I spent yesterday afternoon up in San Francisco, which is by far one of my favorite cities on earth. Despite the amazing places I have lived, I'm still happiest when wandering its hilly streets. It's my souls home, the place where I feel most myself.
Alas, it was time to head back home to suburbia, and so I boarded the train for the hour long trip south. I hadn't taken into account that there was a football game AND an air show all in the same day, so it was standing room only. I found myself facing a gentleman's armpit, his deodorant having been rendered obsolete by too much sun. I'm fairly certain he had been eating garlic fries as well, what with the unfortunate smell that wafted from his mouth as he yelled to his friend who was wedged between two portly women further down the aisle.
Eventually, the train emptied, and I found a seat next to a very pregnant woman. I was somewhat worried about sitting next to her, fearing that I might be called to assist should she decide to give birth on the train, a possibility given her sheer girth. I figured if nothing else, I could tear my new scarf into strips, since they always seem to boil water and then tear sheets up when women go into labor in inconvenient places.
I settled down and the train got back underway. A few moments later, a blond head popped over the seat in front of us. It was attached to a little boy, probably around 4 or 5 who was traveling with his father. He stared, first at me and then at my seat mate. Finding me uninteresting, he turned his attention to the pregnant woman and said, quite loudly, "IS THERE A BABY IN YOUR TUMMY?"
The woman smiled and said "Yes, there is." He was satisfied with this response, but clearly wanted more information. And so, again, loudly, he said "DID A MAN PUT IT IN THERE?" And she said, graciously, "Yes, my husband did."
I had an inkling of where this was going, having had to explain the basics of sex to the children I once nannied, but I wasn't sure how far he would take it. Pretty far, it turns out.
"DID HE STICK HIS PENIS INTO YOUR VAGINA?" the boy hollered, wanting to be heard over the thundering of the train. At the mention of penis, the entire car went silent, all waiting expectantly for her reply. Normally, this is where the parent might leap in and either distract or strangle/smother their child, but the father had his headphones on and was blissfully unaware of the scene his son was causing.
The woman wasn't quite sure what to say, though I'm sure what was going through her head was laced with expletives. The boy went along, undaunted. "BECAUSE MY DADDY SAID THAT HE HAD TO STICK HIS PENIS INTO MY MOMMY AND THAT THAT'S HOW I WAS MADE. I'M NOT ALLOWED TO STICK MY PENIS INTO ANYONE UNTIL I CAN AT LEAST DRIVE."
I'm so glad his parents are raising him with such clear boundaries. Somewhere along the way, he is going to get a calendar, mark the day of his sixteenth birthday and write "GET LICENSE AND STICK PENIS INTO WILLING VAGINA". And his father will be so proud.
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5 comments:
if i didn't know any better, i'd swear you make this stuff up. as for the water, i believe it's to give the expectant father something to do - watch it boil and all. no idea why they rip sheets. i don't recall ever seeing that. oh and by the way, i meant to compliment you on the scarf and your overall berriness.
I hate the word, "vagina". Almost as passionately as I hate the word "penis". While both are approved by mother-in-laws worldwide....I detest them due to them being so darn clinical. Neither is appropriate in the bedroom either btw but that's a whole lot of other topics.
I maintain when and if I have a boy, I refuse to teach him words I will not, nay cannot endorse. Instead I plan on using real words that real people use.
Penis will therefore be referred to as "Jimmy" (yes caps 'cause he's a stud) and vagina (shutter) will be known as "boon".
What? Oh come on, deal with it.
Alas, I'm not nearly clever enough to make this stuff up. I have some sort of radar though...if you are slightly insane and anywhere within my vicinity, you'll find me. And I'll write about you.
Out of the mouths of babe, huh?
Years ago we were talking a parenting class and there happened to be a lesbian couple in the class. One looked like Giselle Bundchen and the other like a younger, sexier Pamela Anderson. (Editor's note: not really, but throwing out some mental imagery from Marc's benefit.) They had a 7 year old son, and we're planning baby #2 going the IVF route with a donor. Because, although scissoring can be totally hot (I'm so happy to finally be able to use that in the appropriate context!), it will has a very low success rate for procreation.
Apparently, the parents were discussing the pro's and con's of known vs. anonymous donors in front of their 7 year old. Assuming that they were being honest and transparent as to the process they would eventually choose. No doubt, so proud that they were using all of the appropriate wording for the child's benefit.
One day, when the family was out doing errands they were walking toward a pregnant woman and this is the conversation that followed:
Boy: (Pointing at the fast approaching pregnant woman). "Oh, look! That lady is going to have a baby!"
Giselle: "Yes, I think you're right. She looks like she is probably pregnant."
Boy: (Addressing the pregnant woman as they were now practically face-to-face) "SO, DO YOU KNOW THE SPERM DONOR OR NOT?"
Pamela is left to profusely apologize and try to explain the nature of the question to the complete stranger while trying not to offend her unintentionally. Meanwhile, Giselle whisks off the 7 year old trying to explain that not ALL pregnancies result from the same process. :-)
Rod, only you could take a blog entry and make it better. You had me at Giselle.
PS, I totally called it. Scissoring is indeed hot.
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