NOT ASKING YOUR SISTER is dumb. I should know. I learned that lesson when our daughter was 5, and told me that she wanted to be a boy. Actually, it was more specific than that. She told me she wanted a penis.
We were driving home from pre-school when she made this announcement. An eerie silence descended in the car. Having recently polished up my death-and-dying discussion when our dog went to her great reward, you’d think I’d be better than this. I mean, honestly: What’s a mere penis when compared to the great beyond? I’d covered Heaven really well, and yet here I was, stunned into silence as my daughter listed off the names of the seemingly fortunate boys in her class, ticking them off on her little fingers.
“Ben has a penis,” she said. “And Alex has one. And Brian.”
As we pulled into our driveway I bought a little time by suggesting we wait until we were in the house. Inside, coats off, it was here that I made my tactical error. This was when I should have placed that lifeline call.
Instead, I over-corrected just the eensiest little tiny bit.
“Darling, I have a book that will help us with this discussion.”
I admit it: I went looking for my battered copy of “Our Bodies, Ourselves,” that cosmic map of the female body, and not only that—oh, no—I flamboyantly launched into an ambitious preamble to how the sexes differ, actually mentioning Sigmund Freud (remember: the child is 5. Five.), teetered around the topic of sex, and dropped in more than a smattering of anatomically correct names of body parts, all the while amusing myself with a judicious omission of any easy shots at the pros and cons of the penis itself.
Oh, I was on a regular roll.
Until I noticed that my child had her hand on her hip and was shifting her weight from side to side, looking a little bored.
“Where was I?” I asked.
“The penis.”
Defaulting to some maternal sincerity, I crouched down in that earnest way mothers without a clue often do, asking, “Why do you want one, dear?”
“Because the toilet seat is so cold,” she said.
Ah, yes. Well, there is that, isn’t there?
Had I taken that minute I’d been given when we first arrived home and called my sister, Margaret, or my friend Elizabeth, I’d have perhaps saved some face, by being reminded by one of them to simply address the issue my child was raising, instead of learning the hard way that sometimes what a child needs from a parent isn’t a Big Answer, after all, as much as a little understanding.
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LOL. Marion, I have a 3 1/2 YO girl and 16 month old boy. Haley is always observing Trevor, taking in all the differences. Recently we shared this exchange:
Haley: “Mommy, Trevor yanks on himself a lot, doesn’t he?”
Me: Yes, he sure does.
Haley: And that’s good?
Me: Sure.
Haley: I don’t have anything to yank on, do I?
Me: (thinking about it for a minute) Well, you can yank on your earlobe a little if you want.
Haley: I really like string cheese.
And there you have it.
Dear Amy: Perfect. Thank you.
… or my friend’s daughter who raced her brother to the door and told the guest that this was Henry who had a penis and “I am Sheila – I have a GIANT!”
My daughter thinks it is “so unfair” that we have to sit to pee and boys can stand. Oh, ummm, oh. Wait until she finds out what else is unfair. ….
Well, it is cold! Absorbed keen powers of observation from her mama, that’s for sure. I love this story, Marion. Keep ‘em coming.
Hello, gardenbre: Welcome to TSP. Oh, that’s wonderful. Just priceless. All you need is some kids and a notebook to write down what they say, and the memoir is there, isn’t it? Thanks so much. Please come back again soon.
Hi, Corina. Oh, the “unfair” list. Well, well, now there’s a great topic for the sisterhood. Ha! Thanks for dropping by. Please stay tuned; there’s lots more to come.
Hi there, Marilyn: Yes, the cold blew in here last night, as well. So glad you love the story. My feeling is that anyone who has survived childhood has enough material for endless tales, though being a parent is really the richest territory of all, isn’t it? Thanks again. And please come back soon. We love hearing from you.
What a great statement about not analyzing everything your child says or does. I don’t even have children, but that will go in my mental file for when we do adopt!
My grad school student daughter and I routinely play out the Away version of the Big Questions home game.
