Masterful
The goal here, dear readers, is a deft articulation.
It’s a story I’ve been thinking about writing since it came to pass about one year ago. And the only way I’m going to pull this one off is by conveying the following without ever actually saying it. If you get it, great. If you don’t, we’re going to just leave it there. You’ll understand why in a minute.
Oh, and one more thing: if you feel compelled to comment, remember: deft articulation without ever actually saying it, folks.
Note the photograph, but back-burner it for a second.
It occurred to me one day last winter that the time was coming when making certain facts of nature very clear was going to be very important. So, realizing the pup was on the threshold of particular juvenile maturations, I made my intentions clear:
“Hey. Just so you know: sometime in the next several months? We’re going to have The Talk. Just a heads-up, dude.”
And then I dropped it. When the right time presented itself, it was going to be unnerving enough for one party involved. The heads-up was just to be kind.
Fast forward to Springtime, when a young man’s fancy turns to nothing we’re going to discuss here, so please focus and try and keep up, hm?
So we’re driving down the highway, clocking your typical 65 mph, right? It dawns on me my audience is Very Captive, right?
I glance at my clock and realize I’ve just enough time.
Perfect.
I glance menacingly at the young buck. He senses the weight of parental consideration, turns to glance back, notes the brooding aspect, sneers, and offers his signature, “…what?” chock-full of adolescent indignation, and not a little worry that he could very well be busted for any number of things (he wasn’t).
So I turn toward my window and lock the door. Just for effect. We’re going 65 mph down the highway, there’s no where for the kid to go, but I couldn’t resist. I mean it’s not like he could jump out, right?
Notice I didn’t say “it’s not like he didn’t want to jump out, right?”
I turn back to face our main character and announce: “It’s time…for The Talk.”
And dad’s (because, trust me, this one is positioned quite securely in the Dad’s Only Column), there is nothing more fun than watching blood drain from a face. It was like all the sound and movement in the world was ripped right out of space and time leaving the only sound that of his beating heart and pavement flying past his window.
Out of which he looked longingly. As if he longed to throw himself out onto it.
At 65 mph.
“NO! SERIOUSLY! DAD! NO! PLEASE! I AM NOT GOI—”
“Dude, throttle back. Here’s the deal: we either get this started and wrapped up before we get home…or when we get home (here is where I start laughing)…I bring your mom into it.”
I honestly didn’t think there was any blood left in his face to drain.
Boy, was I wrong.
“Okay! FINE!”
“Good man.”
“But just so you know: I already know where babies come from!”
(What a set up. I so knew that was coming.)
Hooded eyes, that same menacing grin, one hand over the steering wheel as though we’ve gone over this a million times (we haven’t), and, “Oh. That’s…not…what…we’re…covering…today…pal.”
His eyes popped out of his head, he choked on two or three question marks, and then passed out.
I was in heaven.
“…what?”
“I’m asking you if you m—”
“OH! MY! GAW—DAAAAAAAAAAD!! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?? I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU MEA—”
(I couldn’t have scripted this better if I tried.)
*yawn* “Yeah whateveryouhavetotellyourself. And save it, okay lol? The act? I invented that one, tiger lol.”
By now he’s gripping the front of the passenger side bar, praying for all the world the air bag would engage and slap his name out of the phone book and knock him into last week.
Enough suffering.
“It’s like this, kid…”
One hand over steering column like we’ve gone over this a million times (we haven’t), and:
“Number 1: If you do it, you’re normal.”
beads of sweat
“Number 2: If you don’t do it, you’re normal.”
I hope the battery on the defibrillator is all charged up
“Number 3: “All of us do it.”
feigned shock, but it actually could be news to him so I let that one go
“Number 4: None of us talk about it.”
I’m laughing and he’s trying not to
“Number 5: Feels AWESOME!”
(I’m gonna lie?)
“Number 6: You’re about to enter some pretty tumultuous years here, kid. Some lights are gonna come on, some are gonna go off. Can be pretty tough. This is me saying that if you ever need to talk about this or anything like it, I’m here for you.”
pursed lips, gratitude
“Number 7: LOL You will NEVER talk to me about this geeEEeez you think I’m new here?!”
laughing his little backside off; just what I wanted
“Number 8: You never get to talk to the youngers about this. Ever. That’s my job, and I don’t share it. I’m not kidding.”
he got the point
“Number 9: You get your privacy.”
not my first rodeo
“Number 10: Don’t be a freak about it.”
laughing, shaking his head, and staring out the window. Something about, “…why can’t I have a normal dad like the other guys? Why?”
“And one last thing, buddy?”
*sigh “What?”
“The Talk…is officially over lol.”
And then I dropped it.
We spied the drive-thru and there was no time to lose, right? More, the point of The Talk was not what it might seem.
At all.
I brook no delusions that I’m telling him anything he didn’t already know, didn’t want to know lol, or hadn’t already found out about among the camaraderie of his compatriots. All I wanted to establish was: “We Can Talk About The Tough Stuff. We got bigger fish to fry than the silliness surrounding this issue. And (I didn’t say this last part to him, but I’ve said it to all the dads who’ve heard this story first-hand) if you think this is the biggest problem Life is sending your way…? Lol—yeah no.”
That was my goal. My only goal.
Okay, that and seeing if I could actually write about this without writing about it.
Precious and funny. Alpha doesn’t know yet how lucky he is. But he will. I hope you’ll be around to hear him say that out loud.
Ah, well done my friend. Your super powers are as father. Kids already think they are odd, their (our) minds, left unfettered go in all kinds of unconstructive directions, no sense heaping it on. And trust me, your future daughters in law may not know why, but will appreciate their men. I will tell you of the 5 school bus story someday. Still cracks me up! LOL!!!