A Conversation

Cleaning up Hugh's room the other day, I found some more porn pix that he'd printed off the Web. Pretty timid, on the whole--no animals, no violence, no sex acts, just sultry blondes with laughably huge boobs and impossibly trim waists and thighs. But still. I figured we'd better have a conversation, about responsible use of the internet and the way pornography exploits women and more effective ways to deal with his sexuality. You know, one of those conversations Good Parents have with their teenagers.

I am not a Good Parent. I do aspire. I do try. But I do not succeed.

Trying to make a point, tho' exactly what point it was I'm no longer entirely clear, I said something along the lines of "Real women do not have those boobs and real women do have pubic hair." To which Hugh responded, "Not if they wax the way they're supposed to!"

Supposed to? Supposed to? "It's not a requirement, you know!" I said indignantly. "Well, no. . . she can shave," admitted Hugh. GAHHHH! So there I was in Bizarroland, where no Good Parent ever goes, arguing with my 15-year-old about whether women should have pubic hair.

I remember once, long ago, attending a parenting seminar with Keith, and the perky social worker who led the session saying, "It's ok to let your child win occasionally." And Keith and I just looked at each other in astonishment. Letting Hugh win was never an issue. He always won. And he continues to do so. Somehow I emerge out of every encounter with him feeling out-of-date, woefully behind the times and beside the point, a hairy throwback from another era.