Please tell me you are not talking about Mr.Doodlesworth?
This blog entry is brought to you by the words:
Shocking.
Scandalous.
Salacious.
Startling.
Taboo. Surprising.
&
Unsettling.
The moment I am going to describe to you is going to be one that I am certain I will be forced to relive over and over again in my windowless "reflection room" in purgatory. At my wake when my three boys gather round to share their favorite dad story they will inevitably will come across this gem of a memory I will share. It will be forever known as "The Day Of 1000 Gasps" by my children or perhaps they will dub it as "The Moment We Saw Our Father Soil Himself Right In Front Of Us. Which Caused Us All To Have Intensive Therapy To Help Get Over Our 'Daddy Issues' That He Created With His Inability To Manage His Bladder During Important Moments". I kind of hope they name it the first one, it sounds more dramatic and less judgemental. Either way I will be serving my afterlife time-out so I guess it wouldn't matter much to me...but I am concerned that my wife would rather them not refer to their pops as a fellow who found himself leaky during crisis. In truth I have a feeling that the event I am going to describe for you was one my children did not even notice how much I failed them.So on with what happened...
If you have been reading my blog for a while (by "a while" I mean this one) you have probably garnered the fact that I am not the most together dude who walks the Earth. I am not the guy you turn to in a moment of panic. Like if you were getting mugged I would be the worst person to try in and intercede on your behalf. Not because I wouldn't want to, because I would. I really would. It's just that I would freak out because when I get any adrenaline in my system I am a trainwreck. In my preparations to take on your assailant I would probably need to run home and grab my Ipod so I could have some inspirational music to listen to while I was stretching. Before you ask, yes I need to stretch before getting into a fight with your mugger. Don't get all self-righteous I am not naturally limber. It is the curse of being built like R2-D2. I would need to loosen the joints before throwing fists with your attacker. Which would make me really nervous so I would need a glass of wine to calm my nerves. Just enough to help slow things down a bit...but not too much that it would impede my ability to introduce my two fists (which I have long ago named them. The right fist is named "Cagney" and the left one is named "Lacey". They are two crime-stopping bundles of knuckles who would take their enemies on with determination, a lady-mullet, and the force of a misunderstood female detective just trying to make it in a man's world) to the person mugging you.
I am guessing by the time I was ready to take on the person who was ganking you it would probably be too late and somehow you would be holding me to blame for what happened. We would try to remain friends after this event, but you would eventually call me out in front of a group of our shared friends that I was "a coward" and I would retort with the comeback "Hey don't blame me you dirty Jackwagon! Even Clubber Lang needed to stretch before taking the belt from Balboa in Rocky 3." And then you would say "You are a wuss and are only concerned about yourself." And then I would say "Oh yeah? Don't make me unleash a thunderstorm of Cagney and Lacey on your ass!" And then everyone (including you) would laugh me out of the room. And that would be the last you would see me at our Poetry Slam meetings.
Anyways, you can be assured that when it comes to moments where either decisive action or the perfect words are required I am not well equipped. If I lived on the Island Of Idiots I would be the mayor of them all. If one of my idiot citizens did not know the proper idiot reaction they needed to have to help maintain their residency on our island they would come to me to learn how to better their skills.
Part of the problem with parenting is that you never know when those moments where you need to step up and make good decisions are coming. Those moments never make appointments in your calender. They just show up like the guy selling magazines who needs you to buy $400 worth so he can finally go to college. Those moments where much is required of parents randomly arrive with a rose in one hand and a machete in the other. They are those moments that can help make or break you with your children.
I had one the other day. I did not rise to meet it well. While I don't think my son caught on to the fact that I was disarmed by what was happening, I am certain I let one of those rare "teaching moments" slip by like a leaf in a stream. I let my own crap interfere with what I should have said. Instead I continued the circle of crap that I probably learned at their age from my folks who I am certain would have handled the situation the exact same way.
By now you probably just want to know what in the name of the dead animal on Trumps head happened?
