Eeww

Earlier this week, my wife and I received a note from my son's school regarding an upcoming video that would be shown to his 5th grade class.  To be more specific, there are two videos.  One for the girls and one for the boys.  To be less specific, you probably know what these videos are about.  I saw the boy version in the 5th or 6th grade.  I don't really remember the details, but I do recall being let down.  I'm pretty sure my friends and I expected to witness to an erotic cross between an After School Special and Debbie Does Dallas. Instead, we were treated to a 1950s-era epic named Your Gonads and You (or something like that). 

Spot the virgins

I wasn't overly concerned about my son watching the video.  In fact, my wife had "the talk" with both our boys over a year ago.  At the time, she said they took it fairly well.  Even though they were young, they acted maturely.  There were a few questions, but nothing she couldn't handle.  I was happy it happened when it did... and extremely happy that I was nowhere to be found.  I hope that someday soon she'll have "the talk" with me (there are still several things I'd like sorted out).

Knowing that my son had been exposed to this knowledge previously, I asked him tonight when his class would be watching "the movie".  I was confident this would be a quick conversation... merely a formality.  After about three questions it became apparent that not only did he have no clue regarding what I was talking about... but he had no memory of "the talk" with his Mom from over a year ago.  Trapped in a conversation I was ill equipped to lead, I figured the best way out would be get things over with quickly.   As I tested the "what's" and "how's" of his knowledge base, I realized I'd have to go places I was hoping to avoid.  When all was said and done, he looked me in the eye and simply said... "ew".  As far as I can tell, that means he got it. 

This brings me to my own father.  I don't recall that we ever had such a discussion.  In all fairness, we didn't need to.  I have an older brother.  His job from day one has been to ruin things for me.  Santa Claus.  Babies.  After his ten year old world was crushed, I usually had my eight year old world destroyed ten minutes later. 

"and that's why they call it a puppy mill..."

As far as I can recall, here's the closest conversation that my father and I had regarding the birds and the bees.  In fact, this is a story he has probably told a hundred times over the years.  He usually tells it when there is somebody around that I'd like to impress.  It goes like this (told in my Dad's voice)...

"When your mother and I first got married, we decided that we wanted A LOT of children.  We had hoped to have eleven sons.  That way we could have our own football team.  Eleven strong boys.  Well... after you're brother was born, we realized that having a child is more difficult than we thought.  So, we revised our plans.  We scaled back.  From then on, we dreamed of having five boys.  Five's a great number.  With five we could have our own basketball team.  Then... after YOU were born, we realized we should have stopped at one".

Not quite "the talk", but it sure makes me laugh.