Men, if there is one thing that I have learned about mothers and women is that sometimes the terms can be mutually exclusive. Not every mother is a woman and not every woman is a mother. The only exception to his rule is when I am driving in which case any other driver is capable of being called a mother and then some by me.
Not so long ago I was out with the younger, more handsome and smarter version of myself when he told me that he was in need of a bathroom. And so off we went in search of the friendly and hopefully clean confines of a public restroom.
Within no time the two of us found the head and headed on in. The lad went in to take care of his business and so I took out my BlackBerry to send out emails, play with Twitter and do whatever it is I do when I pass the time.
A few moments into this my son calls out to me with a question. “Dad, do you know Julie?” I respond that I don’t know who he is referring to. He responds with, “her name is on the wall.” Immediately I prepare myself for another interesting conversation. Apparently he doesn’t remember, but when he first learned how to read the graffitiÂ inside the stall caught his eye.
I blogged about that somewhere, but I’ll have to find it later because I am pressed for time.
Before I can respond he tells me that it says something about Julie and gives a telephone number. With a little dread I ask him to tell me what it says. In turn he replies that it doesn’t make sense. And because I am stupid I ask if that is because he is having trouble reading it.
He says no and that it says that Julie gives good heard. I repeat “heard” and he says that I am correct. So I tell him that I don’t understand why they wrote that because it doesn’t make sense and people shouldn’t write on the walls.
This meets with his agreement and I issue a big sigh of relief. Unfortunately that is a moment too soon because he calls out that someone else has written on the wall. I respond again with a comment about that not being right.
This is met by laughter. I ask him what is so funny and he tells me the following. “Dad, someone stupid must have copied the first line. This one says that Julie gives good head. You know that they meant to write heard.”
Inside my mind I keep hearing “Danger Will Robinson, Danger Will Robinson” but I respond anyhow. “Yep, that was dumb. Now hurry up and finish.”
He says ok and a couple of moments later he comes out, washes his hands and exits the stall. Thankfully he is distracted by other things and the entire incident is forgotten. And then just when I think that this is history he brings it up outside the school.
“Dad, why does Julie give good heard.” Mind you that this is said in front of other parents and children. For some strange reasons a number of the mothers began to glare at me and I give me that look of death that women are so good at.
For a moment I am tempted to issue a response but I think better of it and hustle him off to the car mumbling something about being late. Again I think that I have survived as he doesn’t mention it. That was a few days ago. Now I am just crossing my fingers that we don’t have to cross that bridge.
Eventually we can discuss what it means, but I think that an 8.5 year-old will survive without knowing what it means to give good heard, don’t you.