Last night my oldest, my 17 year old son, asked me if he could sleep downstairs.
Context: Since Christmas Eve, when her parents left for a trip to China, my son’s girlfriend has been staying with us. She has been sleeping on the futon in the living room.
With the teenager’s hopeful question, Divorced Dad’s brain went on full alert, “Ummmmm…why?” I stammered.
“Just because,” he replied.
I had the talk with my son when he was in third grade. He was ready for it. And after taking the Unitarian Universalist, Our Whole Lives, sex ed program in 8th grade, he probably knows more about sex than I do. (It is a very good sex ed program by the way, in case you are looking for something for your kids.) I do not believe that my son and his girlfriend have had sex yet, but I am also under no delusion that it is possible that they have.
Various responses circled in my head last night. Some less appropriate than others. I finally decided on, “I don’t think so. I’m not ready for that.” I told him that I appreciated the fact that he at least bothered to ask. And then I stumbled downstairs to bed, hoping that the snuggling that was going on in front of Return of the Jedi would remain snuggling.
And yes I sleep in the basement. As the fire chief told me the other week, I have no hope if there is a fire. At least my kids have their own rooms upstairs.