Plucky Letters to US soldiers in Iraq

February 16, 2005


Dear Rob,


Wake the neighbors and phone the media. Your little brother has officially hit puberty at the tender age of 12 ½. His voice is changing. I’ve noticed the difference for a couple of months now, but I didn’t really take it in. I sort of ignored it. I noticed it in a vague, inattentive way. If I thought about it at all, it was something like, “Oh, Dylan’s voice is probably going to start changing pretty soon.”

Karen and Grandma were over last night for Papa’s birthday party. They heard Dylan speak two words and promptly announced that his voice is changing.
(They seemed cruelly happy about it, too.)
Just like that it was suddenly true, and there was no going back.

When I mentioned it to him, he said he knew his voice was changing because of a film they showed in health class last week. Then he asked me what it means when girls get their periods. I was shocked. Not because of the question, which was reasonable enough, but because the health class apparently didn’t cover the subject. What kind of cockamamie health class neglects to explain such a rudimentary subject?
Dylan claims there was no information given about girls. He also mentioned that he is a bit worried about having an “eruption” at an inopportune time. He said one of the stars of the health movie said he woke up with a wet spot on the sheet due to “an eruption.” I thought that sounded logical enough. I reassured him that that will only happen at night when he’s asleep, not during science class. He said, “Nuh-uh, the movie said it could happen AT ANY TIME!”

I think there might be some confusion between Dylan and I about the word “eruption.”
To me the word “eruption” means random volcanic explosion of an embarrassing nature that you don’t really want mom to find out about. Dylan seems to be thinking of something far less deadly, but more publicly embarrassing.

Tonight it occurred to me to make a check of other puberty indications. After all, the voice change thing could be a mistake. Maybe he just has a chronic sore throat! Maybe his tonsils are inflamed or he has a mild case of throat cancer from eating illicit candy cigarettes! Maybe my baby is still a baby after all!

I dragged him into the bathroom and inspected his armpits with the magnifying mirror. Sure enough, there’s a fuzzy growth of tell-tale hair sprouting in his armpits. I offered to make it all better and shave it off for him with my Lady Schick II, but he ran into his room with his arms clamped to his sides. I just don’t understand his attitude.

I guess I just assumed that the only people who willingly cultivate froggy voices and fuzzy armpits are the women of France.


Much Love,

--Mom