As parents of boys can
attest, there is that point in a boy’s life where he will suddenly desire to
smell like sandalwood and will begin spending more time styling his hair using
expensive hair ‘product’ so that when he is done it inexplicably looks messier
than when he started. Further, you will generally smell him coming long before you
actually see him and the cloud of scented products surrounding him like an aura. Something similar happens with
girls, with the exception that instead of Old Spice or AXE it’s various noxious
perfumes produced by Bath and Body Works with names like Be Enchanted and which
smell enchantingly like a combination of Mr. Clean and multiple unidentified species of
flowers.
At this point, most girls also begin to frown upon
the perfectly acceptable jeans from J.C. Penney that they once wore with no
complaints and instead want jeans which come from those stores in the mall that
parents usually avoid because they are staffed by annoying 20 year-olds and are
extremely dim inside which makes it hard to read the price tags. I don't know if this happens with boys. The Boy hasn't begun asking for fancy non-J.C. Penney jeans
yet, but I assume it’s only a matter of time.
It seems like just yesterday that I watched him ‘playing’ baseball,
wearing his cup over the top of his baseball pants because he forgot to put it
on while dressing for the game. Now he’s
styling his hair and cryptically telling me that there is a girl that he kind
of likes, but he won’t say who it is and vehemently denies it being each and every guess
that his sisters make as to the mystery girl’s name.
When I picked The Boy up
from the bus Friday, I noticed that he seemed awfully subdued for a kid who was
about to embark on a sunny weekend full of opportunities to annoy his
sisters. “What’s up, buddy?” I inquired.
He responded that he didn't want to talk about it, and then mere moments later
he volunteered that he had watched ‘The Film’ in class that day. I'll admit, I was stumped. I had no idea what he was talking about. Then it finally hit me. The permission slip I signed a few weeks
back. THE film. The puberty
film.
Back in my day, it was
The Filmstrip. It was the most
horrifyingly embarrassing moment in my young life, or so I remember. I mean, there we were, frolicking on the
playground with not a care in the world, and then all of a sudden the boys got separated from the girls and then the teacher dimmed the lights and we watched a
filmstrip wherein a little girl suddenly grows boobs and gets hair in new
places and gets pimples and starts to stink a lot, and then you start to worry that you might
stink too which is added to the already growing list of reasons you think no
boy will like you, ever, and then they moved on to topics even more disturbing
so that you finally felt as if you would not be able to look any of
your fellow classmates in the eye ever again.
Then the teacher handed out boxes filled with various products for when
you changed into that poor stinky girl in the filmstrip and sent you home, leaving
your blissful innocence behind in a heap in the corner of the classroom.
The Boy reiterated that he
simply did not want to talk about it as it was the absolute worst day of his
life. He remained quiet for
approximately four seconds, and then he opened up his backpack and out wafted a
smell with which I have grown quite familiar over the last year. “The only good part of the whole thing is
that I got some Old Spice deodorant afterwards.
Most of the guys got Axe but I got the Old Spice.” He then said that he and all the boys got a package from the school nurse. I rolled down my window
so I could breathe without asphyxiating and asked what was in the package. He said that there was a “disturbing booklet” and some facial cleanser and
thank God he didn't say there was a ‘balloon’ in there because I think I would
have died on the spot. I remained calm,
however, and offered up that if he had any questions about anything that he
could talk to me or please for the love of God his father, and then I proceeded
to drive home.
So now I only have one
more child who hasn't seen The Film yet.
One more child who hasn't started requesting items from Bath and Body
Works and still thinks that the store brand jeans I got her at Target are
perfectly acceptable. I find myself
snuggling with that child maybe a little more than I did the other two, because
I just don’t know if I’m ready for this yet. I think I want her to stay just as she is, at
least for a little while more.
