The grandkids came over which led to a weekend I’d rather forget and ignore. I don’t know what it is about these grandkids – any kids! – that they feel I am someone I can talk to. Maybe it’s because they think they can trust me. Maybe because they can. I’m quite able to keep my secrets – just as kids sometimes have theirs.
Thus far in the past six months or so (I might – just might – get to see them every other weekend or so, though sometimes a month will go by) – these kids have hit me with all the quintessential questions – about god, and afterlife, and more. They have learned – as most folks eventually learn – I’ve very honest about it, giving you the whole nine yards and some more, providing you want to know it, and that I think it’s appropriate for you to think and/or know.
However, this weekend it was the sexual questions that came up . . .
Well, for one thing, their mother has been telling them some lies. “She’s never had sex, she said!” said the oldest (and he’s 12 – more on this one later on; some serious things).
His younger brother who’s a lot smarter (and a sneak thief and a liar and he’s 8 years old) said: “That can’t be! You gotta have sex to have children!”
“No!” protested the older one. (He has a strangely odd and open sense of propriety.) “She didn’t!”
“Well,” I said, trying to keep from laughing. “She had to have sex at least twice.”
They both looked at me stunned. I laughed and explained:
“Ain’t she got a couple young’uns?”
They looked at each other. There are three more besides them (half-sisters and/or half-brothers). They looked back at me.
“She’s had to ‘do it’ at least five times!” the oldest one exclaimed, sounding amazed, and then he did a strange thing.
He began ‘humping’ the air.
“I’ll bet daddy was do this to her,” he said, gathering his forearms up . . . “Pumping her!” And then he proceeds to rock his hips, grunt and groan, and say “Oh yeah baby! Do that thing!”
Okay – I’m a child abuse/molestation survivor . . . I don’t NEED this kinda thing! But . . . the thing is, these boys trust me . . . trust me enough with this kind of stuff . . . because I let him go on for a little bit before telling him to sit down.
“It’s not like that,” I exclaim, laughing. “And if the other adults see you doing that thing – you’re gonna get in big trouble!”
Because the truth is: he would, that – or like last time, they wouldn’t do a thing . . .
About a month ago they were over visiting, and dinner was being served. (That’s lunch in the South – something that after over 25 years I still haven’t gotten used to.) We’re all standing around in the kitchen/dining room when the 12 year old grandson darts to the window, calls and laughs and says “Look what she’s doing!” – and with that he begins humping on the glass. . . laughs, then stops, “She’s humping on the rail!” . . . and begins fake humping on the glass again.
Now I’ve been around kids enough I don’t have to look to know what she’s doing. She’s s 3 year old. She’s probably got the rail in her hands and is ‘swaying’ and/or ‘dancing’ on the deck to her own little internal rhythm – like many children do, including doing it by rocking (a lot for my own little one.) An innocent dance. But this kid is seeing something sexual in her motions – and innocent kid (or stupid one . . . no, it’s just that he is bit AHD/ADD and doesn’t think about what he’s doing . . . gives into impulses) . . .
And I get to watching the adults as well as most of the children. The father is frowning, but he’s saying nothing; my wife? Stern disapproval, ignoring, going back to the stove . . . nobody says a thing . . .
Ihave to watch, you see – this comes from being a child abuse survivor! – because I have ‘no reference’ for this sort of thing. I have to judge from what I know of society and human behavior – not my own feelings or any sort of personal knowledge of ‘when to step in’ – how much, how ‘hard’ – that sort of thing. I just sort of muddle along doing my best, trying to conform to what the parents want to do . . . unless I know they are doing the wrong thing – but that’s a thin line and hard road to judge, especially when it comes to these things . . .
“I wanna ‘pump’ a billion girls!” he’s saying out on the deck (this was later, just me, him and his brother, and they had all kinda let their guard down). I am just watching and listening. All of this had started much earlier . . . literally on a garden path . . . he is pumping the air again with his hips; his 9 year old brother watches on . . . “I’m gonna put it in their butt! I don’t want none of them getting pregnant . . . I can hardly wait to get started!” He goes back to grunting and pumping the air. His brother and I tell him to sit back down again.
This had all started with a simple walk on a path . . .
I had taken the kids to a local park – a series of woodland trails. One leads up around a quarry pond (no swimming, 2 ducks, no crowd) . . . the other down through a swamp on a raised boardwalk. I had taken the 9 year old here before. He has an interest in rocks that began some years ago, and this time I had brought my welding hammer with its point on one end and a wedge on another, for we had spotted a thick glaze of crystals fused on a rock we’d found before – and me, I knew with that ‘homing bird’ sense of direction exactly where it is (even from where I sit here I could point to it – and if you could follow a bird’s line of flight, you would come within a dozen or so yards of it – though it lays over two miles away) . . .
I’m strange like that; have a lot of other odd talents, too . . .
working with children seems to be one of them (sighing again). I used to be a camp counselor at one time – just did one stint during summer vacation while I was a teen . . . already had read enough (and passed enough ‘tests’) to have a Bachlor’s in psychology . . . which includes child development/education . . . and I had a group of 8 to 12 eight year olds, 24/6.5, some of those kids were 24/7 all summer long . . . they were my ‘difficult’ charges, for their parents had all dropped them off for all summer for good reasons . . . some of which I had corrected by the time they had come back for them . . .
