room, thumbing through a the Oak Park news letter - this is what we do in our spare time - you know one of those, "old lady williams will be having a yard sale sunday; the skating rink will be offering free lessons this thursday through saturday; lets hear it for the Oak Park tigers for winning 5th place in the west suburban little league extravaganza" kind of home town newsletters. Pointing to a picture of a precious little girl, maybe 3 or 4 years old, dressed up like a kitten, i aks my brother "is that a picture of you?"

He punches me in the arm. And then returns to sipping cran-grape juice from a straw. (He is stronger than he looks)

"What" I ask, "That wasn't you?, turn back to the page, lemme see"

"Boo!!" he yells - he has stopped sipping now and has a ring of purple around his mouth - (he calls me Boo, not becuase we are or have ever dated but because when he was a baby, my parents, wanting to take full advantage of his incredible baby sponge-like language acquisition abilities, had my polish speaking aunt teach him a whole bunch of words in polish. On of these words was Broodah, polish for brother. Because babies have small mouths poorly suited for pronouncing r sounds, this word came out "Boo..." And it stuck. I hope it continues to stick until we are both old old men incapable of making few other intelligible sounds than this. Sometimes he'll address me as CJ, and I will pretend like I have no idea who he is talking to"

- "Boo!!" he is still half yelling (he gets furious when he feels as if he is being seen as effeminate or baby-like)
"Thats a girl!!"

"No way" I say, "how can you tell?"

"Boys don't dress up like kitties" - He says it with conviction - like it is one of the few things in this world that he KNOWS in his heart to be ture.

"Come on, what about on halloween"

"Boo," he is now serious and speaks slowly like he is explaining to me where babies come from "All my friends are boys."
He pauses to let the comment sink in. "None of them have ever dressed up like a kitty"

"Huh," I say, "I guess you are right." And I am picturing a group of boys dressed in their holloween best. A boy with a fake axe in his head, stawberry blood and latex brains coming out of the side. Another boy dressed like a power ranger. 5 different spider men. And among them a boy dressed like a precious little kitten. What an ass kicking costume that would be. The boy who dresses like a kitten would be the envy of all the other boys, I am sure of it - a god even.

And stevie has noticed me smirking to myself.

"What?" he asks suspiciously

"Oh nothing, I say"

I know the exactly what costume I am gonna get him next Halloween.

It is going to be fucking hilarious....