She calls with a crisis and I routinely fail to remember that what she wants from me is emotional support, not problem solving.
If I am not very careful I will start to list alternative approaches to addressing her situation triggering a sometimes impatient reminder from her that what she needs from me in those situations is something more along the lines of “that stinks, darling…I absolutely hate it when everybody else is stupid and fails to recognize your genius. You are right – they should all fall into a big hole and spare the world their ignorance forever”.
When my adult kids want my advice they will ask for it – specifically. When they complain about “life” they want their Mommy to tell them they are wonderful – and mean it. Sheesh – how hard do you think that would be to remember?
Hi, Laurie: And welcome to TSP. How wonderful of you to come by and read us. We’re grateful to hear that you’ll save the knowledge and that you’ll use it later when you adopt. Good luck with the making-the-family process. And keep coming back to TSP, please. We’ll be glad to see you again.
Oh, TexasDeb: You are sage, and pithy, and right on. How hard, indeed? What a lovely reminder of our role. Now if I can just remember it.
One of my dear friends always tells this hilarious story about her little sister’s preschool days:
A classmate in her preschool had recently become a big sister, and so as a special treat the parents brought in the new baby as a sort of “show and tell” and the kids asked questions and cooed over the baby.
When the preschool sent home its usual newsletter to all the parents a few weeks later, they had included quotes from all the children in the class about their experience meeting the new baby.
Most of them wrote things like, “She was so small” or “We saw her sleeping” or “her skin was really soft” Except for my friend’s little sister who so charmingly said: “I knew the baby was a girl because she had a vagina and not a penis.”
They’re still laughing about it 20 years later.
We haven’t really ever progressed to using anatomically correct terms at our house, and the boys still refer to their manhood as a “pee-pee” or “winkie”….and yes, these are terms they have come up with on their own.
I suppose being raised in houseful of women–I myself have never quite come to terms with actually saying the word “penis” out loud…..my southern mother surely never did:)
But, I digress.
After our daughter was born and we brought her home from the hospital, I noticed one of my youngest sons watching intently while I was changing her with a MOST puzzled expression on his face.
“Mama?” he began with trepidation, “she SURE does have a small winkie…”
I at that point explained that little girls don’t have “winkies” at all and that was just one of the many things that made boys and girls different.
“Oooh,” said the tiny man.
“I am so VERY sorry sister.”
My sighs could have been heard by orbiting space craft.
And we are laughing now, sister Anastasia. That is a wonderful tale, indeed. Thanks for sharing it.
Dear Sophia: And there we have it, don’t we? Such is the very essence of our misunderstanding. HA! I love this story. And look at how everything is right there, despite the brevity of the piece. This is a lovely little memoir, a miniature as it is known in writing. Succinct, lacking nothing. Just a joy to read. Thanks so much for sharing it with us. Hope to read more from you soon.
Wonderful stories ! I’m grinning – and just a few minutes ago I was whiney (I think I have a cold..boo hoo). I have a couple books’ worth of (so embarrassing to realize!) stories about telling my kids more than they asked for – sigh – but it feels so good to hear again that I’m not the only one.
My “kids” (all adults now) still joke about how they were the only kids in school who RAN to a dictionary rather than ask their mom what a word meant (I mean, hey – why not bring in some philosophy or literature while you’re explaining a word – and maybe explain ALL the possible ways it can be used – because words are fun) because I would go on and on and on… ah, some things never change..grin
Hey there Square-Peg Karen. Lovely to read you again. This is delightful: Rather than ask their mom, they ran to the dictionary. This is some of the best characterization of a person (you, the writer), as well as the people she influences (the kids), I’ve read in quite a while, and I’ll retell this vignette in my memoir class to illustrate how to tell the reader about yourself. Too often we get height, weigh, eye color. This is great characterization of all of you, and you did it splendidly. I love that. Thanks for sharing it, and for stopping in to read us. Hope to read you again soon.