Boys, Mothers, and Lovers
The otter-eyed one in full satorial splendor
I think you know by now, I am madly in mother-love with my otter-eyed, 22-year-old son.
Rachel’s comment about her 7-year-old reminded me of a conversation my son and I had when he was that age. This is how it went:
“Mom, what’s a virgil?”
Having majored in English I had to still my beating heart before answering.
“A virgil,” I repeated. “Use it in a sentence.”
“You’re a virgil!” he spat.
“Oh,” I said. “Who called you a virgil?”
It figured. Joshua had three teenage brothers.
“A virgin,” I explained, riffling through that thesaurus in my head for a definition that didn’t involve maidenheads or miraculous births, “is a person who…hasn’t done something.”
“Uh, yes,” I said, “Like It.”
We were both quiet for a moment, then he otter-eyed me and asked, “When you get married, do you have to do It?”
I thought about it. There was no law, to my knowledge, that required a married couple to have sex. One could have a platonic marriage.
I didn’t realize my son was holding his breath until I replied in the negative. “No, you don’t have to have sex when you are married, but I think by then—when you’re old enough to get married—you’ll want to.”
He shook his head. “Not me, Mom. I’m going to get married and I’m not going to do it—ever!”
I think I’ll call him up and remind him of that pledge.