My buddy Tom baked a cake for his Argentinian friend to cheer her up after the world cup loss.
…they are no longer friends.
Marilyn Monroe at Harold Lloyd’s home, 1953
So, I don’t usually talk about my kid here on the blog, because it feels weirdly personal to do so… but today we had the “where do babies come from” talk, and he asked “How did I get made?”
And The scene above flashed into my brain, and I thought of all of you guys and how I wanted to do right by you.
So I said “Your dad and I had sex.”
And it’s really that simple.
Granted, he had lots of follow up questions, and I tried to answer them as best as I can, because I don’t want to raise a child that thinks that babies are made under cabbage leaves out of diamonds and angel kisses. I want a kid who knows his stuff. Today was the first step in a loooooong journey of questions that are at times uncomfortable to answer, but very important in the long run.
Nishijin, Kyoto, 2012