Well...it began with...The P word. Yep. That's right. I don't know where it came from. I was not prepared for it to be uttered. I was minding my own business opening up the door to let my children into the house after I picked them up from school. Everything was going so well. The sun was shining down on us in a manner that suggested it had 'Super-Nova'd just for us a few billion years ago. There was no Wyoming wind blasting us in the face as we walked up to our house. I was simply just thinking about how awesome it was to be a father of such three innocent and peaceful little children. Three children who want nothing other than their father to remain in the constant state of balance and harmony that his weakened constitution requires. I had just cracked open the door to our townhome when I asked my boys how their day being a functional member of the education system went.
I was expecting to hear about spelling bee's, rumpus games of tag, milk coming out of the nose incidents in the lunchroom, and other such slices of my childrens day that I could digest in my fathery soul. Maybe I would get some good gradeschool gossip and hear about someone who was sent to the principals office or an account about how one of their classmates puked it out in front of the class. Those stories always warmed my heart. Mostly because it was always usually about someone else's child. And when anyone else's child was the source of controversy I thought of it as comforting.
I loved it when my children recounted the events of the day. It helped me feel connected to their experience. What I heard come out of my ten years mouth though has changed my desire to be included on "what haps" at Sunrise Elementary.
I simply asked Noah as my door opened to our home "So what did you learn about today Noah?"
"Oh nothing" he said quickly. That was his typical answer and I knew better than to let him off of the hook. As a wise father of a child living with autism I have been trained that it takes a few times digging with a question before you can get to the top soil of truth.
"Come on. I am sure you learned something."
"Well...I did learn about one thing..." His voice trailed off. I was sure he was going to finish that sentence with something like "Volcano's" "George Washington" or maybe even "The Louisiana Purchase". Instead I was giving a slap in the face with a glove that had been stuffed with barbed-wire and a brick.
"I learned about the Penis." He said with an outrageously disinterested tone of voice.
The word deeply echoed in my ears....
Penis.....
Penis.........
The........Penis.....
P......enis.............
Penis....s......s.....sssssssss
This was one of those moments that called for a father of decisive action who could choose the right words....
The next thing I knew I was seperated from my body. I was floating about ten feet above looking down on my body which was gripping the door to keep from collapsing onto the ground. As my soul hovered above it looked like time was moving in slow motion. I could see the look of abject horror plastered across my face. It looked like I had been just been shot by a sniper. It was the kind of look a person has when they are trying to decide to just let their heart explode like the death star and take their karmic chances in the next world.
Floating there it took me a moment to remember what was causing me to have an out of body experience. Then slowly the word found my metaphysical shadow of me. I heard it again..."Penis..." My son had just uttered the P-word and it killed me. It made sense that hearing my little ten year old say such a word to me in such a nonchalant way that it would send my soul fleeing my bag of bones.
I was soon greeted by an angel who floated next to me. She asked "What are you doing here? You are not due to arrive for at least 300 more pounds of bacon."
I explained that my son had just said the P-word to me. She was unimpressed and sent me quickly back into my reeling body. Not after she uttered the words "Try harder to act like you deserve a son like him"
When I re-entered I came to and found my autistic son looking at me for a reaction. I knew I was in one of those parent moments. The knowledge of that fact only deepened my terror. My wife has always had a more open relationship with our children when it comes to talking about these kind of things. She was nowhere to be seen and I was the person in charge of giving my son an adult response to what he had just said.
