The Father and Son "Talk"

There are some things a man must do when his son reaches the right age. Traditions that reach beyond class and background. The first fishing trip. Changing oil together for the first time. Showing him how to defend himself in the garage with a heavy bag, or how to build a campfire that will burn slowly for hours. These are the rituals inherent to the father and son bond, universal in their pull. So it was with a weighty sense of responsibility that I realized last night it was finally time for 'the Talk'.

My son is now eight, though to look at him you'd think ten. I'm quite proud of him, and he's a bright little fellow. But he's very curious, and I've overheard him asking questions lately. I decided long ago I was not going to let him figure out things on his own, or worse yet from his friends like so many of us did. The time was right, and he was ready even if I thought I wasn't.

I told the wife we men would be needing some privacy that evening, and called him into the living room by my side. Pouring myself a single malt to steady my nerves I sat him down. His eyes were eager and inquisitive, wanting to know what was so important. He looked nervous so I told him he wasn't in trouble, which seemed to set him at ease. “What I'm going to tell you about requires responsibility", I told him. "You're not ready for it yet, but someday you will be.” I thought back to when I first learned. I could remember my cousin showing me how to do it like it was yesterday.

So I took a deep breath, leaned back, and showed him how to light a proper match fart. The hot burst of flame climbing my jeans was impressive, and I thanked the stars I had enjoyed the beans and rice for lunch that day. As predicted his expression was that of shocked amazement, as a whole new realm of juvenile whimsy had just been opened to him. The room reeked of burnt methane and scorched Levis.

Later that evening, after we had caught our breath from the laughter and wiped the joyous tears from our eyes, I took him out for ice cream at Dairy Queen. For the first time I let him order for himself. A mother and daughter sat at the bench across from us, we guessed discussing the daintinesses the fairer sex normally discusses. We knowingly winked at each other from behind our hot fudge sundaes, each feeling just a little older and wiser, and living in a world they would never know.