But these boys . . . here we are walking through some woods, our feet thumping on the boardwalk, when the oldest one (12) asks: “How do you hump a girl?”
I don’t wanna tell him; I don’t want to interfere with some parent’s wishes or desire to train (or leave untrained) a kid in this thing; however . . . I gotta find out what he knows first. But before I can ask, he stops and asks:
“Do you hump them in the butt? I saw where you hump them in the butt.” And then he starts his air-humping and then stops, we walk on a bit . . . his brother is giggling behind me . . . then he says:
“There’s this girl? And whenever I see her butt . . .” He raises his hand, index finger drooping, stops again. The finger starts to go up. He looks at me and laughs. “My weiner gets bigger and long! And the longer I look the longer it gets!” And his finger is sticking straight up. His brother is laughing and giggling now. I’m trying to keep that tolerant smile pasted on my face. I gotta listen; no matter what I do – I gotta pay attention to what he says and does. He is giving me clues – clues as to his own sense of behavior, his sexual ‘training’, what he’s learned at home – and worse yet, what he’s learned off TV and the media – and what his mom. His mom and dad are divorced; she’s since remarried; their dad remarried – had another kid – and divorced again. He’s the best dad I know of, though. Including my own. And probably better than me. But (sighing again) . . . I’m the one they trust; I’m the one they apparently listen to sometimes . . . they have come to respect me in some strange fashion, and trust me more than any other adult (thus far I guess – just reckoning here based upon what they’ve said) they have in their life – or broken family. Or ‘families’, since they’ve had several of them, I reckon . . .
Blended families can lead to some rather unique and unusual problems. I know I’ve had my share of mine . . . and I can smell it in the air: if I’m not careful – if HE’S not careful (this grandson of mine) . . . if BOTH of them aren’t careful . . .
Sparks in the wind, that’s what I’m saying: I’m smelling smoke, and seeing sparks in the wind with this one. Time to put those embers out . . .
Or if the fire’s gonna be burning . . . make sure it burns the right way.
. . and get this:
The kids blamed the media (Family Guy and American Dad mostly, plus the older one may have ‘accidently’ seen some porn show) . . . for putting sex in their mind.
Go figure. When the kid starts talking about cutting a hole in his teddy bear and sticking his dick in the thing . . . then revising his mind, deciding it might be kinda rough (but we all realized, me and his brother – he’s just joking . . . half way . . .)
And quite seriously he asks me if people have sex with dogs . . . because that’s something he’s apparently seen on Family Guy . . .
I tell him no, they would put him in jail and the dog would be confused . . . .
I’m also teaching them not to bash on gays: that it’s more about love than ‘sex’ – though trying to explain how they both go together . . . (sighing . . . written more than I like or should) . . .
But the boy . . .
Like I said: more on this later. Like a gnawing rat my mind gnaws on this issue . . . knowing that with subjects like this, children like that – their trust in me; the delicacy of the ‘parenting’ issues . . . their lack of trust in their momma . . . their reluctance to talk to their dad (not to mention . . . he’s more apt to get “mad” and make them repress their speech, emotions, behavior patterns – those things which ‘speak’ to me of what is going on in their lives, their hearts, their heads – I ‘need’ those reactions to know where to go, when, how – and sometimes, as in this case of ‘gentle correction’ of the older boy’s developing sexual mind – the idea that you don’t take women, screw them in the butt and then dump them – that he’s got in his mind.
Oddly enough – his younger brother knew enough to give the right answer to that thing when the older brother explained his approach to a girl (“Hey babe . . . you wanna go screw? and you take them to your bedroom and . . .” here we go into the grunting and air-humping again . . .)
His younger brother laughed – a little shocked himself! it seemed – and said:
“No, no! You’re wrong! First you take them out and feed them, and then you have to make them do some shopping . . . ”
Okay – I had to bust out laughing at the “you have to make them do some shopping” comment. That, no doubt, had come from his own mother . . .
(more on this later . . . it’s both troubling, sad but good . . . about some kids who are growing up . . . but I will say: ‘she’ got to third base with him; he only made first . . . but he was trying . . . and his brother knows everything he does . . . they have – or HAD – many misconceptions about things . . .
But my lesson started with this one firm rule: You don’t have sex unless you are in love with someone – and they are in love with you . . . and you NEVER force someone, ‘no’ means no . . . and “I don’t know” has “no” in it . . .
and a lot more
and a lot more to go. As long as I don’t get shot in the foot – by some mom mad because I told her son she had to have sex sometime – or else she isn’t his mother . . . the same boy who’s mom abandoned him when he was 3 . . . left for a year and came back. And of course the courts always award to the mother . . . no matter who’s she been with or what she’s done – even if she’s abandoned her own children before . . .
strange kinda land we live in . . . huh.
PS: did you catch the meaning behind the meaning of the title? Because it’s the truth: kids love sex education – and you should give them some – the TRUTH -when their ready . . . and start exhibiting the “signs” . . . such as air-humping and saying he wants to “pump some girls RIGHT NOW” . . . wry smile . . . sure sign of some things down the line . . . but his mindset is kinda troubling. . . . we shall see where life leads, hey? For sure . . . for certain . . . til the day I die.