The source of my son's curiosity. Mine too, for that matter.

The other night we were all hanging out watching West Side Story on TV(because when you’re a Jet,  you’re a Jet all the way…we’re cool like that).  Really not the most appropriate movie for a six-year old but you know how it is.  You’re so careful with the first child, playing classical music in the car, making your own baby food, and by the time the last one rolls around all the standards have gone out the window…you’re letting him stay up and watch Broadway gang musicals past his bedtime.

It’s the point in the movie right after the rumble in which a couple of guys were stabbed to death (sorry if this is a spoiler, but the movie’s been out for nearly 50 years…have you been that busy?  I won’t tell you who got knifed, just the same).  The scene features Maria (Natalie Wood) and Anita (Rita Moreno).  Cole, my young quarter-swallower, asks, “What happens if you get stabbed in the boob?”

Rare is the occasion I’ve got no response – this was one of those times.  Louise picked up pretty quickly what was on his mind.

“They don’t pop, if that’s what you’re thinking”, replies my wife dryly.

That was indeed what he was thinking.

“Oh”, he says, and pauses to adjust his world view to this new bit of information.  “What are they made of?”

Since we were on a subject near and dear to my heart I found my voice.  “They’re like two blobs of fat”.  (If I can ruin things for my daughter I owe the same to my son)  “Sort of like having a butt on your chest…except your butt’s made of muscle.”

And thus ended that discussion…whenever “butt” enters the conversation with my kids, civility takes a powder.

Boob.  It’s curious that he used that word.  We’re really good about using proper names for body parts…penis, vagina, ulnar nerve (“if I hear you call it ‘funny bone’ one more time mister, you’re grounded!”)  I guess “boobs” is our word of choice for “breasts”, not by any conscious decision though.

My kids should count their blessings.  Back in my day, when I was a wee (ahem) lad we referred to the penis as a “rinky”.

I know!  I’m just as surprised as you that it didn’t catch on.  “Dude, why the fuck did you put your cigarette out in my beer?  Sometimes you’re such a rinky!”

I’m sure the Richards of the world would rather have it that way.