To be fair it's not that the word Penis was something he had never heard before. But it was not something I ever talked about with him now that he was ten. When he was a toddler and he was identifying various body parts I am sure that it came up in conversation. I probably whispered the word "Penis" to him to send him the signal that it was a word that should never be said out loud. Instead I think I began to try the time honored guy tradition of teaching him other things to call it instead. That list consisted of the following words have been approved to be used in replacement:
"Your Private Area"
"The Stuff"
"Your Wee-Wee"
"The you know, um... that thing down there"
"Doodad"
"The Ho-Ho-Nonies"
"The Fonz"
"Mr. Doodlesworth"
"Agent Peepers"
"He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named"
"The Harvery Keitel Experiment"
"It"
"Captain Winkerson and The Frankenberry Twins"
"The U.S.S Naddison"
"Happytown"
"Bathtime Ninja"
"Fish N Chips"
"Neverblink and His Grouchy Rollie Pollies"
Those are just a few of the words that I try to teach him over the years to use instead of the dreaded P-Word." Now that I see them in writing I am tempted to call them creepy. I won't however, because these words had been the paper-thin defense I had for keeping me from getting into questions about where babies came from. I was not the person to ever lead that conversation. It would be awkward. I was maybe going to disclose these mysteries to my children the way my parents did. What they did was genius. I don't think it's a coincidence that once me and my brother reached the delicate age where the questions of sexuality came to the forefront that my dad happened to splurge for extended cable. HBO taught me more about "The Birds and The Bee's" than 50,000 Doctor Ruth's ever could have.
Still he was too young for cable TV.....so I had to handle this situation as close to how Ward Cleaver would. Ward would have just given Wally a wry little wink and sent him off to Eddie Hascals house to learn the rest. Then Ward would stumble into the kitchen and demand that Barbara Billingsley get started on his dinner. Noah did not have a Ward Cleaver for a father. He had a 37-year old guy stammering for the right words.
You learned about what?" I asked in hopes that maybe I had misheard him. Maybe he did not say the word. Maybe it just sounded like that. It was completely plausible that I misheard him. Perhaps he had told me that learned about "A Genius" or about "a guy named Denis" or something.
"The penis dad. You know...THE PENIS. I learned all about it. How it works. What it does"
Sweet levitating baby Jesus no..not that. I don't even know about how it works! My ten year old son with autism knows more about Agent Peepers than I do?? That could not stand!
What was going on here? Why was he learning about that at school? What the hell was happening?? Then my mind cast itself to a paper we had gotten a few weeks ago telling us parents that our children would be watching a film in health class called "Changes In The Road". Apparently it was about the coming storm clouds of puberty that were headed our way. Either I did not put the contents of that letter into my memory banks out of self-defense or because I thought maybe it had been part of a nightmare. It turned out that they learned so much in this "film" that it might as well as been called "Suddenly Itchy". Or "From Tenor to Soprano in 4.2 Months".
I was not ready to have the birds and the bee's talk with him yet and he did not look particularly interested in having it with me. I would have to at least offer him the chance to grill me for information about any of that stuff. I would have to ask it in a way that would not be super inviting. I struggled and came at him with "You learned about that huh? Um...do you have any questions?"
Please say "no." Please say "no." Please say "no."
"No. Can I go play video games?" Noah asked.
I was elated and relieved! Video games?? Sure that was a reasonable request! I would have given him anything to steer clear of the talk. You want me to let your drive? Sure! How about we go to the mall and I buy everything for you! Or...I could somehow make it so Pokemon's really exist and you could keep one of those freaky Japanese critters in our house. Anything....just not "the talk."
And just like that. The moment passed by. That precious moment of teaching and/or bonding breezed by both of us.
Noah scooted around me to go play. I sat down on the coach and welcome the feeling of utter relief that was sure to come because I had just dogged a bullet of awkwardness and emotional discomfort. Then suddenly without any provocation (except probably from the one person still manning my conscience) I started to feel pangs of guilt stab at me wildly.
Why was I so afraid to talk with him about this?
Was it because he was autistic and I was afraid that me trying to explain such abstract concepts would be a total fail on my part? I quickly decided that my reluctance to talk about it with him had nothing to do with him being in the spectrum of ASD. I would be equally uncomfortable talking about this with any of my other children.
Like I mentioned I never really had that kind of talk with my parents. I had the best upbringing ever and I am unsure I will ever be half the parent for my children that my folks were to me...but we never really delved into taboo topics like reproduction. I was on a learn-as-you-go program. I think I was trying to continue that tradition in my own family. Except there is one fatal flaw to that approach. That I was too afraid to ask my parents questions about stuff like that. Probably because if I ever did they would adorn the same looks on their faces that I had when Noah simply mentioned the word penis in front of me.
