Recently, I took my son to the movies. Now you’d think an
innocent outing like that wouldn’t end up in a frank talk about
sex, but it is 2009.
Recently, I took my son to the movies. Now you’d think an innocent outing like that wouldn’t end up in a frank talk about sex, but it is 2009.
Of course, according to my mother, it used to be that you actually looked at a rating on a movie and knew whether it was appropriate to take your child to said movie. Mom said that in the good ole days, when I was young and we sat on dinosaurs to watch flicks, ratings were accurate.
Today? Not so much.
Now it’s not like I didn’t know this. It’s not like I’m not aware of the world around me. It’s just that … well I don’t know. Maybe I’m easily distracted. Or maybe I got comfortable with the fact that my son is now a teen. But I’ve experienced the lie that is a move rating before, so you’d think I’d have learned by now not to trust one.
When Junior was around 9 or so and visiting his grandparents, my Dad volunteered to watch him while I did something else. Now my parents were always very strict about what my sisters and I watched. So it was a big surprise that day when I walked into my parent’s living room to find Junior sitting with my Dad, watching TV. And what, you may ask, was my then 9-year-old son watching on his grandfather’s TV?
Why a lap dance, of course, given by a lovely young woman dressed only in a G-string and a smile.
Look, I did what any parent would do. I screamed. And that, of course, startled my Dad who hadn’t been watching TV at all. No, he was surfing the Web in search of folding chairs. So I screamed again. And Dad, who needs glasses to see the TV, despite the fact that the TV was the size of Rhode Island, looked at me as if I had lost my mind.
So I said – in a fairly normal tone of voice, as I recall – “Dad, do you know what your youngest grandson is watching?”
And dad said, “No.”
And I looked at my father, at the man who one time refused to let me watch R rated films even when I turned 17, and I said, “A lap dance.”
And my dad put his glasses on and exclaimed eagerly, “Really?”
I swear to you, I could have killed him right then and there.
But I thought I’d learned my lesson. After all, the movie on the TV was rated PG-13, so I know that ratings lie. Unfortunately, if they had a Stupid Mom Olympics, I’d be a gold medalist. Actually, I’d be a multiple gold medalist in several categories.
Anyway, fast forward to a few weeks ago, when it was hot and Junior and I ran a few errands and then caught a movie. And the PG-13 rated movie was just fine. Until the one scene that caused my son to stare enraptured and me to freeze in horror until Junior suddenly shouted, “so THAT’S what a threesome is!”
Yes, indeedy, son that is what a threesome is. So glad you got to see one before adulthood.
And as if that weren’t bad enough (have I mentioned that it was rated PG-13, because I swear to you, it was), there was a scene right before that involved two women and an ice cream sandwich. And let’s just say they were really using their sharing skills with the sandwich. And that I will personally not only never look at an ice cream sandwich the same way again, I will also never eat an ice cream sandwich again. Good for my thighs, but frankly, my retinas are still recovering from the sight.
Hopefully, I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, when Junior wants to go to the movies, I’m sending him with his dad. Let Harry define “menage-a-trois.”
