Last night Hugh & Malcolm came home from a weekend-long skiing trip with our church youth group.  (Thank heavens for other people who will schlep our kids to the slopes, while we go out to dinner and a Pretenders concert with friends, then stay in the next night).

Hugh rode back with a friend’s dad and a carful of other kids, one of whom guzzled down a half gallon of soda en route and felt his bladder bursting.  Had he been a pregnant woman, he would’ve been ready for his ultrasound.  A quarter mile from the church parking lot, the teen demanded the driver make an emergency pit stop.  The driver, Hugh reported, thought nothing of slamming on his brakes and idling while the desperate kid sought relief in the shadows.


This reminded me of the time Ian and Hugh had gone over to play with two other brothers.  They were all under the age of six.  The host mom called me in a bit of a panic to report that my boys had peed in her yard.  I waited for her to elaborate on exactly what the problem was. Had they poisoned the petunias?  Splattered the spaniel?  Upset the UPS man?

No, the very fact of their whizzing WAS the problem.  My friend was horrified that my sons had not politely come into her house and asked to use the powder room (they were in the BACK yard, mind you, where at least it was more private).  It was clear that my friend and I had, to say the least, different standards and expectations of how boys should behave. 

Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that men of all ages revel in responding to the call of nature while in nature.   This is an immutable biological law.  Resistance is futile.


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