I want a completely wide open relationship with my children. I don't want there to be something that I am too uncomfortable to talk about with them. I want them to bring all concerns before me regardless of how taboo I have been brought up to think of them. Otherwise I am allowing my baggage to become their baggage...and I can't have that. If for no other reason than because I can't live with anymore guilt for things I do wrong.
So as I sat on that coach I decided that it was time to go and recreate that moment. Puberty is coming soon and he was sure to have some questions and concerns about what was going to happen. Noah was certain to have heard something in that movie that stirred some silent worries....and I hate it when he worries....and he worries a bunch! If I could just stem one worry of his than I would at least be semi-helpful. Normally I would wait for Jenni to get home so we could have this conversation together. But I decided that I needed to "man up" and show Noah that he could talk to me about anything.
I went downstairs and saw him gearing up for some serious Wii action. I sat down next to him and grabbed his arm.
"Hey Buddy. You know that film you watched today?"
"Mmmm hhhhmmm." He answered while staring at the TV screen that towered before us.
"Are you sure you didn't have any questions about anything you heard?" I asked with a heart that was jam-packed with good intentions.
"Well...kind of...." Noah said with his voice again trailing off for what I am sure was to help build dramatic tension.
"What is it? I will answer any question." I stated with absolute certainty. I was going to talk to him about the how our sexuality was a gift from God to be taken seriously. I was going to be explain the weird changes that were coming his way soon. But most of all I was going to tell him simply that I was here for him. No matter what.
"Well...what is sperm?"
The room started spinning. It felt like someone had kicked me in my "Ho-Ho-Nonies".
Sperm.....
Sperm..........
Sssssspeeeerrrrrmmmmmm......
Again I found myself floating over my stammering body.
Jenni would be home soon. That is a good question for her.
I'll just be here floating. In the meantime I hope the rest of my family waits for me to get over myself.
Shocking.
Scandalous.
Salacious.
Startling.
Taboo. Surprising.
&
Unsettling.
The moment I am going to describe to you is going to be one that I am certain I will be forced to relive over and over again in my windowless "reflection room" in purgatory. At my wake when my three boys gather round to share their favorite dad story they will inevitably will come across this gem of a memory I will share. It will be forever known as "The Day Of 1000 Gasps" by my children or perhaps they will dub it as "The Moment We Saw Our Father Soil Himself Right In Front Of Us. Which Caused Us All To Have Intensive Therapy To Help Get Over Our 'Daddy Issues' That He Created With His Inability To Manage His Bladder During Important Moments". I kind of hope they name it the first one, it sounds more dramatic and less judgemental. Either way I will be serving my afterlife time-out so I guess it wouldn't matter much to me...but I am concerned that my wife would rather them not refer to their pops as a fellow who found himself leaky during crisis. In truth I have a feeling that the event I am going to describe for you was one my children did not even notice how much I failed them.So on with what happened...
If you have been reading my blog for a while (by "a while" I mean this one) you have probably garnered the fact that I am not the most together dude who walks the Earth. I am not the guy you turn to in a moment of panic. Like if you were getting mugged I would be the worst person to try in and intercede on your behalf. Not because I wouldn't want to, because I would. I really would. It's just that I would freak out because when I get any adrenaline in my system I am a trainwreck. In my preparations to take on your assailant I would probably need to run home and grab my Ipod so I could have some inspirational music to listen to while I was stretching. Before you ask, yes I need to stretch before getting into a fight with your mugger. Don't get all self-righteous I am not naturally limber. It is the curse of being built like R2-D2. I would need to loosen the joints before throwing fists with your attacker. Which would make me really nervous so I would need a glass of wine to calm my nerves. Just enough to help slow things down a bit...but not too much that it would impede my ability to introduce my two fists (which I have long ago named them. The right fist is named "Cagney" and the left one is named "Lacey". They are two crime-stopping bundles of knuckles who would take their enemies on with determination, a lady-mullet, and the force of a misunderstood female detective just trying to make it in a man's world) to the person mugging you.
