We all know there’s no how-to manual on parenting. There actually probably is, but there are too many variables, moving parts and emotions for any $10 book to be worth any salt. No expert is an expert on what goes on in this house, fortunately that’s me. Well if it’s not me, I’m a really close second to the expert. And when it comes to having the talk (you know, THE TALK), we’re all by our lonesome selves on a deserted island. “Yeah, Dad. You wanted to talk?” Ummm…
As soon as the thought of the eventual “birds and bees” discussion enters my head, I’m quick to clip its wings. I know avoidance is never a good thing, especially with regard to parenting. The fact remains, if I don’t have that talk with my kids about the important stuff, someone else certainly will. Now that’s scary.
Judging by the growth rate of my oldest son’s feet, the day was coming fast. Last spring, near the end of his 5th grade year, Boogie Down reached manhood…at least his shoe size did. Yes, the manager at Stride Rite announced in front of the whole store for all to hear, “Well lil’ Buddy, you can even wear a size 6.5 in men’s!” (Why does my wife insist on going to Stride Rite to get feet measured anyway? Wait. Don’t tell me…because she’s the expert.) The time was drawing near indeed. My reading experiences in middle school bathrooms assured me the age of innocence was waning. Quite literally, the writing was on the wall (or stall, in this case). Somewhere out there, that someone else was going to have that talk with my son. I’d be darned if they’d beat me to it.
Leafing through Boogie Down’s homework folder, I found a Consent Form. Consent Forms are different than permission slips, this was something big. I read on. In ten short days, my son’s life was going to change. By signing this form, Boogie Down would be given the green light to view a video, THE VIDEO. What? Girls and boys would be sequestered into separate rooms for “gender specific” lessons? No need to involve my wife in this one, if there ever was business between a man and his son, this had to be it. I signed the bottom of the Consent Form knowing my boy was about to fill those manly shoes of his.
I declined an opportunity to preview the video. No need, I already knew all I needed to know. I had the class “Family Life” in 9th grade. Back then, Consent Forms were sent home too. I recalled some of it was pretty raw. My first born would not be caught off guard; he’d be duly prepared.
The days moved quickly, too quickly. It was the eve before the showing. It was now or never. “Hey, Boogie,” I called “want to take a ride with Dad?” No better time for a father-son visit to Home Depot. I needed light bulbs or screws or something. Boogie piled into the car, he could sit up front nowadays. How big he looked, such a little man. We backed out of the driveway and headed on our way. Sex Education 101 began as soon as the house disappeared around the curve of our street.
I can’t remember how I started. A mixture of the customary, “When a man and woman are in love and want to start a family…” and the unconventional, “You know when we watch those nature shows and Daddy turns the channel real fast…” He listened carefully as words like sperm, egg, penis and erection flowed freely from of my mouth. Pretty much everything was covered, saving vas deferens and fallopian tubes for another day. I was on a roll, in the groove. Boogie listened, squirmed, considered and maturely asked questions. He seemed to have a smidge of prior knowledge; I was just connecting the dots. This was going better than I could have ever imagined. We spun through the Home Depot grabbed some 2-for-1 Kingsford charcoal and headed home.
Mission accomplished. My Dad skills were on point. Boogie Down left home a boy and returned that much closer to manhood. “Here son, carry the charcoal into the house.” It was time to share my successes with my wife.
Her eyes rolled. Her head shook. She buried her face in her hands. The look on her face seemed to suggest I’d done something wrong, perhaps idiotic. “Gregory,” she said (Uh oh, the full first name), “All the video says is that they are going to start growing hair in different places and they have to start wearing deodorant!”
OK, I admit it. Maybe I jumped the gun. But the conversation, THE TALK had happened. Check it off the “Daddy Do” list. I was all freed up to fertilize the lawn and de-winterize the patio furniture. Premature yes, but one thing will forever be certain. I will always talk openly with my children. Our relationship will be built on trust, support and communication. Bullying, sex, drugs, depression… they are all lined up waiting to get a piece of my kids. My loving boys have to be ready. It we parents don’t to talk to our kids, there are too many others willing to do it for us. Is that we you want?
Oh, I did learn something. From now on, before I dive headfirst in to anything, I will run it by the expert first.