My 12-year-old daughter wrote "conndoms (haha!)" on the fridge grocery list.
So, naturally, I—always the dutiful parent--asked, What kind do you want, dear? I mean, does he have a big schlong? Do you want ribbed, or—I’m not sure I want to know if you want flavors. Maybe you should buy those yourself.
BABA! TMI, TMI! Didn't you see the “haha”?
Of course! That's why I'm not mentioning that condom only has one N in it, so you'll know I'm joking! I’m proud of you for knowing by the time you want to buy condoms, you should already have them. They’re certainly not something you’re going to want run out for in the clutch. Hell, it’s hard enough—har-har!—to get ‘em to put ‘em on in the clutch! That’s how your Baba was born! I do have concerns, though, why you want to be some boy's "American Pie." Haven't you watched enough movies?
MOM!
Maybe I’ll put an ad in the “Metropolis”: Women whose first time with a man was sweet, satisfying, and everything you imagined, please write to my daughter. I just haven’t heard—
I know, I know. Your first time was perfect ‘cause it was with a woman.
Well, actually, that’s the question: Was it—I wouldn’t say perfect but very--tender because we were already best friends, because we were both women, or because we had read all about how to do it in “Penthouse”? Maybe it’s time to drag out my Betty Dodson and Annie Sprinkle videos.
I’m not even going to ask.
I’m just saying, Why not embrace Japanese school girl crush lesbo manga, which could really help you keep up your Nihongo, you know; go to a Seven Sisters' school and have a few “bisexual” flings, like you wild and crazy straight “chicks” like to do; and then find you a sweet guy you can train because--
"I know, I know, ‘cause Ganny had to train Paw-Paw and—
They’ve been boinking like banshees for 50 years! I’m telling you, instructions help! Which isn't to say women don't have to be trained, too, but, OMG, we’ll have to leave that to, like, a 12-part series or something. OFV, OFV!
Oh Fuckin’ Virginity?
Oy Fuckin’ Vey. Fascinatingly Freudian guess, though. I just want it to be a wonderful, pleasurable, beautiful thing for you, and you saw that pie in the movie. So not pretty. “Fugly” is the word I believe you kids use for it.
As Mr. Miyagi says, Baba, “The sun is warm, the grass is green.” Accept, accept! I have straight fingers, remember?
Technically, you have one straight hand and one bisexual hand, plus you have both my nature and my nurture, so I’m thinking you still have solid 50-50 chances here. Though, it’s true, your Mama’s influence-- I believe the politically correct term would be “differently pleasured” rather than “frigid ice queen”—might skew those numbers a bit. [FYI: We're referring to the theory that third/ring fingers being longer than index first fingers indicates gayness, which, I must say, I have in abundance, and I haven't heard any lovers complain yet.] You know I don't care who you boink, honey, I just want--
I know, I know.
And you know I know you know. I'm sorry, but the fact remains penises have more diseases, and, yes, I feel sorry for you for having to think about that. I feel sorry for you that just because one finger on one of your hands is a teeny tiny bit longer than another, you are doomed to having to think about birth control for the rest of your life. Unless all those dykes out there raising a disproportionate amount of male children are actually teaching their boys to keep a glove on it, and since dykes so rarely think of sex to begin with, what are the chances of that happening?
She rolls her eyes, but can’t help but grin.
And then there’s even Garrison Keillor singing the other night on “Prairie Home Companion” about his racing sperm, trying to slip in, around, over, under, any way possible as long as IN because somewhere in the male reptilian brain they still desperately need to prove they’ve been in you, possessed you, had their way with you by planting their flag and leaving a screaming meemie in your belly, and I’m thinking, Can’t we just give ‘em stickers for their football helmets or something? Gold stars? Tell you what, “I’m DaDaddy” stickers for everybody! Great “Mamma Mia” Mystery solved! (But I’m still DaDaddyWhoGaveBirth, and you just got a sticker, dude, na-naa!)
Baba, I've got to go to school.