I am guessing by the time I was ready to take on the person who was ganking you it would probably be too late and somehow you would be holding me to blame for what happened. We would try to remain friends after this event, but you would eventually call me out in front of a group of our shared friends that I was "a coward" and I would retort with the comeback "Hey don't blame me you dirty Jackwagon! Even Clubber Lang needed to stretch before taking the belt from Balboa in Rocky 3." And then you would say "You are a wuss and are only concerned about yourself." And then I would say "Oh yeah? Don't make me unleash a thunderstorm of Cagney and Lacey on your ass!" And then everyone (including you) would laugh me out of the room. And that would be the last you would see me at our Poetry Slam meetings.
Anyways, you can be assured that when it comes to moments where either decisive action or the perfect words are required I am not well equipped. If I lived on the Island Of Idiots I would be the mayor of them all. If one of my idiot citizens did not know the proper idiot reaction they needed to have to help maintain their residency on our island they would come to me to learn how to better their skills.
Part of the problem with parenting is that you never know when those moments where you need to step up and make good decisions are coming. Those moments never make appointments in your calender. They just show up like the guy selling magazines who needs you to buy $400 worth so he can finally go to college. Those moments where much is required of parents randomly arrive with a rose in one hand and a machete in the other. They are those moments that can help make or break you with your children.
I had one the other day. I did not rise to meet it well. While I don't think my son caught on to the fact that I was disarmed by what was happening, I am certain I let one of those rare "teaching moments" slip by like a leaf in a stream. I let my own crap interfere with what I should have said. Instead I continued the circle of crap that I probably learned at their age from my folks who I am certain would have handled the situation the exact same way.
By now you probably just want to know what in the name of the dead animal on Trumps head happened?
Well...it began with...The P word. Yep. That's right. I don't know where it came from. I was not prepared for it to be uttered. I was minding my own business opening up the door to let my children into the house after I picked them up from school. Everything was going so well. The sun was shining down on us in a manner that suggested it had 'Super-Nova'd just for us a few billion years ago. There was no Wyoming wind blasting us in the face as we walked up to our house. I was simply just thinking about how awesome it was to be a father of such three innocent and peaceful little children. Three children who want nothing other than their father to remain in the constant state of balance and harmony that his weakened constitution requires. I had just cracked open the door to our townhome when I asked my boys how their day being a functional member of the education system went.
I was expecting to hear about spelling bee's, rumpus games of tag, milk coming out of the nose incidents in the lunchroom, and other such slices of my childrens day that I could digest in my fathery soul. Maybe I would get some good gradeschool gossip and hear about someone who was sent to the principals office or an account about how one of their classmates puked it out in front of the class. Those stories always warmed my heart. Mostly because it was always usually about someone else's child. And when anyone else's child was the source of controversy I thought of it as comforting.
I loved it when my children recounted the events of the day. It helped me feel connected to their experience. What I heard come out of my ten years mouth though has changed my desire to be included on "what haps" at Sunrise Elementary.
I simply asked Noah as my door opened to our home "So what did you learn about today Noah?"
"Oh nothing" he said quickly. That was his typical answer and I knew better than to let him off of the hook. As a wise father of a child living with autism I have been trained that it takes a few times digging with a question before you can get to the top soil of truth.
"Come on. I am sure you learned something."
"Well...I did learn about one thing..." His voice trailed off. I was sure he was going to finish that sentence with something like "Volcano's" "George Washington" or maybe even "The Louisiana Purchase". Instead I was giving a slap in the face with a glove that had been stuffed with barbed-wire and a brick.
"I learned about the Penis." He said with an outrageously disinterested tone of voice.
The word deeply echoed in my ears....
Penis.....
Penis.........
The........Penis.....
P......enis.............
