sex drugs & rock n' roll

When parents use social media as an outlet to share stories about their children, they are clearly doing so because they are a) proud of their children and b) proud of themselves as parents. Typically the latter is masked in doubt, to signal to the reader that while they want you (everyone!) to know about their decisions, they are also a bit unsure about those decisions. After all, who wants to read about a know-it-all. Especially when it comes to parenting. This post, and this blog in general I suppose, are certainly guilty of that. I'm sorry you don't get to read raw parenting posts that involve Lori calling me a 'weirdo' and me giving Lori the bird. Those stories stay at home, and hopefully deep in the recesses of our kids' minds.

It started with Virginia Ave. and progressed when I put houses on Park Place. Zoe had self-selected into the role of banker so she could be in charge of the money. She sat next to me and likely observed me biting my finger nails every time Brennan rounded the "Go to Jail" corner, one roll away from landing on Park Place or Boardwalk (both of which I owned). I wanted to end the game, and I wanted to end it as the winner.

When Brennan bought two houses for Virginia Ave. he handed the money to Zoe and requested his little green return. Zoe** responded, "Two houses for Vagina Avenue, coming right up!" This of course got just the response she was looking for (uncontrollable laughter) and prompted an unexpected and uneasy sideways glance from Brenno. He was laughing, but he was also a bit nervous. Vagina Avenue was clearly not simply a spot on the board, but something that had recently taken on new meaning, and he implicitly told me that with his glance (then proceeded to laugh out loud).

Then I bought two houses for Park Place (the move that would eventually push Brenno into bankruptcy). "Two houses for Penis Place, here you go!" More laughter and another sideways glance from our son. Now vagina I can understand. It sounds funny. He doesn't have one. Learning about it from friends can be uncomfortable. But penis? He's been hanging out with a penis since day one (aware of it since day three) and typically sees me walking around the house at least twice a week Free Willy. But still the explicit discomfort. Vagina Avenue and Penis Place, once distant properties on opposite ends of the board, had become uncomfortably close. Crossing class lines and railroads. Almost neighbors. Certainly sharing some association. I have no idea if he was thinking about it in this way at all, but I was, and it led to the logical (probably unnecessary) conclusion that a sex talk was in order!

I planned my approach days in advance, knowing the exact conditions and location of my assault. My arsenal included one simple but lethal weapon: Mommy Laid an Egg. I typically read a bit of expert opinion before diving into some facet of fatherhood. With sex education however, I have stayed deliberately distant. Mostly. There are a few sources/people I trust, but for the most part I think everyone/everything else is totally insane. Most people cannot talk about the topic calmly, and it leads to education that is either tense and taboo-ridden, or relativistic and suggestively exploratory. So, I chose the book that has led to the most bans and critiques from the groups I trust the least, and use that as my go to. Mommy Laid an Egg is hilarious, informative, and in my opinion, completely sweet. It starts with a couple of hippies naively teaching the birds and bees to their kids and ends with crayon stick drawings (by the kids) of their parents having sex on a a skateboard. I placed this book in Brennan's backpack prior to heading out to his first real concert (The Avett Brothers).

The concert was great. Brennan got a little tired prior to the end but not before me getting teary-eyed during Murder in the City and Brennan getting his first good whiff of pot ("What's that smell? Is that a skunk? Did you toot?" "I'll explain in the car."). On our way out to the car Brennan asked what he could do on the way home. I told him that I packed a book for him to read. After explaining the smell to him (soccer is great because it usually provides some good material in these situations: "Is that why Maradona got kicked out of soccer?" "I'm sure Maradona smoked marijuana, but he got in trouble for cocaine and hamburgers.") he got into the book. I watched him in the rearview mirror. He was thoughtful. Then amused. Then confused. He read a couple of pages several times. He laughed, then put it away. Then gave me the same sideways Monopoly glance. Then he asked "What?"

What followed was a great conversation about eggs, seeds, tubes, holes, love, marriage, choices, and consequences. We both laughed. He told me about some jokes he had heard at school. He asked me if this is the reason that lesbians have to adopt kids to become mothers ("Because there's no seeds, just eggs, right? "Exactly."). He asked me if sex was bad, to which I responded of course not. That it is special, and fun, and powerful. He made the connection that if it weren't those things, people probably wouldn't do it, and then there probably wouldn't be people on the earth. And the earth needs people. Exactly. We talked about boundaries and unintended consequences.

We talked about a number of other things I won't share, with Brennan gracefully concluding the conversation, bringing us full circle, by asking about the UEFA Champions League. "Do you think Real Madrid will win this year?"

"Yes, buddy. I do. And here's why..."

** later in the evening Zoe would reprise her role as the family's raunchy stand up comic by butting in as Ava sang the ABCs with, "l-m-n-o VAGINA!"

3 > 32

There is surely a bit of narcissism behind the human desire to procreate. "Oooh, what fun! A little version of me. The world will be thrilled!" Or, "Ooooh, this could be scary. For the world's sake I hope that some of my genes get suppressed." In the former, we are great and should be replicated. In the latter, we recognize that perhaps we aren't so great, but we're excited that maybe we can create someone to share in our seemingly unique quirks. Everyone loves company!

When Lori was pregnant with Ava and we received news that her due date would fall somewhere in October, I'd like to say that her scheduled arrival coinciding with my own birthday had no effect on the aforementioned egoism, but alas, it didn't. I envisioned the two of us together, exuding libra charm as we diplomatically and idealistically floated through our self-indulgent lives. However, when Ava was born the day before my birthday (Oct. 8th to my 9th), it turned out to be a little too close for comfort. For the past three years now I have endured birthday cakes decorated with dogs and princesses. I have to yell, by myself, "AND DADDY!!" right after everyone else sings 'happy birthday, dear Ava.' In short, my shortsighted narcissism has backfired in a very serious way, rendering me obsolete and forgotten. The Fall used to be mine. No more.

In reality, sharing October with Ava is a delight. Much like Ava herself. For the week leading up to the 8th and 9th we'd play a little happy birthday game that could have only two players: Ava and me. I'd say, "Happy Birthday, Ava." And she would respond "Happy Birthday, Daddy." Ava, now that she is three, has found an entertaining new sense of self. She rejects any adjective BUT Ava used to describe her. "You are tired, aren't you?" "No, I Ava." "You are hungry, right?" "No, I Ava." She also keeps her prized possessions in a decorative bird cage that Lori elegantly placed next to her crib. Last night in the bird cage I found a bag of trail mix, a toy walkie talkie, a pocket watch, and a headband. Like something you'd see in Grey Gardens.

Gentzy tends to be my favorite adjective as well. I just looked in the drawer of my beside stand: Toy soldiers. Deodorant. Envelopes. A certificate recognizing my credentials as a minister in the Universal Life Church .

Ava, I love your company.