This is school, and if they taught this in school, I wouldn't have to be wasting my breath. If they merely taught kindergarten kids the “Mickey Mouse” song with different words/letters like, "V-A-S, E-C-T, Oooo-Mmmmm-Yyyyyy! Vasectomy! Vasectomy! That's what it's going to take to get in me, yeah, yeah, yeah!" we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we? I mean, think of all the energy that--if birth control were a non-issue—could go into teaching people how to be better lovers and have more fun, and why, why, why don’t they teach that in school? What the world needs now is embracing that love goes better with endorphins! And there is nothing wrong with wanting both and don’t you ever be ashamed of it! But then you still have the diseases problem, so I suggest you know your apple pie lover well since even lezzies trade yeast infections regularly, though at least that indicates they're still having sex, and isn’t it a pisser the people who can have the safest sex, statistically have it the least, so I'm not advocating you remain a bisexual and run the risk of years and years and years and--
Baba--
Years of lesbian bed death. I just want--
It to be fun and tender and completely consensual--
Unless you consensually agree to a kinkier scene--
BABA!
I'm just saying, by “tender,” I mean mutually sharing and unafraid to laugh and talk in bed and try out fantasies and not feel ashamed of them, even if you find they're hotter happening to other people than to your own flesh. The important thing is--
I just said it!
Touche’. Well, except to remember that sex is only one part of—
The affection continuum. I know, Baba! Gotta go!
OK, then. Do you have your phone? Your wallet? Do you need money?
I'm good.
Yes, you are, my sweet child. Hey, I have to go into town tomorrow. I could go by CondomMania and pick out an assortment, and then we could drag out all my dildos and try 'em on--
Going, going, TMI gone!
Have a good day, dear! And remember, Shirley MacLaine says you chose me to be your mother for a reason!
A hug and a kiss, and she’s out the door, her khaki uniform skirt still brushing her knees, not yet raised to halfway up her thighs; her white shirt tails hanging out from her burgundy vest and black tie loosened (like a reporter on a deadline) still the only outward markers (besides her noticeably growing breasts) her adolescence has started. I watch her walk toward the train station where she’ll go into the belly of the Tokyo beast, and something in my heart simultaneously sings and breaks all over again. Like when she went from crawling to walking (I did not mind her going from crying to talking at all), and toddling to running, and now from goofy slapstick to sarcastic deadpan.
Remember sex is only part of it! I want to shout out after her, but she has managed to train me not to make a public spectacle. Best friends is best, I want to say, unless you’re just going for the endorphin rush. OK, that’s a parental lie—there are all kinds of ways to enjoy it. But the problem remains, dear daughter, they don’t make a condom that can protect your heart.
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Comments
Your daughter sounds like an amazing girl - she's got a good head on her shoulders, and a safe place with you . . . Congratulations on achieving both, and blessings toward continuing that trend!
Thank you so much for sharing it.
Somehow it puts me in mind of my Uncle Hamish who used to face every display of one of the younger of us coming up with something new to freak the elders with the line, "Kid, I get weirder things than you as a prize in my breakfast cereal. Don't try to be stranger or more daring, just try to be safe. THEN you'll impress me."
I gave it to my son. Told him (he's hetero) a woman's body is precious, approach it with respect and love. From all accounts he does. Seems your daughter will too ... her own. Finest kind.
Sex is on my brain 25 hours a day, lol. I LOVED reading this!
Rated!
Owl, sounds like the Giant has quite the Tia in you, too! I felt for you so much crying in your lover's arms. Here's a picker-upper for you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GqynAAYdLW8 . Hugs.
And yes, dicea, weird is great and safe is better, ne?! I shall aspire to be as wise as your Uncle Hamish!
Risa, I'll print your comment and put it on the fridge (next to the grocery list)! And send her to you for occasional booster shots!
And ooOOoo, yes, Robin, my latest theory is that it's all about testosterone/hormonal balances, and it's not so much male/female straight/gay as that some of us are lucky to get it in the quantities that make sex something we actually want to do ~and often~! (But people who just want a V-8 need love, too, though it helps if they're just friends and not the lover one keeps hoping to have sex with.) It really would be helpful if we could just have name tags: Sex Fiend, Not So Much, Sometimes When The Moon Is Full. Good luck in your search, and if you find horny twins, let me know! ;-)
Truer words were never spoken. What wonderful advice to give a daughter or a son. Your love for her leaps off the page. Thanks for sharing this story and yourself with us.
