I stopped cursing, however, when I realised the letters were both sides of an unbroken correspondence, begun when my mother’s school was evacuated during the Blitz and only ending with Granny’s slow descent into dementia. Among the antiques my mother passed on to me was a pretty Georgian chest of drawers and I cursed her on discovering it to be stuffed to bursting with ancient jigsaws, seed catalogues and a mass of old letters. She died when I was a student and it was only decades after that, when my mother elected to put herself into a retirement home, that I thought about Cowboy Grandpa again. My stay often coincided with a protracted visit from one of her many cousins, involving much lunchtime drinking and impenetrable, fascinating gossip on which I could guilelessly listen in from behind the sofa. She was raised by nasty nannies and an army of ambiguously teasing aunts and uncles, some of whom had behaved so badly that she would occasionally break off a story with a maddening “ pas devant les enfants”. She seemed to have no father – at least she never mentioned him – and, like a fairytale princess, had a beautiful mother who died tragically young. I never tired of these stories as they were about her childhood. Ouch.Gale’s great-great aunt Pattie ‘during her years of glory as a Gaiety Girl’. It may seem like too much for some parents, but talks like these let me know that my sons can truly be open with me about any subject, no matter how uncomfortable.
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They felt confident enough to be real, knowing full well I would write this information and share it with the world. Honestly, I’ll probably never look at a cantaloupe the same way again, but I am grateful I had this awkward, yet illuminating, discussion with my kids. With my curiosity quelled, I had to wonder if my quest for knowledge was a worthy endeavor. More: I have to be honest: Other parents scare me more than pedophilesīy the end of our conversation, I had the idea that my sons, and probably all teenage boys, used anything and everything at their disposal to masturbate. Really? I thought that was only a thing women in prison did. “And that time I used the cantaloupe?”Įven my husband was shocked at the cantaloupe revelation. “Oh, what about paper towel rolls?” my oldest added. “It didn’t feel that good, so I only did it once.” “Yeah, but it was on low, don’t worry,” he reassured me. I’d lost my deadpan expression the moment I picture my son losing his penis in a vacuuming accident. “OK, don’t laugh, but one time I put my penis in the vacuum hose,” my youngest said. Hey, who was I to judge? As a teen, I’d had an amorous moment or two with my favorite bottle of perfume, Love’s Baby Soft, which, if anyone remembers, was totally shaped like a dildo. As he spoke, my younger son nodded his head emphatically. Whatever is within reach, really,” he shared.
Heck, I’ll use dirty laundry if it’s there. “Let’s see, there’s good old wadded-up toilet paper, towels, even shirts. Like machine gun fire, my eldest son listed his favorite masturbation props.
I was in for a surprise with their answers. Naturally, I first turned to my husband and sons to learn more. More: Labiaplasty, vodka tampons and more scary teen “trends your kids are sick of hearing about Learning about socks, and laughing my ass off watching the Bridesmaids scene where a mom describes cracking her son’s comforter, made me curious about what other means boys employ to get their (pun intended) socks off. All it took was one time grabbing a sock that was hard as a rock and I was done. I swear I won’t even touch his laundry anymore. “Socks?” I had never heard of boys sexualizing slippers. “I don’t know about condoms,” my friend Tammy said, “but I found out my son Charlie was using socks.” Oh, well, OK,” was all I managed to say.Ī week later, while out for drinks with my girlfriends, who also had teen boys, I asked if that was normal. His hesitation should have been my first clue. More: This teenage girl just got fired for speaking up about inequalityĮven as my own sons grew, I didn’t understand just how resourceful boys could be, until I questioned my then-12-year-old about why he had a giant box of condoms in his bedroom. Like, so good I would make sure to climb that pole every morning and every lunch.” But one day when I climbed something weird happened. “At first,” he explained, “I just climbed because I liked to see how fast I could get to the top.