A conversation that would normally take two minutes

Talking to a ten year-old boy is a lot like talking to a happy drunk. Both ramble, are easily distracted, and laugh for no good reason.

The other night Youngest told a story that should have taken less than two minutes. Instead, we still weren’t sure what happened after ten. An excerpt:

Me: How was school?

Youngest: Fine. Except for gym. Esther* kicked me in my femur.

Me: Your femur?

(Youngest nodded.)

Me: Will I still be able to have grandchildren one day?

Husband: Where is your femur? Show me.

(Youngest pointed to his thigh muscle.)

Husband: Yep. Kid knows his femur.

Me: Why did she kick you, babe?

Youngest: Well, it was…you see…I was…or we were…playing basketball.

Oldest: That’s not…exactly…true. No offense. We were getting lectured by Coach.

Me: Let’s not interrupt.

Oldest: But we weren’t playing, we were getting lectured.

Youngest: Right. That’s what I meant.

(Oldest shrugged.)

Me: So you were getting lectured…

Youngest (after putting food in his mouth): Esther started annoying me.

Husband (wiped under his right eye) Wow. I didn’t think it was possible. But salmon actually smells worse after it’s been chewed and spit across the table.

Me: Don’t talk with your mouth full. (To Husband) They get that from you.

Youngest: You don’t want me to talk with my mouth full, but if I don’t eat, you say I’m slower than molasses in January.

Me: Oh, save it for your therapist.

Husband: Why was your coach angry?

Youngest: Well…it wasn’t exactly my fault…the entire class…

Oldest: Except for me and Elaine.

Youngest: Right, except for you and Elaine…and me…but everyone else was sort of talking.

Me: (I pointed my fork at my sons.) Everyone but you two, huh?

Oldest: (Nodded) And Elaine.

Husband: So Coach got upset?

(Youngest then seemed distracted by a thought. Or perhaps a ghost began talking to him. We’re not quite sure. He fell into a thoughtful silence. We all stared. He came back to life and looked around.)

Youngest: This salmon is pretty good, but I prefer pasta. No offense.

(Husband sighed and wondered aloud why he comes home at all.)

Me: You were saying that your coach was upset.

Youngest: Coach sometimes gets upset.

Oldest: Coach was angry and asked if we wanted to talk or play basketball.

Youngest: So Adam* yelled that he wanted to play basketball.

Oldest: Adam is kind of a nerd. And whatnot.

Me: What do you mean, and whatnot?

Oldest: I like that word so I say it a lot. But my friends tell me it’s not funny. I think it’s a funny word.

Husband: It’s probably a good idea to choose words that make sense. (To me) He gets that from you.

Me: So what happened after Adam said he wanted to play basketball.

Youngest: He didn’t just say it, he yelled it. And then he…I mean, Adam…he started to giggle and…talk about annoying…he…and I don’t want you to get mad, Mom…but he…talked about…I can’t remember the exact topic…but it was something about…and then…he just…

Me: T-t-t-today, Junior!

Husband: We do have to go to bed. Sometime.

Oldest: We all laughed at Adam. Coach Tim…sorry…Coach Malcolm…

Youngest: It was Coach Tim.

Oldest: Right…Coach Tim was asking a rhetorical question.

Husband: Nice! You learn that word at school?

Oldest: The teacher has to tell Adam all the time that she’s speaking hypothetically or asking a rhetorical question so he won’t answer or blurt out a response.

Youngest: Because of Adam, we also know what “hyperactivity,” “psychological counseling,” and “inappropriate behavior” means.

Oldest: We hear those words a lot.

Me: So Adam yells out and then what happens? When do we get to the violence?

Oldest: So Esther and the rest of us start laughing.

Youngest: Except Esther laughs longer than anyone. She laughs like a hyena because she’s trying to impress my brother.

(We looked at Oldest, who winked and pounded his chest.)

Husband: (singing) You give her femur…

(My kids laugh even when they don’t understand the reference. They definitely get that from me.)

Me: I don’t understand why she laughs like a hyena and thinks that’s impressive.

Youngest: She acts like a goof.

Oldest: If she thinks she’s getting with this (pounding his chest again), with that kind of laughing, she’s got another thing coming.

Me: (Staring in disbelief) When did you become a teenager?

Husband: (still singing) Boogie, femur…Got to boogie down.

Me: (Again, pointing with my fork) Let’s all refrain from singing or talking while there is food in our mouths.

Oldest: And whatnot.

(Youngest swallowed his food, laughed, and started choking. After a brief period of fright, most of the food came back out through his nose. He finally calmed down after I threatened everyone with a full-blown panic attack.)

Youngest: Where was I?

Me: We are still trying to figure out why Esther kicked you.

Youngest: Oh. I told her to shut up and quit laughing so we could play.

Husband: Fantastic. What’s for dessert?

I recognize that it’s not entirely my son’s fault. He’s comes by it honestly – the propensity to tell long-winded tales, interrupted periodically with spitting and choking.

I think it’s the Irish/Jewish influence.