Life in the Laugh Lane: The facts of life as drawn on a Chinese placemat

Written by Bill Rifkin
Thursday, 02 February 2012 01:00

The other night I dreamt that my little boys were all grown up and away at college. I woke up with the last image in my mind of the boys rolling kegs of beer at me to keep me from giving them a good-bye hug. Once awake, I laughed to myself at the irony; who would be able to afford to send both of them to college anyway?

Once back asleep, I had another nightmare. In this one they don't go off to college, but rather sponge off us at home forever. One kid was working on his latest performance art piece ("Man vs. Mayonnaise" Number 5). The other was with his band practicing in the basement, only popping his head upstairs to ask for lyric advice, "Dad, What rhymes with 'hostage'?"

I should have seen these nightmares coming as I recently learned that my boys already know the "facts of life." I should be glad, I guess. Some men dread having to explain such stuff. But I don't remember having "the talk" with them, and it wasn't like I didn't offer. I would take out my old anatomy textbook at the least provocation, ready to show them in minute detail what makes a boy a boy and a girl so confusing. Maybe I came on too strong, as they would make me promise not to freak out any friends they had over to the house. You mention the early signs of syphilis once at a birthday party and you're seen as the strange dad everyone avoids making eye contact with.

I remember my dad explaining the facts of life to me. We were at a Chinese restaurant with those paper placemats. With a pen, he drew explicit anatomical diagrams (he didn't have his anatomy textbook with him) on the placemats. I still remember the waiter's expression of shock each time he came to put down or remove plates. With each of his visits the drawings were more complete and more detailed. I suppose in his cultural tradition one did not eat while learning this sort of thing.

My reaction at the time was one of disbelief. The sheer mechanics of reproduction seemed implausible. I remember asking over and over if he was sure about this and was what he illustrated the only way it could happen. To ease my shock (I can't even look at egg foo young to this day), my dad brought home a book for me that was more gentle and restrained in detail. It was called How Dad and Mother Made My Brother. It was very hokey and dated (the dad stays at home by the phone while the wife gives birth), but soothing. In the book, no mention was made of the various means of delivering a baby or the anesthetic options available. The mom simply packed a bag, went to the hospital and came back with a baby. This was more like it. I saved the book, imagining carrying on the tradition with my children someday, in the incredibly unlikely event I did manage the social necessities (i.e. getting a date) and physical pyrotechnics necessary to have kids.

Despite my boys' pleadings for mercy and claims of up-to-date knowledge, I insisted on reading the book to them. I was not going to be cheated out of this milestone in fatherhood. One drifted off to sleep midway, and the other (correctly) pointed out biological inaccuracies all the way through. Where did they get this knowledge from?

I suspect when I casually mentioned to the wife a while back that I couldn't wait to "teach the boys all I know about women" that despite her maniacal (and unending) laughter, she knew she had to take action. It's probably better they learned from her or TV or their friends anyway. At least they can still eat Chinese food without blushing.