'the dude abides'

Over the top of my book, I see my oldest son push 'play' on his Madden 2007 game, then turn to punch his dad in the arm to get his attention. Wondering what was up, I glance at the television and see an army of cheerleaders raising the spirits of those ready to get their virtual game on.

Aha! Pom poms. Or, you know, "Pom poms."

"Nice," I say, my eyes perhaps rolling a little bit.

"DUDE!! What?? He told me to let him know the next time they came on the screen!" my son announces.

I look to my husband, smile, and ask if what his prodigy just said was true.

"It's true, man," he says, eyes barely peeled from the cheerleaders on the screen.

The cheerleaders? Oh, they clearly weren't men. Nor were they dudes. But me? Apparently I'm a dude, man. From my book, to the game screen, to the front of my shirt, I glance down in a brief moment of exaggerated panic to assure myself that, oh, thank goodness, those two things I hang my X chromosomes on are still intact! Woot!

My status as a woman intact, I question just what this whole "dude" and "man" label means when it's applied to a woman. I've been called "dude" with affection and "man" out of laziness. I realize it just gets tossed out in conversation, and most often, it's been used in kindness. It's been most often said to me with endearment. As a means of bonding with the pack. But I admit a bit of annoyance at being called "man."

As my boys get older, I find I'm becoming more of a "dude" than I am "mom," even despite my attempts to alleviate their moniker by responding to them with an occasional "What's up, girlfriend?" When my husband tacks a "man" on to the end of his remarks to me, I sometimes ask if his vision is OK before I answer.

I've been known to use the word "dude" a lot, but when I do, the one I'm using it on is most often a dude. But me? I'm all woman, dude. I know you can't see that for yourself, so let me just prove it to you this way: I don't understand sports (not even Madden 2007, a fact my son manipulates when I play with him and am all, "What are all these plays? Should I be going this way or that? Did I just score a touchdown for your team?"), I suck at poker, and I don't get the allure of watching two straight women make out with each other.

Perhaps the confusion my family's having with my gender is the fact that I apparently sound like a 10 year old boy when I'm on the phone. When my son's friends call, they inevitably begin talking to me as if I am my son, and as kids are prone to when they're focused, I can't get a word in to let them know I'm not their desired objective. This fact allowed me to be a little dude AND pull out my people pleasing female skills last week when the neighbor boy "just called to tell you I'm never going to speak to you again!" because he felt my son had slighted him in some way. After a moment to think, "Geez, who's the girl here?!" (and "Kid, seriously, you accidentally saw me naked, so you know I'm not a boy!"), I was able to pretend to be my son and smooth things over so afternoon playtime would, indeed, remain intact.

In the end, for better or worse, I think I'll inevitably retain a rank as just one of the guys among all my boys. To them, I'm a "dude," "the man," and, for some strange reason, "bro".

Even with the pom poms to prove otherwise, dude.

In a world of those who stand to pee, I sit alone.