It’s time to have “The Talk” with my son, but I have no idea what to say

Mocha Dad and E. Payne’s Makes Me Want to Holler are two blogs that I check with relative frequency. Both are “Daddy Blogs.” Mocha Dad’s children are much younger than my own, but it’s fun to laugh at and enjoy the experiences of a father going through what I have already been through. At that young age, children are so hilarious. Parenting seems like such a piece of cake. But then they become teenagers.

That is why I return frequently to E. Payne’s site. His son is about the same age as my youngest son, fourteen, and he seems to be going through some of the same issues that I am working through now with my own. A week or so ago he featured a story about having to have “The Talk” with his son, and his ineptitude in doing so entitled "The Worst Sex Talk Ever."

E. Payne used humor to illustrate his point, and I laughed along with him, but inside I squirmed. I was facing the prospect of having to have the same talk with my son. The whole “Talk” thing seems simple in theory; I know all about the birds and the bees. But in praxis it all seems to fall apart, especially when it catches you unprepared. And I found myself wholly unprepared for this one. The whole issue and imperative to have “The Talk,” not the parenthetical version you have when your children are young but the more serious one, seemed to emerge from nowhere.

Not too long ago, my son had no interest whatsoever in girls. Girls seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind. However, the clues that the fairer sex was entering his purview were subtle at first, but then it all came bursting into the open.

The first hint came in the form of an altering of his hygiene habits. Not too long ago we had to practically make him take a bath. But suddenly he has become the king of clean. In fact, we now have to get up a hour earlier just so we can get some hot water. Suddenly, out of the blue, he has begun to wake up each morning and take those long Hollywood showers, after which he sprays himself from head to toe with that foul smelling Axe stuff.

And this coincided with the reports from our well placed spy, our youngest daughter, that he and a young lady were actively flirting on the bus on the way home. And suddenly he didn’t want to be picked up from the bus stop, but expressed his preference to walk home. My wife and I found this curious because at the beginning of the school year, he had insisted on being picked up from the bus stop.

Again our well placed spy informed us that he and the young lady he had been flirting with had taken to walking home together and holding hands.

But the biggest shock came when we found he had changed his Facebook relationship status from “Who cares!” to “In a relationship with…” Immediately our defenses went up, and my wife began to hint that it was time for “The Talk.”

And even as I was absorbing this information, even as I was formulating what this talk would consist of, even as I was still getting my script together, he hit us with the one-two punch. He casually informed us that he and this young lady were planning on having a date. And in questioning him further about this so-called date and the particulars thereof, he informed us that his new “girlfriend” was sixteen, two years older than he, and she would be doing the driving. My wife responded rather loudly and indignantly, “I bet she will be doing the driving!”. Of course the car date was vetoed. We offered instead to take the two of them out to dinner with us and to the theater.

So, now I have to have “The Talk” with him. I plan to take him to a movie then have a late lunch. I have no idea yet what I will say, but I am sure the words will come. I was preparing an outline of the points I would need to hit, but I threw it away. It just seems best that talks like this come straight from the heart. It seemed like fatherhood was less complicated when he was younger and still had the luxury of believing in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy.

Spoiling Our Daughters and Raising Our Sons: How We Are Unconsciously Raising Sexist Children

In the past, my wife has frequently accused me of being a sexist. In fact, she has accused me of being a sexist of the worst kind because others see me as a good father, as a genuinely good individual, and no one dares question or challenge me. They, instead, listen to me and sometimes even try to emulate me. Allow me to reveal the reason behind this accusation.

I have two daughters, two intelligent, absolutely beautiful young women who I dote over. One of them is in college right now, and the other still lives at home. In my eyes, they can do no wrong. And I cannot think of anything I would not do to ensure their happiness, to make them smile.

And they both know this and use it to their greatest advantage. They manipulate me unmercifully. Even when I know I am being manipulated, I lack either the power or the will to say no to them.

On the other hand, I have two sons, two intelligent, charming, handsome young men who I love no less, who I wish the same happiness. However, whereas I am a soft touch with my daughters, I have always been hard on my sons, sometimes painfully hard. Nothing they do gets past me, and they must earn everything they receive. After all, I am raising men not boys, right?

Let me tell you this short anecdote so that I might put everything in perspective. It has to have been about ten years ago because my oldest son was still in high school. I got a call from the school informing me of some infraction or another on the part of my son. In anger, I snatched my keys and cell phone from the counter with the intent of going to the school to straighten him out right then and there.

But my wife stood in the doorway blocking my way. She insisted that I sit down and calm down. She insisted that I not go to the school and embarrass him, that I wait for him to come home. And when he did, she insisted that I hug him, tell him I loved him, and sit down and calmly talk to him just as I would one of my daughters. No yelling, no threatening or stalking about.

And I did what she asked of me on that day, and as we moved forward, I tried to discipline my older son her way, but old habits are hard to break. Sometimes out of frustration and impatience I lapsed into yelling screaming tirades. I threatened him, and I stalked about. After all, this is how my dad raised me, and I turned out all right, right? But in the end, he left my house just as I had left my father’s house, angry and bitter.

I now recognize the fallacy of my ways. And I must begrudgingly admit that there might be some grain of truth in her accusations. I am now actively trying to be more equitable in my treatment of my children. I am now actively trying to raise people—not men or women but people, people who think critically, who act not out of fear but out of rational thought, who are independent and confident in themselves and driven from within.

As my youngest son approaches adulthood, I am really putting forth an effort to be less sexist in my treatment of my children. However, I still have a problem saying no to my daughters, and I often defer the decision to my wife. She doesn’t have any problem saying no.

And my wife often points out how much my oldest son is like me. She points out that indeed he is a strong minded young man and has that entrepreneurial spirit; he now owns his own business in Atlanta. She points out that in discussions he frequently mentions books he has read or is reading, and they are all from all my favorite authors: Baldwin, Williams, Ellison, Morrison, and others.

It seems that despite all my mistakes he happened to pick up a lot of my best traits; I can only hope that he also learned to discard all the worst.