An Ugly Truth

Pre-Pubescent One turned 12 yesterday. He had an impromptu sleep over in lieu of the concert he was supposed to attend, which was rescheduled for sometime in June.

I spent the evening keeping Diminutive One out of his brother's hair having quality time with Diminutive One. Being the oldest of three, I understand not wanting younger siblings underfoot, but I also felt his sadness and hurt at being excluded. At 11:30, we were passing the time until midnight, the hour that Diminutive One had bargained for as bedtime, by watching Full House reruns, when a Public Service Announcement about internet predators aired.

Jamie, in her distinctive voice, stated some statistic about how many children had been "sexually solicited" online.

Diminutive One listened and then turned to me with puzzlement written on his freckled face.

"I don't get it." he said.

"You don't know what a sexual predator is?" I asked. We had talked about this before, so I was unsure of what, exactly, he was questioning.

"No. I know what that is. But I don't know what is sexually so...so...whatever she said."

I glanced at husband, who shrugged, and then nodded slightly to indicate that there is no time like 11:30 at night, when we are both stupid with fatigue, to have a heavy discussion with our son about people who would use an object that heretore had been completely innocuous and known only to him as an instrument of fun and entertainment to stalk, molest, and possibly murder him.

But if there's one thing we've learned, its that when an opportunity presents itself, we have to take advantage of it. There's no good way to broach such a subject out of a clear blue sky. And unless they're truly inclined to listen, there's really no point.

I took a deep breathe and let it out, trying to be inconspicuous about it.

I guess he realized we were about to get into something fairly unpleasant, so he held up his hands as if warding off a pysical blow, and said, "But I don't really need to know."

"Yes, I think you do." I said gently. "You already know about people who want to have sex with kids, right?"

He made a moue of distaste with his perfect little mouth and wrinkled his snub nose. "Yes."

"Well..." I began....

And then we talked about all the ways in which a predator might "solicit" him online. How they might lie and manipulate and disguise themselves. How they might try to find out where he lives and then come here. As in previous discussions, I spared no detail. It's an ugly truth, but one he needs to know.

Later as we prepared for bed, he asked if he could sleep with me and I agreed. In the bed, he got as close to me as he possibly could, all but lying on top of me as I read.

At last I turned off the light and we both laid (lay, lie?) there not sleeping. We listened to each other breathing for a while and then he spoke...

"Mom? Do kids always have to move out when they're 18?"

"Nope."

"Oh. K. Goodnight."

He rolled over, his plump behind smushed damply against my lower back, and fell promptly into sleep with the complete abandon that only children can manage.

And I...I laid there, listening to 12 year old boys play video games and talk about girls and thinking about how goddamned short 18 years really is.