Hons

October 24, 2013
In,
2 comments

Yesterday, while driving home from school, Elisabeth announced, “I think I have a boyfriend.”
Which…what? How does she even know the word boyfriend? We are not a “Hey, Elisabeth! Who’s your boyyyyfriend?! type of house. No one is talking about dates or boyfriends or girlfriends. How would she even come up with the ideas there were boyfriends in Kindergarten?
She continued, “I can tell this boy has a crush on me because he follows me around. We play together on the playground. And I have a crush on him. We are boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“Oh, yeah. I have a girlfriend, too,” Sam said. “I love everything about her. I told her I spy on her while she sleeps. She is so nice. And pretty.”
Wait…how?!
I’ll tell you how.
Sam and Elisabeth spent the first six years of their lives practicing how boys and girls get along. First as wombmates, then roommates, then best friends. They did all these things…played together constantly, complimented one another on being pretty or funny, and, yes, even spying on each other while they slept. They called each other “hon” and fought viscously.
So, basically, they acted like an old married couple.

As boy/girl twins they learned the difficult dance of getting along with the opposite gender. Like really get along. Like the dedicated way a married couple gets along.
Sam would hurt Elisabeth’s feelings, and she would launch a tirade with high-pitched screams that made the dogs hide outside.
Sam would not scream back or vow to ignore her. Like an old, hen-pecked husband, he would sit quietly next to her until the tirade passed.
Then, she would demand, “Say you’re sorry!”
He would respond, “YOU say you’re sorry.”
They would exchange apologies and go back to their complicated came of Hon/Superheroes/Rock Star Baptism.
Like a doting wife, Elisabeth laughs hard at Sam’s jokes. Even when the rest of us are like, “How is a cow noise funny? We don’t get it.” Elisabeth laughs and proclaims, “You are the funniest guy, Sam!”
Reports from their teachers confirmed this was how they treated each other at school, too. Only less-so. More the good parts. More compliments for each other. Less tirades.
Every teacher they had said, “They never, ever fight. They treat each other with so much respect.” Just like a seasoned boyfriend and girlfriend or husband and wife, they had mastered the art of putting on a public face. But then, when they got home, they often cried and finger-pointed.
More than once, M and I commented that Sam and Elisabeth would one day make the best spouses.
 This year, when we decided to separate them, we weren’t sure what would happen to their twosome. Would they, like so many twins we’ve seen, lose part of their identity when they lost the 24/7 contact? Or would they gain a new independence?
It’s pretty obvious what they’ve gained: a love for the opposite sex, skills to get along with the opposite sex, and the need to be part of a twosome.
Which, as it turns out, means boyfriends and girlfriends in Kindergarten.
I guess I should be relieved they’re dating outside the family.
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