Page 14 of When We Were More
I nearly choke on the sip of my to-go coffee I just took.
“No, baby. Girls have to pee sitting down. Only boys can stand up.”
“Why? You said anything boys can do, girls can do.”
Of course, I said that. Only I never, in a million years, would have guessed that the activity in question would be peeing standing up.
“Well, this doesn’t count. If girls peed standing up, the pee wouldn’t go in the toilet. It would make a mess and get on your clothes. That doesn’t happen to boys because they have different privates that…”
Oh my God, I’m going to have to discuss penises with my five-year-old. I pause to gain my composure, looking to buy time to get this right.
“Boys’ privates can move to help them aim for the toilet.”
“What? That’s not fair!” She’s clearly appalled at the injustice.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” It’s all I can come up with to say. She’s quiet for a few minutes, and it appears I’m in the clear. I’m kind of proud I didn’t screw this one up. Damn, it’s tough to be a dad to girls. Yet I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
We’re only three minutes from the restaurant, where we’re meeting my mom and brothers. We get together for breakfast every month at Smiley’s, a small, locally owned family restaurant in town.
When most of us moved from Meadow Creek to Aron Falls a year ago, we decided to move our breakfasts here as well. It was a good choice. Louann, who owns Smiley’s with her husband, is the main cook, and she’s beyond good. I like supporting local small businesses. We started these breakfasts when Heath graduated from college because Mom wanted them. She still lives in Meadow Creek. Over the several years we’ve been doingthese meet-ups, our group has grown as we’ve added my kids and Hayden’s wife, Charlie.
“Do boys’ privates look different than mine?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Uh… yes. They… they stick out a little, and where their pee comes out can move. That’s how they aim.”
“Ew. Gross. I wouldn’t want my privates to stick out. How’s it look? The part that sticks out…”
I’m pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant now. I find a spot to park, shut the car off, and turn to face her. I guess we’re doing this.
“Their parts are called penises.” I try to swallow, but my mouth is bone dry.
“Penis. Peeeenis. Penis,” she practices saying it. When she’s happy she has the pronunciation down pat, she nods. “Are they like the hose I use when I help Grandma water her garden?”
“Sort of. They’re straighter, though. Like—” I pause while I wrack my brain for a benign word to use, then it comes to me “—like a pencil. They’re straight like a pencil.”
She stares at me for a second, then nods.
“I’m hungry, can we go in now?”
I laugh and take the next couple of minutes to get the girls out of the car, into the restaurant, and set up in their spots. Dennis, Louann’s husband, always saves the booth right next to where we sit so Layla can spread out her coloring books to entertain herself while we wait for our meal. I can also put Lena’s high chair there next to me. Not that she’ll stay in it. She’ll use her cuteness to cajole my mom or one of my brothers into freeing her from the seat. My family will probably pass her around the entire time we’re here. Well, that’s unless she’s in the mood to have one of my brothers—usually Holden—chase her around the diner. On those days, she escapes someone’s arms, and the game begins.
Everyone is saying their hellos when Layla hops down from her seat.
“I forgot to give everyone kisses!”
She immediately runs over to Harrison, who has pulled his chair out some because he’s expecting her. Her tiny arms wrap around his neck, and her head rests against his chest. Harrison’s face lights up, and he folds his arms around her. He looks like a giant next to her. We all do. Mom and Dad made some big kids.
“Hi, Uncle Harry. I missed you.” Layla tilts her head up and kisses Harrison on the cheek. He kisses her on the forehead in return. No one—even Mom—is allowed to call Harrison “Harry.” Except for Layla.
“Hey, ladybug, I missed you, too.” His face, his entire composure, seems to relax with her presence, and it’s nice to see. Harrison is too serious for his own good sometimes.
After Layla makes her rounds, we all settle and place our orders. Layla’s favorite server, Kimmie, is here today and, like always, while we’re waiting for our food, she takes Layla over to the vintage jukebox to pick songs to play.
I take the opportunity to tell my family about the discussion on the way here. My brothers, even Harrison, are all smirking. My mother gives no indication by her expression that she’s shocked by any of this. I suppose that raising five boys, there’s probably not much that surprises her anymore.
“When she asked you what it was, if it wasn’t like a hose, what did you say?” Holden asks.
