Chapter 1: Growing pains
I should have seen this coming when my son no longer played with the handful of Tonka and Corgi trucks that I have carried through my 42 years. There's nothing like good old-fashioned lead-painted toys. But he's 11 now, and the Batmobile and the Starsky and Hutch Grand Torino have settled to the bottom of the toy box, under layers of Power Rangers and Star Wars toys. (Boba Fett makes it, but not Huggy Bear???) He's 11 now, and Sports Center has replaced Jimmy Neutron in the mornings, much to the chagrin of his younger brother and sister.
He's 11 now, and Daddy's got some 'splainin to do.
Growing pains are on the way.
As the eldest of 5 children, with 12 years between my youngest sister and me, I never lived in a house where someone didn't BELIEVE in Santa Claus. That's very likely to change. Soon.
The other day, in a daze of watching "Elf," his younger brother and sister reacted to a line about parents putting out toys instead of Santa, "That's what Brendan thinks." Since they didn't break their gaze from Will Ferrell, they didn't see me flinch at the blow of that statement. They weren't testing me, but once Brendan gets the confirmatory "talk," the dominoes will be set to fall. These two younger siblings KNOW how to bait their older brother, and while I don't think he'd retailiate with the Santa Card, who's to say.
And when that happens, however it happens, good Lord. I'll be living in a house where everyone's the wiser and my kids have outgrown my toys.
Yes, I s'pose it is remarkable that an 11 year-old boy has at least not admitted to his parents that he doesn't beleive in Santa anymore. Maybe he's trying to protect us... or hedge his bets.
Chapter 2: Papa's got a brand new bag
Fifth grade's a bitch.
As we discussed the gathering storm recently, I told my wife I think I'll go for the "Tit for Tat." [Literally.] Fifth Grade is also the time when they show "The Movie" in school, setting up another interesting chat. Since I've been told it's my job to handle that talk, as well, I've decided my side of the conversation something like this:
"No son there's no Santa, at least they way you thought."
"But there is sex."*
"But you can't do it yet."
"But when you can, it will be really great."
"But not for years, 'cause you might by mistake make a baby."
"Hmm?? What?? Well, we have three kids, so at least three times."
"Don't look at me that way. Where are you going??? Wait a second, son! Wanna have a catch???"
[* Actually, take out your notebooks, kids. On our way for our first father-son game of golf this summer, we almost had the latter half of this two-fer. But here's how I hit the figurative "snooze bar" to buy a little time.]
"Daddy, did you and Mommy pray to have us kids."
"Yes, we did."
"Well, you must've really prayed fast between Katherine and Danny, because they're only a year apart."
"Well, yes we did, son, but as you'll learn, Mommies and Daddies have something to do with it, too."
"What's 'The Talk,' Daddy."
[Nearly drove off the road.]
"Why do you ask?"
"(Insert older cousin here) asked me if you and Mommy had had 'The Talk' with me yet."
"Did your cousin say what it was about?"
"Nah. He just asked me. What's it about, Daddy?"
"Well, remember how you heard that the 5th boys and girls will see 'The Movie' later this year?"
"Yeah. They're gonna show bodies and stuff."
"Well, that's kind of what the talk is about."
[I mean, why mess up your kid's golf game with The Talk? But had he tried to out-drive me on the course, I wouldn't have hesitated.]
"Son," I finally intoned. "Remember when you were little and you knew all your ABCs?"
"Uh-huh."
"But even though you knew all your letters, you still didn't know how to read, did you? There were some other things you needed to learn first, right?"
"Yeah."
"Well, it's the same way with 'The Talk.' There are some things that you're going to learn this year and when you do, 'The Talk' will be easier to understand."
"Oh. Okay."
Again. Maybe he was trying to protect me. Or hedge his bets.
Well, that's what my daughter did at the breakfast table Sunday morning. She came home last week and told my wife that "Nick P." had sent her a note asking if she'd be his girlfriend. "Well, I think you should tell him you're his special friend," my wife said. "Yeah," my daughter replied. "Boyfriends and girlfriends aren't for at least sixth grade." And so, when she returned from school the next day, her wife asked if she broke the news to Nick P. "I was gonna say that, but then I thought, he's so funny, it would be cool being his girlfriend. So I cirled "Yes" and gave him his note back.
Monday, December 10, 2007 at 01:53PM
