Think You’re Smart? Think Again.
No matter how prepared (or smart) you think you are to talk to your children about sex, sexuality, love, puberty, etc., they’ll always throw you a curve ball at one time or another.
When my daughter was about eight years old, we were watching the movie “Carrie.” During the shower scene when Carrie gets her first menstrual period and the other girls are throwing tampons and pads at her, my daughter wanted to know what was “wrong” with Carrie.
I was prepared to discuss this topic and launched into the – How, What, Where, possibly When and Why girls have their “period.” The pearls of wisdom spilled from my mouth for about fifteen minutes. All the while my daughter sat silently looking at me with what I thought was total enthrallment at my words. I was thorough and detailed. When I finished, I asked her if she had any questions. She did. Her question was, “What’s for dinner?”
Apparently, I’d totally over estimated the quantity of information imparted. Timing and evaluation of the moment is essential for passing along your learning to your child.
My son is a man of few words. Usually when he does talk, it’s to say something profoundly funny, wise or stupid. I spoke with him about sex, just as I spoke to my daughter. His father also talked to him about things that I preferred come from a man. “Morning Wood” was one of the topics I left to my husband.
At around the age of fifteen, my son began wearing boxer shorts. I gave him the lecture about scrotal support, to no avail. The boy likes boxers. He is modest by nature but had no qualms about walking around the house in his boxers. Tighty whiteys didn’t give him the same sense of “freedom.”
After about a week of him coming into the kitchen at attention every morning, casually scratching some itchy parts (once boys find their penis at about the age of 31 minutes old, it becomes their BFF), I mentioned the possibility of me, his mother, witnessing the escape of his pride and joy during this morning ritual. I further stated that perhaps he might want to make sure that his penis was in a more relaxed state and behind some shorts prior to his appearance in the kitchen. The method behind my madness was that I’d embarrass him into not appearing before me in all his “glory.”
My son yawned, continued to scratch and looked me dead in the eye as he told me, “Some call it “The Stairway to Heaven!” Smiling, he removed himself and his skyward pointing junk from the room. I was left open-mouthed and blank brained.
Be prepared for the occasional non sequitur and brain exploding possibilities when talking to your teen-aged child. Keep sharp objects out of your hands, as well.
–Submitted by Nitebyrd from A Dust Bunny In The Wind