Starship Testosterone

While in a locker room at a health club many years ago with my x-brother in-law (squared), I learned a great parenting tip. We were with our young boys, and I heard Tim's boys start swearing like sailors. Before I could ask where this foul verbal discourse originated, Tim turned to his boys and said, "Good job guys - locker room talk! Say anything you want in here. But remember it stays in here. When we leave the locker room, no more foul language."

This parenting lesson is a great basic rule for boys, (and I suspect for girls, but I don't really want to know, and in fact I am slightly afraid, of those details) that there are appropriate outlets for certain, otherwise-inappropriate, behaviors. This reality is the basic reason why sports continue in society. Sports are a socially acceptable outlet for aggression. And locker room talk is now called "locker room talk", no longer talking "like a sailor", because sailors aren't pressed into service anymore; so they aren't as angry. Also, their jobs have largely been automated, so there are less of them. So, in our modern world, more people are swearing in locker rooms than on ships. If locker rooms start fading away like sailors, soon it may be called "golf course talk".

I drove four 15 year old boys from their hockey practice to their high school at 7am this morning. Because I am a Dad, and not a Mom, there is a certain latitude afforded how the boys are allowed to speak and act. So, yes, we were essentially a locker-room on wheels. Don't get me wrong. There are still boundaries. But they tend to get stretched and tested by raging hormones and testosterone.

So the conversation in the car went something like this:

Frank: Hey! Guys! Look at my school I.D.. I look like a pedophile!
Austin: Look at mine! I look like a rapist!
Max: (silent - grinning)
Dad: How does a pedophile and a rapist look any different? (I can't believe I was trying to logically follow this conversation)
Frank: The rapist would have, like, a mullet.
Austin: Which scares away the kids.
Max: (grinning - silent)
Matt: Dudes! You won't believe who's texting me!
Frank: Austin has the longest tongue. Dad! Check out Austin's huge tongue!
Dad: (Ewe) That's OK, I'll take your word for i.... Er, that's a big tongue, Austin. Congratulations.
Matt: Fu@#..!
Dad: HEY!
Matt: Sorry, Mr. Zimmerman. Frank, it's your girlfriend!
Frank: Shut up! She's not my girlfriend! You are so gay!
Dad: How does that make him gay? (I'm still applying logic - which is totally illogical. I'm on the Starship Testosterone and I am Spock.)
Max: (silent - grinning)
Frank: Dad. Drive through Xavier (girls school) and, oh, I need $5 for lunch. And another $5 that I borrowed from Austin.
.............................................. And so it went.

Parenting is so very rewarding that we parents are all glad we do it. Either that, or we all say we're glad, because once started, you can't exactly yell "do-over!". So we may as well enjoy it. But - no, I really DO enjoy it. And I'm also glad there are other parents to help show the way. Because let's face it: you need a license to operate a boat, but you can spray children all over the planet with no permission, training or direction.** So we need all the help we can get.

I hope Tim is doing well. He's a good guy, and being divorced twice-removed makes keeping in touch difficult.

**See "Wilt Chamberlain", "George Foreman"; and "Catholic birth-control 101".