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The conversation was lively that day, even
though the subject was . . . unmentionable.
Not that there was anything unseemly being
discussed. It was an appropriate conversation between a mother and her
teenage daughter. They were talking about . . . you know . . . stuff.
Lady stuff. The kind of lady stuff about which moms need to talk with
their teenage daughters.
Unfortunately, it wasn't just moms and
teenage daughters driving together in the car that day. There was also
9-year-old Elizabeth, soaking it all in even though most of the
conversation was taking place about six feet over her head. Ditto
7-year-old Jonathan (although it is sometimes difficult to tell
whether he is "soaking it all in" or just having a Nintend o
flashback).
Then there was the driver: uh, that would
be me. I was trying to be mature about the whole thing. I sat there,
silently listening, occasionally nodding my head. But beneath the
surface, where no one could see, I had my hands over my ears and I was
loudly chanting "La-la-la-la-la. . . "
Hey, I’m a
father, but I'm also a guy. And talking about lady stuff makes guys go
"la-la."
So we're cruising along, minding our "lady
stuff" business (or trying not to mind it, as the case may be), when
suddenly a little voice emanates from the back seat: "I have a
question."
Those are chilling words to a parent,
especially coming out of the mouth of a 7-year-old. Especially when
he's a boy, and the topic on the table is . . . well, you know. We
wondered how much he had heard. We wondered how much he had
understood. We wondered how long it would be before we saw his face on
the cover of the National Enquirer with the headline: "Psychopathic
Teenager Blames Parents Who Forced Him to Listen to Lady Stuff."
We braced ourselves: "What is it, Jon?"
He paused, thoughtfully. Then he asked: "Can
I have something to eat?"
Turns out Jon wasn't at all concerned that
he didn't understand the things that were being discussed in the front
seat of the car. He was content in his own world, except for one
thing: he was hungry. But he knew what he could do about that, and he
focused on taking care of the situation.
In many ways I wish I could be more like
Jon. I find myself spending an awful lot of time worrying about Things
I Can't Do Anything About. Some of them are cosmic and
incomprehensible. Others are just silly – uncontrollable irritants in
an imperfect world. These days, for example, it's the NBA. When my
team wins, I worry that they'll become complacent. When they lose, I
worry that they have lost confidence. When the breaks go their way, I
worry that the victory will be tainted. When the breaks go against
them, I worry that the entire league is conspiring to get them.
I worry about my team a lot. But when it
comes right down to it, my worrying doesn't make a bit of difference.
It doesn't help them to play better or to have a better attitude or to
STOP TAKING SO MANY STUPID SHOTS AND PLAY BETTER DEFENSE!!!
See what I mean?
It just frustrates me, and that doesn't help
anyone. Which is not to say that I'm recommending a "don't worry, be
happy" approach to life. There are plenty of things about which we
should be concerned, and we should do everything we can to make
positive changes in the world. But in the words of a well-known
prayer, we need to ask God to grant us "the courage to change the
things that I can change, the serenity to accept the things I can't
change, and the wisdom to know the difference."
Unmentionable, or not.
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