In college, I tended to hang out with far more boys than girls. Especially in the first year or so, they tended to be young, immature boys I met at the music store I worked. These were not the honorable, responsible, generally serious boys I hung out with in ROTC at Cal. These were more teen-aged, still trying to find themselves boys who found farting and belching grape soda in my face hilarious.
Think American Pie and you are going in the right direction.
Yep, I was just one of the boys, except for my waist-length hair.
Since I was a pretty sheltered girl, raised with a heavy religious overtone from which I had just broke free, what those boys said in my company constantly had me dropping my jaw and then bursting out in laughter. I think they lived to shock me. I was certainly the only virgin they knew and they respected that I planned to stay that one. So, off-limits, I was part of the gang.
I learned quite a few new swear words. I learned what felching was and no, for the love of Mike, don't google it if you don't already know. I also heard waay too much about masturbating.
Yes, you heard me right. Surprise! Teenage boys talked about masturbating... a lot.
One image that stuck?
All of them. I mean all of them. We are talking five to six boys around the table admitted to using stuffed animals.
They also fessed up to using meat at one point or another. One discussed the finer points of a good steak warmed up in the microwave to flesh temperature and then rolled up... Gah!
I covered my ears.
One mentioned he even put the steak back so his mom wouldn't find out.
Twenty years later?
Somehow this image has stuck with me.
Now as a mommy, I think of E. coli and bacteria and just, yuck, what if his mom made dinner with the used steak. I also now have a teenager and eye all those stuffed animals on his bed with great suspicion.
And no one is left home alone with a steak or warm apple pie....okay, kidding on that one.
Oh, I don't know why this came to mind today, but it's a funny, awkward, and strange concept that flits at the back of my mind. Maybe we moms are just paranoid about ever finding out their baby boys have the same urges as those boys I once knew? I put my hands clapped to my ears, squeeze my eyes shut, and scream lalala just thinking about it.
I remember CG telling me he was taught to keep his non-utensil hand on the table, rather than the American way of it resting it in your lap, because in his mother words, who knew what those hands could be doing under the table. Paranoid!!
Funny enough, those older, honorable boys?
Well, let's call them young men at this point. CG was one of them.
CG still had a little of the boyish in him though because he told me about happy socks.
Yes, as in I had no clues that the dirty socks around a teenage boys room could hold more than stinky feet smell.
And that's why this mom doesn't touch stuffed animals and dirty socks in her teens' room anymore.
Nope, I am scarred for life.