Last week, I had the opportunity to have dinner with a bunch of church friends from the high school days. These are people I’ve known since I was fourteen years old, gossiping about whether whats-her-face was “getting it on” with whats-his-name in the church parking lot. (Note when I say “getting it on,” keep in mind that these are a bunch of honest-to-God virtuous, straight-edge, suburban Christian kids, so “getting it on” actually means “awkwardly sitting next to each other in a church pew, holding hands.”)
I hadn’t seen any of the guys since 1996. Robert and Annie, who I will forever associate as two 14-year olds making out in a closet in the choir room, have seen married and have a one-year old son. Chris, the girl I took to McDonalds for my Senior Ball, now lived in Portland with her husband and seven-month old son. Her son. I’ve been so wrapped up in the “dot-com fall-out / look for a job / party on the weekend” lifestyle that I completely forgot that people my age were capable of having children. The heterosexual ones, anyway.
Ernie: You’re not worried about me corrupting Jacob [the baby], are you?
Chris: Naah.
Ernie: (To Jacob) Hey you cutie!!!! Repeat after me!!! ORAL SEX!!! ORRRR-AALLL SEX!!!!!
Chris: Har har. I don’t think so.
Ernie: Okay, okay. Hey Jacob, can you say this? Say AFLAC! AF-LAAAAC!!!
Chris: God, you’re so weird now.
Robert: That’s nothing. Look what I’m trying to teach my child! C’mere Adam, say CHOWDA for Daddy! “CHOWDA!! CHOWWWW-DAAA!!!!”
Annie: If his first word really is chowda, I’m getting a divorce.