And Lady Miko, you DO like to chase the dragon, don't you? Hubba, you go, grrrl!
CoyoteOldStyle (great name), yes, that's the hard part, isn't it? We just hope the world will be sweet to their hearts and that we've raised them with enough Chumbawamba resilience to get knocked down (but not up, please! I'm not ready for "Juno"!) and get up again chutzpah to carry on and believe again.
And finally, Sally, how could I not know you from your Farrah hair? I especially loved the "deer in headlights" shot! My mom had one of those, too. She was slower in becoming my friend, suddenly inspired to be revealing thanks to a whammy combo of breast cancer and menopause, but I do think it can make such a difference in all of our lives to be friends as well as parents/kids with our kids/parents, especially when, as you say, we can share the gift of nonjudgmental knowledge. Thanks, and here's to fearless, feminist Farrah, who was so much more than her hair, just like you are, ne? ;-)
The condoms are placed at eye level in the Betty Crocker Cupcake Isle. Baba. Baba. Baba.
Oh my plastic daffodil.
I saw a yellow daffodil.
It was on a grave stone.
I saw it today. honestly.
plastic daffodil condom.
write 'um on grocery list.
give kisses away for free.
DOD wear black condoms.
Pro-war folk in condoms.
O wear life size condoms.
Co-Mom wanted to be called Mama since I gave birth, and she wanted an I'm DaDaddy sticker to prove she did in fact push the syringe with the spermies in it. So I was Big Mama, which the kid quickly shortened to Baba, which the day care grannies hee-hawed about since it's a diminuitive for Obaasan/granny in Japanese, so they called me PapaMama. Indian god, Swahili for father, over the years many have chanted Baba like you. But the kid's still my Mowgli, and Co-Mom's still Bagheera, and I remain that's Baba Baloo to you!
Butchy Babbles. Baba Baloo to you!
My childhood name:`for brother:`bruz.
Bruz was short for brother. There was a comic strip:`bruz.
A few summers ago in Nova Scotia a Cape Breton Lady ask:`
Why does your sister call you bra? Bra? Not Bra, but bruz.
on and on:`Then I explained a John Hopkins Doc said this:`
This gentleman has "mild fatty breast" and needs to return.
Return? I was to return to the doc in two weeks. Ay, oh, bra?
I never went back. I asked people IF I have mild fatty c- cups?
Just yesterday somebody fondled them and said:`Whoopee!
Bras are stocked next to the needle nose plier pinchers. okay.
I'll have to get to know you a little better, though,
before I take a squeeze with my needle-nose.
Love, HairyStinkyPinkyWinky
They tend [ really pretend ] to be a wee bit prim and act like their mother is a wild-woman who is just trop outre at times and perhaps a squidge too young for my years?
I could have never joked with them like this when they were teens, because they would have stuck their fingers in their ears and exited the room doing that "*lalalalala* Can't HEAR you!" thing?
All I can say, and this probably dates me is: We can't all be June Cleaver, you know?
Thanks for coming to see me earlier and providing a little helpful info. !:]
I rated you here, btw.
I will say, though, I wanted this kind of relationship and have fostered it at every stage of her life, trying to both meet her world and expand it at the same time, and I think she's been open to it mostly because I've always couched my advice as "I'm just presenting all the options I can think of and feel free to add to them." I may have opinions, I may give her false options ("You can clean the kitchen, the toilet, or your room"), which, of course, she's caught on to answering with, "How about none of the above?" but she knows I value options and that she has a say in them, and I think that is what most helps our communication stay open. We'll see how it goes, but so far it's working! I'm sure you'll find what works for you, catchy, and your daughters, too.
Yeah, mary (I never know whether to capitalize when people haven't), even more people than me say my kid is funny. But then she was born on my granny b's birthday, and my granny was funny, too. She's the one who taught me to be self-deprecating, and I think that's helped with the kid, too. She sees me making fun of my flaws and still trying to change, paying her for every f-word in the car (since the Japanese can do many things, but driving is not one of them), even as we both laugh hysterically at the "South Park" movie; she gets it's more a lesson in practicing tempering one's public language. I have friends with kids who are just different from them in difficult ways, so I feel lucky we can connect through humor so well and understandingly.