Penis....s......s.....sssssssss
This was one of those moments that called for a father of decisive action who could choose the right words....
The next thing I knew I was seperated from my body. I was floating about ten feet above looking down on my body which was gripping the door to keep from collapsing onto the ground. As my soul hovered above it looked like time was moving in slow motion. I could see the look of abject horror plastered across my face. It looked like I had been just been shot by a sniper. It was the kind of look a person has when they are trying to decide to just let their heart explode like the death star and take their karmic chances in the next world.
Floating there it took me a moment to remember what was causing me to have an out of body experience. Then slowly the word found my metaphysical shadow of me. I heard it again..."Penis..." My son had just uttered the P-word and it killed me. It made sense that hearing my little ten year old say such a word to me in such a nonchalant way that it would send my soul fleeing my bag of bones.
I was soon greeted by an angel who floated next to me. She asked "What are you doing here? You are not due to arrive for at least 300 more pounds of bacon."
I explained that my son had just said the P-word to me. She was unimpressed and sent me quickly back into my reeling body. Not after she uttered the words "Try harder to act like you deserve a son like him"
When I re-entered I came to and found my autistic son looking at me for a reaction. I knew I was in one of those parent moments. The knowledge of that fact only deepened my terror. My wife has always had a more open relationship with our children when it comes to talking about these kind of things. She was nowhere to be seen and I was the person in charge of giving my son an adult response to what he had just said.
To be fair it's not that the word Penis was something he had never heard before. But it was not something I ever talked about with him now that he was ten. When he was a toddler and he was identifying various body parts I am sure that it came up in conversation. I probably whispered the word "Penis" to him to send him the signal that it was a word that should never be said out loud. Instead I think I began to try the time honored guy tradition of teaching him other things to call it instead. That list consisted of the following words have been approved to be used in replacement:
"Your Private Area"
"The Stuff"
"Your Wee-Wee"
"The you know, um... that thing down there"
"Doodad"
"The Ho-Ho-Nonies"
"The Fonz"
"Mr. Doodlesworth"
"Agent Peepers"
"He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named"
"The Harvery Keitel Experiment"
"It"
"Captain Winkerson and The Frankenberry Twins"
"The U.S.S Naddison"
"Happytown"
"Bathtime Ninja"
"Fish N Chips"
"Neverblink and His Grouchy Rollie Pollies"
Those are just a few of the words that I try to teach him over the years to use instead of the dreaded P-Word." Now that I see them in writing I am tempted to call them creepy. I won't however, because these words had been the paper-thin defense I had for keeping me from getting into questions about where babies came from. I was not the person to ever lead that conversation. It would be awkward. I was maybe going to disclose these mysteries to my children the way my parents did. What they did was genius. I don't think it's a coincidence that once me and my brother reached the delicate age where the questions of sexuality came to the forefront that my dad happened to splurge for extended cable. HBO taught me more about "The Birds and The Bee's" than 50,000 Doctor Ruth's ever could have.
Still he was too young for cable TV.....so I had to handle this situation as close to how Ward Cleaver would. Ward would have just given Wally a wry little wink and sent him off to Eddie Hascals house to learn the rest. Then Ward would stumble into the kitchen and demand that Barbara Billingsley get started on his dinner. Noah did not have a Ward Cleaver for a father. He had a 37-year old guy stammering for the right words.
You learned about what?" I asked in hopes that maybe I had misheard him. Maybe he did not say the word. Maybe it just sounded like that. It was completely plausible that I misheard him. Perhaps he had told me that learned about "A Genius" or about "a guy named Denis" or something.
"The penis dad. You know...THE PENIS. I learned all about it. How it works. What it does"
Sweet levitating baby Jesus no..not that. I don't even know about how it works! My ten year old son with autism knows more about Agent Peepers than I do?? That could not stand!
