"Would You Like Fries With Your $*&@#^ Sandwich Generation?"

Running a multi-generational house with kids, parents, and parents' parents.
Ahhh, what an opportunity to share wisdom across the generations.
YEAH RIGHT.
I spend my days hunting for missing dentures, passing out meds, running people
to doctors appointments, and talking the youngest out of smothering the oldest with a pillow.
This better turn into a best-selling novel.


Tuesday, October 18, 2011

The Funniest Mikey Story So Far

My son, Mikey, 11, has always been able to make me laugh. In another post, I'll tell you the Mikey Story that ends with the question, "Does this make my butt look big?" Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, he was invited to a friend's house. I've met this boy, and he's very sweet, but we'd never been to his house. When we found it, it was a trailer in a rather sketchy neighborhood; not the kind of place Mikey is used to. The mom was very nice, though. Young, not much money, but clearly doing her best. She shared with me the fact that she had her first child at 17.

When I picked Mikey up later, he was very quiet. Finally, he said, "When I first got to ___'s house, I was kinda scared. I didn't think he lived in a place like that."

AHA. A TEACHING MOMENT.

Mikey has been struggling with grades this year, and I have been riding him pretty hard, trying to make him take school as seriously as he takes his ability to do back-flips and chin-ups. So I said, "You know, Mikey, there are two kinds of people who end up having to live in houses like that. One kind is people who do lousy in school, can't go to college, and end up making french fries for a living."

That got his attention, so I went on. "The other kind of people who have babies when they're too young and not ready to support them. They end up living in crummy houses because that's all they can afford."

"Do you realize," I said, in my most serious tone, "that you are in puberty, and you have working sperm now? (gasp of embarrassed horror from Mikey) Your voice has changed, you've grown 4 inches in a year, and physically, you're becoming an adult. At 11, you could father a child, and your baby would either end up aborted or living in poverty, and you'll be right there with him, because if I don't kill you, I'll make sure you're supporting him. No college, no fun, just working at whatever crappy job you can get for the rest of your life." I was on a roll. "And here's the deal," I continued. "You're a cute boy, and in the next few years, some stupid little girl is going to offer to have sex with you because she'll figure that's the way to make you like her. Girls are like that now, and it can ruin both your lives."

Long silence. Finally, Mikey spoke...

"You don't have to worry about that, Mom. I'm not going to get a girl pregnant."

I congratulated myself on my brilliant parenting.

"At least until I get my grades up."