Happy Mother's Day!

Today is Mother's Day in the US, so if you haven't done so already, give your mom a call, tell her you love her and that you really appreciate the nine months she took out of her busy schedule to allow you to gestate.  You should also thank her again for that whole labor thing, unless it's still a sore subject with her, in which case just send flowers.

Not to detract from your mother, who I'm sure is great, but I have to say that my mom was pretty freaking awesome when I was growing up.  Bringing up four and a half kids (Dad) in a foreign country is no easy feat: you're separated from your own parents by hundreds if not thousands of miles, you have to deal with your kids speaking the language better than you, and you have to adapt to a whole series of cultural norms that at best seem odd and at worst downright backwards.  

Take, for example, the topic of sex.  When we were growing up, most parents were pretty reluctant to teach their kids about the birds and the bees until they had already figured everything out for themselves.  Although Mom grew up Catholic and went to a boarding school run by nuns, the conversation around her family dinner table was always surprisingly open and honest.  As a result, Mom was nothing but frank when it came to talking about adult topics, sometimes distressingly so.  

I was a tender eight years of age when I asked Mom what, as I recall, was a relatively innocuous question about babies.  Mom was washing some dishes in the kitchen sink at the time, but when I asked my question she hesitated, shut off the tap and turned to look at me.  "Yes, you're ready," she said with a decisive nod before heading upstairs.  When she came back down she had an anatomy textbook in her hand and a determined look in her eye.  The book was a relic from her studies as a nurse and was, as I was soon to find out, not intended for a pre-teen audience.  

Mom sat me down on the stairs and opened up the textbook to an illustration of the female reproductive system.  "When a man and a woman are een love, zey will make ze sex," Mom explained.  "Zey will get nakeed and ze man weel put hees penees eenside ze woman's vagin."  As Mom gave me the gruesome play-by-play, she pointed to the pages to offer an illustrated visual.  "Zis ees ze female reproductive seestem," Mom continued, flipping pages, "and zis is a spermatozoeed."  

"Jesus Christ," I said, choking back the rising vomit in my throat.  "This is so unbelievably gross."  

"No, eet eesn't," Mom insisted.  "Eet's a beautiful zing two people een love share."

"Do you have to be in love?"

Mom paused.  "Well ... no.  Not always.  But eet ees better zat way."

"Then do you have to be naked?" I was only eight, but I already had an over-developed sense of self-consciousness when it came to my own body. 

Mom thought about this for a second before she replied, "No, you do not 'ave to be nakeed, but eet ees usually easier.  And more fun." 

I shuddered as I took this information in.  "Well, doesn't it, you know, hurt?"

"Oh, non," Mom said.  "You know, a tampon ees about zis beeg," she said, demonstrating with her hands, "so ze vagin ees able to stretch for ze penees."

My mother's explanation/demonstration of the vagina's ability to accommodate items of different physical dimensions did little to ease my growing nausea, my sense of inadequacy or my fear of physical pain in connection with the sexual act.  This was largely because I hadn't even considered whether it would hurt the female participant; I was more concerned about whether it would result in any pain to my own willy, to which despite my age I had already become rather attached.  The diagrams of the female sex also failed to reassure me much; to say that the vagina looked alien and intimidating to my virgin eyes is an understatement.  I was convinced that somewhere, buried beneath the pubic mound and various labia, lay a gnashing set of cruelly jagged teeth, just waiting to rip off my terrified member.  

Taking my shell-shock as quiet understanding and appreciation, Mom smiled and handed me the anatomy book.  "Eere," she said.  "Take zis and read eet whenever you like.  Eef you 'ave any more questions, you know you can ask me."

"Thanks," I mumbled, accepting the book while trying to keep my hands from trembling.  I went upstairs and tried to process the horrors that had just been revealed to me.  After several hours spent lying curled in the fetal position, I heard my dad come back home from work.  Although I was still horrified beyond belief, I decided that it was important to put on a brave and knowing front for the old man, so I went downstairs to the den as he fixed himself a drink.  

"So, Dad," I said as he poured vodka over the ice in his glass, "Mom told me about where babies come from today."  

Dad turned halfway around and looked at me with a bottle of dry vermouth in his hand.  "Oh....  Good," he finally said, pouring a capful into his martini.  "That's one less thing I have to teach you about."

"Yeah," I said swallowing hard, "and you and Mom have four kids.  That means that you've had sex four times."

Dad turned around while mixing his drink with his index finger.  He looked at me coolly for what seemed like a minute, took a long pull and placed his hand on my shoulder, saying with a mischievous grin, "You know, son, it doesn't always work the first time."  

I think that was when I lost consciousness.  

Although Mom's little lecture may have been a few years too early for me to handle, I have to give her credit for having the guts to discuss sensitive subjects with her kids.  She's always been honest with us, sometimes painfully so, but we've always known that Mom would give it to us straight if we ever needed to ask her anything.  Thanks in large part to her, I've decided to be as open and honest with my own kids about anything that may concern them, whether it be sex, drugs, relationships, tattoos, piercings or whatever.  That being said, I still think that I'll wait for Sofia to hit double digits before I fill her in on the facts of life; after all, there is such a thing as too much information.  

Thanks, Mom, and happy Mother's Day!