And, Shivaun, yOWza! You just made my day/week/I might even stretch it all the way around third to home and slide in face first just to celebrate! What a lovely compliment about my writing (when more focused and less babbling, ne? That's mostly why I posted this, so people wouldn't scared off for life, and it's been a good lesson!). Again, gotta give it to the kid; she lets me babble, though she's getting to that age where she's pointing out my Freudian repetitions, which is partly why I'm here--to make some new material!
Oh, Susie Bright and her daughter have started a column together about sex--have you seen it? I would love to be a sex educator. What a great job you have! If that sexuality institute in SF let one get a degree online, I'd do it! Yes, I'm shameless (just like Billy and Garth sing). When she didn't want to talk about masturbation, I put a link to Scarleteen on her FB wall: Just FYI, honey! But as Isak/Karen says in the beginning of "Out of Africa," I'm getting ahead of my story. Thanks for the inspiration to continue!
you don't actually fly around in a mortar, sweeping away your tracks with a silver birch broom, do you? just checking. i bet she's not nearly as cool about conndoms.
To help teach our daughter spelling, I refused to buy anything she added to the grocery list that was misspelled. She never put condoms on the grocery list, but we bought those and BC pills when we sensed she was interested in engaging in sex, maybe at 14 or so and kept her stocked.
Dicea, I LOVE this: "Kid, I get weirder things than you as a prize in my breakfast cereal. Don't try to be stranger or more daring, just try to be safe. THEN you'll impress me." I would take that as a personal challenge. There is still plenty available to shock and dismay.
Our Lynne went for religion, the one thing I think she knew would utterly perplex and aggravate me. There was Satanism (which is really fascinating), during which she wore inverted pentagrams and WWJD (We Want Jesus Dead) comments written on her property or worn openly on her body.
Lynne was an excellent student, and everyone knew how bright she was (and is), so she got away with much more than most kids when it came to dress code. It was her line in the sand. They called us once about her pentagram, and we had to go down and talk with her guidance counselor and one or two teachers.
"We just thought you should know."
"We know. If you take her stuff away, you'll be favoring Christians in your school and disallowing free speech. She will not let this die, and she knows her rights. We know her rights too."
"Okey-doke, thanks for coming in."
Her anti-Christian display got her into enough discussions with other students that they worked hard to convert her. And they succeeded. For awhile. Pledged not to have sex until married (except the stuff before the pledge). Joined a church and attended regularly. Went to a Christian college here in the U.S. and a Mennonite college in Germany. All of which did bewilder me, but we waited and watched. And she seems to be done with that for now, but she's grown up now, and she's not trying to shock us or anyone else.
Or maybe she is. She's finishing her thesis on nuclear nonproliferation and wants to enter Afghanistan or Iraq as a humanitarian worker. She credits our activism (in part) for her goals. Makes my breath catch, in pride and in fear.
So wonderful to see you here, Sirenita. Can't wait to see what you hate about nonmonogamy next!
Wow, Leslie! Just your post makes "my breath catch, in pride and in fear." What a fab story, and what a great relationship you have with your daughter. I confess, when I saw that my cousin's fanatical preacher husband had friended my kid on FB, I panicked: "You're not becoming a JesusFreak, are you? Because if you are, I just want you to be true to yourself and consider starting a fan page: JesusFreaks For 'South Park' and Gay Marriage! Faith can be a great comfort--my mom thinks Jesus cured her breast cancer (with modern science's help), and who am I to argue? But hypocricy is always in poor taste, darling."
My daughter, on the lookout these days, inquires before asking her usual what's that mean question, "Hypocricy doesn't have anything to do with sex, does it?"
"Well, not in the meaning of the word, but it would seem to be in the practice of some tele-evangelists!"
You and your daughter give me hope. Thanks so much!
So glad you have found this outlet for your writing...will be looking forward to more! :)
Baba means Father in Indian Bangla especially (you say God? dont know abt Swahili) you are Texan? or Indian? am flumoxed. wht I know for sure is you hve a lovely daughter, that is intelligent and bright. but didnt get TMI. or the joke about why she said didnt you notice she hd written "ha ha" :) am really slow? I know.