Ask and You Shall Receive

A couple weeks ago I had been kind enough to drop in on my family in New Jersey, having spent the bulk of Columbus Day weekend in the Poconos for a glorious wedding I'll likely detail at a later time. Having dropped in unannounced, my mother already had plans to have dinner with out neighbors across the street while my father was at the Giants' game. Knowing full well of the Mrs.' culinary prowess sure to be on display, I happily accompanied her.

Children scattered about the neighborhood, doing what children do, candid pre-dinner conversation brought us to discussion of the birds & the bees. Despite some initial trepidation given the presence of my mother, comedy soon put me at ease. Mr., who is not prone to crude stories or subject matter, quite the contrary actually, gently explained how his son, 10, had recently forced his hand by inquiring of his mother, "Do you take those pills to make sure you don't have any more babies?" While on the subject, albeit somewhere in the periphery, Mr. figured he may as well explain the mystery of procreation in its entirety. In explaining the process of intercourse and male ejaculation, words no doubt greeted by a look of disgust on the part of his son, Mr. smiled as he recounted a specific turn, "...and it will feel really really good." For good measure adding, "Really good!" We all shared a laugh.

We were joined at the dinner table by their 3 and 9 year old girls, and the 10 year old son who had recently walked face first into one of the many approaching losses of innocence.

Somewhere between dinner and dessert, in an apparent lapse in conversation, Jack earnestly offered, "My dad recently told me about the birds and the bees."

"Ooooh. Wow," I offered cautiously in response.

"And what did you learn, Jack?"

"It feels really really good. Really good!" he studiously responded in a raspy voice as a grin swiftly spread across his face, bearing all of his newly sovereign permanent teeth.

Having looked over to Mr. and Mrs. for some sort of cue as to where the conversation was to be subsequently corralled, Jack interjected, pardon the pun, little personal flavor to this potentially abject dinner conversation topic.

"I've done it myself, but I haven't been able to get any of the white stuff to come out."

"Give it time Jack. Give it time," I offered, seemingly in unison with Mr., as the adults seated around the table erupted into uncontrollable laughter, the 9 year old shot everyone looks of confusion, and the 3 year old rubbed her little hands in the marinara sauce on her plate.

"When it does, we'll never see you again," Mr. offered as he caught his breath. Thankfully, the implications contained therein seemed to float just inches over young Jack's head. A bridge over a chapter now steadily approaching

Great food. Great people. Great conversation.