“Where do babies come from?” Aw, the question parents either relish or fear.
When my parents were raising my older brothers before I came along, the two decided it was time to figure out how to have “the talk” with the boys if the subject ever came up.
“We’ll be honest, but we’ll be brief,” my dad said. Mom agreed. There would be no tales of storks, but no charts and diagrams and medical replicas of body parts either.
So the day came when my oldest brother approached my parents. “Mom, dad, I have a really important question to ask,” said my inquisitive six-year-old brother.
I wasn’t alive yet, but knowing my parents I’m sure the sighs god louder and the nerves were rattling. Deep. Breaths. This is the moment we have been waiting for. It’s time to sit down with our son and tell him how life begins.
“Well, sure, son, tell us whatever’s on your heart,” my dad said.
“Well,” my brother paused, “Do some people shave their eyebrows?”
The fear among my parents immediately turned into stifled laughter. “Well, I’m sure they do, son, but I don’t know anyone who does. Mom, do you know?” Mom shook her head.
“Well, thanks for trusting us with your question,” Dad said. Then my parents sent him off in whatever way they could so they could close their bedroom door and proceed to laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh.