Because my high school graduating class is celebrating our fiftieth reunion next month, many of my classmates have posted photos from that time period and before. A common thread: Wouldn’t it be nice to go back to those simpler days? In many ways, yes, i suppose it would, which got me to thinking about my teenage years, and cars and girls, and… Which also got me to thinking about when my tow boys were in high school, thinking about similar joys and temptations. Which also reminded me of the time I had to have a father/son chat with both of them. Which is the content of this week’s post. Enjoy! And thanks for stopping by.
Hormones, Gravity and Rain
According to statistical analysis, human males are supposed to reach their sexual peak during their late teens. Assuming that notion to be true, when my two sons became teenagers, my wife reminded me that the task of explaining the “Birds and Bees” to each of them was mine. According to her female logic, I was “better equipped.” Although her reasoning seemed more like an excuse, I wouldn’t shirk my fatherly duty.
When our sons entered high school and began indicating interests in the opposite sex, I figured the hormones had kicked in and it was time for me to compose my speech. Because I knew lecturing like a drill sergeant wouldn’t work, I decided to approach the impending discussion from anatomical and scientific viewpoints to capture their full attention, yet tone it down with a touch of humor.
Knowing enough about biology and anatomy to keep the facts straight, I diligently worked on my dissertation, carefully interjecting my personal viewpoint––influenced by Robin Williams. When it was completed, I felt sure my brief talk would be more than adequate, without being offensive. My oldest son was the first to receive the discourse, which went something like this:
“I see you’ve taken a fresh interest in girls, finding they’re no longer the bore they used to be in grade school. As your father, I’m obligated to explain a few things to you about the ‘Birds and Bees’.”
My son’s head thrust backward at the shoulders as his eyes squinted, his nose crinkled, and his lips puckered––the teenage look of disgust and amazement.
I continued anyway. “As hard as you may find this to believe, I was once your age and had many of the same questions you probably have about the newfound urges you’re feeling whenever you get close to a girl.”
Imagine that teenage glare again.
But I couldn’t admit defeat. “First off, you need to realize something about your anatomy. You need to understand that the lump in your jeans associated with having relationships with a girl is because your penis has become engorged with blood.”
Although I didn’t think it possible, my son’s glare intensified.
I remained undaunted. “Now, you have to wonder, where that extra blood comes from. If you take to account the forces of gravity, that blood must be coming from a higher elevation––namely your brain. That means, every time you get a ‘woody,’ your brain is starved for blood. You lose all sense of reality because you’re thinking with your ‘prick.’ Knowing that, you can understand how easy it could be to get yourself into some serious trouble.”
My son’s face donned a look of contemplation rather than disgust. Had my words finally sunk in? Or, was he preparing to warn his brother or relate to his buddies what a weirdo he had for a dad?
Regardless, I muddled on. “Now, I’m not advising that you have sex with a girl any more than I’d advise you to walk into a rainstorm without protection. But, should you ever find yourself in either situation, please, don’t forget to wear a raincoat.”
A weak smile straightened my son’s lips before he asked whether I was through.
When it was my youngest son’s turn, my performance was cut short by his hasty response. “I already know, Dad.” Apparently my advice had been shared.
Although my explanation was probably lengthier than either of my sons cared to endure––especially my younger boy––I must have made my point. Until after they were married, neither of them ever forgot their raincoats.