What was going on here? Why was he learning about that at school? What the hell was happening?? Then my mind cast itself to a paper we had gotten a few weeks ago telling us parents that our children would be watching a film in health class called "Changes In The Road". Apparently it was about the coming storm clouds of puberty that were headed our way. Either I did not put the contents of that letter into my memory banks out of self-defense or because I thought maybe it had been part of a nightmare. It turned out that they learned so much in this "film" that it might as well as been called "Suddenly Itchy". Or "From Tenor to Soprano in 4.2 Months".
I was not ready to have the birds and the bee's talk with him yet and he did not look particularly interested in having it with me. I would have to at least offer him the chance to grill me for information about any of that stuff. I would have to ask it in a way that would not be super inviting. I struggled and came at him with "You learned about that huh? Um...do you have any questions?"
Please say "no." Please say "no." Please say "no."
"No. Can I go play video games?" Noah asked.
I was elated and relieved! Video games?? Sure that was a reasonable request! I would have given him anything to steer clear of the talk. You want me to let your drive? Sure! How about we go to the mall and I buy everything for you! Or...I could somehow make it so Pokemon's really exist and you could keep one of those freaky Japanese critters in our house. Anything....just not "the talk."
And just like that. The moment passed by. That precious moment of teaching and/or bonding breezed by both of us.
Noah scooted around me to go play. I sat down on the coach and welcome the feeling of utter relief that was sure to come because I had just dogged a bullet of awkwardness and emotional discomfort. Then suddenly without any provocation (except probably from the one person still manning my conscience) I started to feel pangs of guilt stab at me wildly.
Why was I so afraid to talk with him about this?
Was it because he was autistic and I was afraid that me trying to explain such abstract concepts would be a total fail on my part? I quickly decided that my reluctance to talk about it with him had nothing to do with him being in the spectrum of ASD. I would be equally uncomfortable talking about this with any of my other children.
Like I mentioned I never really had that kind of talk with my parents. I had the best upbringing ever and I am unsure I will ever be half the parent for my children that my folks were to me...but we never really delved into taboo topics like reproduction. I was on a learn-as-you-go program. I think I was trying to continue that tradition in my own family. Except there is one fatal flaw to that approach. That I was too afraid to ask my parents questions about stuff like that. Probably because if I ever did they would adorn the same looks on their faces that I had when Noah simply mentioned the word penis in front of me.
I want a completely wide open relationship with my children. I don't want there to be something that I am too uncomfortable to talk about with them. I want them to bring all concerns before me regardless of how taboo I have been brought up to think of them. Otherwise I am allowing my baggage to become their baggage...and I can't have that. If for no other reason than because I can't live with anymore guilt for things I do wrong.
So as I sat on that coach I decided that it was time to go and recreate that moment. Puberty is coming soon and he was sure to have some questions and concerns about what was going to happen. Noah was certain to have heard something in that movie that stirred some silent worries....and I hate it when he worries....and he worries a bunch! If I could just stem one worry of his than I would at least be semi-helpful. Normally I would wait for Jenni to get home so we could have this conversation together. But I decided that I needed to "man up" and show Noah that he could talk to me about anything.
I went downstairs and saw him gearing up for some serious Wii action. I sat down next to him and grabbed his arm.
"Hey Buddy. You know that film you watched today?"
"Mmmm hhhhmmm." He answered while staring at the TV screen that towered before us.
"Are you sure you didn't have any questions about anything you heard?" I asked with a heart that was jam-packed with good intentions.
"Well...kind of...." Noah said with his voice again trailing off for what I am sure was to help build dramatic tension.
"What is it? I will answer any question." I stated with absolute certainty. I was going to talk to him about the how our sexuality was a gift from God to be taken seriously. I was going to be explain the weird changes that were coming his way soon. But most of all I was going to tell him simply that I was here for him. No matter what.
"Well...what is sperm?"
The room started spinning. It felt like someone had kicked me in my "Ho-Ho-Nonies".
Sperm.....
Sperm..........
Sssssspeeeerrrrrmmmmmm......
Again I found myself floating over my stammering body.
Jenni would be home soon. That is a good question for her.
I'll just be here floating. In the meantime I hope the rest of my family waits for me to get over myself.
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