A Father Learns About The Birds And Bees -- Teens Know Sex Better Than Parents
Posted: Sunday, February 04, 2007
by Marty RicKard
I was nervous. I had drawn the short straw. It was my job to tell our son about the Birds and the Bees.
Why was I so jittery? Why was the Buick parked in my stomach? I pondered ways to start the talk.
I had a book titled, How Babies Are Made, which was advertised to make the job a cinch. It started with two cute little poodles, then progressed to humans. Who tells Poodles about sex?
Or maybe I should use the direct approach: "Son, let's talk about the Birds and the Bees." That didn't sound good.
How about something subtle, like: "Hey, what are all the boys talking about in school? Do they talk about girls?" That sounded stupid.
After considerable thought, I decided I would procrastinate.
Perhaps in a week or two I would think of something. Or maybe I could just wait until he brought it up-like when he was 30.
No, I had to do it now. But first I visited the bathroom-always a requirement when I am nervous.
With book in hand, I went up to the Salvage Yard. That's what we called his bedroom. No offense if any of you or your loved ones own salvage yards.
I peeked in. He was sprawled across his bed like a beached whale, listening to a ball game. God, he was big. I should have done this long ago.
"Hi, son," I began cheerfully.
His eyes vaguely acknowledged my presence; his brain was in Cincinnati .
"We need to talk, son."
"What?"
"I said we need to talk."
"Gee, Dad, can't it wait? The Reds are tied in the ninth."
"Why don't you turn off the radio, we'll talk, and then you can turn it back on."
"Gee, Dad, this must be real important."
"It is."
He turned off the radio.
"OK," he said. "Talk fast."
"Well, son, there comes a time in every father's life when he needs to have a little question-and-answer session with his son about some of the deeper things," I began.
"Is this the Birds and Bees thing?" he said.
"Oh…well, yes, it is."
A strange smile blossomed on his face.
"OK, Dad, I'll try to answer any questions you have," he said.
"Usually the son asks the questions, and the father answers," I said.
"Well, dad, I don't have any questions, so can I get back to the ball game?" He still had that grin.
"You mean you know everything about the Birds and the Bees?"
"Yes," he said.
"Where did you learn it?"
"You bought us those World War II encyclopedias at the garage sale, and we go over it in school, and kids talk, too, nowadays. It's not like the dark ages when you were young."
He still had that funny grin.
"You don't have any questions, then?"
"Just one."
"What's that?"
"Can it get back to the ball game?"
"You sure you have no questions?"
"I'm sure," he said.
"Come on, son, please can't you just ask me one question."
"Well, OK, Dad."
"What is it?" I asked anxiously, ready to perform my fatherly duty.
"Why is the gestation for a human only nine months while it is almost two years for an elephant?"
"Well…er…well…uh…well," I answered.
"Why is that, Dad?"
"Perhaps because elephants are bigger."
"That isn't logical," he said. "A cow is bigger than a human, and their gestation is nine months."
"Do you have any other questions?" I asked.
He was still grinning.
"There are more than a million sperm released by the male and typically one ovum released by the female. When that one sperm fertilizes that one ovum, what happens to the rest of the sperm?"
"Well…er…well…uh…well," I answered again.
"Those are about the only questions I have, Dad. Can I turn on the game now?" he said, still grinning.
"Please do," I said, "but first let me ask you a question."
"Sure, dad. I'll do my best to answer it for you."
"All the time we've talked about the Birds and the Bees, you've had a silly grin on your mug. I want to know why."
"That's easy, Dad. Your zipper fly is open, and that's always kind of funny," he said.
My hand flashed to the zipper and corrected the oversight.
"Why didn't you tell me about it when I first came in?" I asked.
"Gosh, Dad, considering the subject matter, I thought you might be planning a demonstration."
I took my book and left.
The game was over. I had lost.
Cincinnati was still tied in the tenth.
Copyright 2007
By Marty RicKard
Marty RicKard Bio
Marty RicKard holds a BS degree in journalism from the
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Top-level comments on this article: (8 total)who tells poodles about the birds and the bees. i love it.
Great story.
You've got to start earlier
Isn't this the truth. It's not easy
Great Article Both of my boys are grown and now trying to think of a way to talk to their boys. This is when it gets interesting. Ha! pay back!
hi marty, what a great article. it was funny and serious and witty, and pertinent to what a parent has to go through. i enjoyed it very much. thank you for joining my fan club, as i have joined yours, not a tit for tat, simply, i join clubs of stories i like, and i liked this one. i invite you to read some more of my stories,as i will yours. thank you, best regards, sue thom
I loved this story
i loved this article. been there.
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