When Cool Isn’t Cool

“You should really take a look at your son’s Instagram account.”

This came from my sophisticated, always-in-her-brother’s-business daughter, not from a fellow adult.

As he laughed, she continued: “I’m serious. It’s not funny, Daryl! His user name? Daryl69_420.”

“Wha-at?” he asked in a shrill voice as we gave him a disapproving (and surprised) look. “I saw it on a website. It’s what all the cool people use.”

“Do you know what 69 means?” I asked him.

“No,” he laughed, a little embarrassed. “I just know it’s cool.”

“69,” I said, leaning towards him, “is where the guy puts his mouth on the girl’s privates.” His face scrunched up in a disgusted expression but I continued, “And the girl puts her mouth on his penis.”

Pandemonium broke out as Hal called out in a sing-song, tattle-tale voice, “She said penis!” at the same time Daryl started fighting his sister for his phone. “Give it to me! Give it to me! Oh, gosh. That’s gross! That’s so gross! Give it to me now so I can change it! I didn’t know! I didn’t know!”

“That’s why you don’t use stuff that you don’t know what it means,” Jane lectured. “And 420 is about smoking weed.”

(She took great amusement in the fact that I didn’t know 420. I don’t find that part of the conversation important to include here at all but I know her and her dad well enough to know that they will comment on my selective editing of events so here you go. Full disclosure. I’m not all up-to-date on all the lingo and I’m ok with that.)

We are at the rather fun stage with Daryl where he’s essentially growing a mustache and maybe thinking about girls but not brave enough to act on the impulse and still hopelessly naive. One of his best friends went to the movies with a girl the same day we were having this conversation and his Destination Imagination team was waiting to pounce on him the next day. They are right on the threshold, teetering on the edge.

The transition from child to teenager holds many points of amusement for parents.

Happy Trails

I’m an intelligent woman. I’m well educated and I know plenty of information other people don’t know. Unless it’s pop culture. Or more specifically that stuff that people know without ever saying how they know it. The underbelly of society stuff. The stuff best researched in The Urban Dictionary.

When it comes to that stuff, I’m the clueless girl that everyone likes to laugh at.

My sister-in-law loves to play Cards Against Humanity with me. That game is like a version of Apples to Apples that has gone very, very bad. I honestly don’t know too many people who could play that game without getting offended. At least a little bit. Every once in awhile.

She likes playing with me because of a rule that says a person can turn in a card if they don’t know what the card means… provided they fess up to the group that they don’t know the term and listen to someone explain it to them.

She loves hearing what terms I’m not familiar with. And then enlightening me.

I was shocked several years ago to find out that my husband actually knew who you could buy drugs from in our high school. I seriously didn’t have a clue. No, beyond that, I didn’t think there were any fringe people at all. We were a wholesome bunch, I tell ya. All 2000 of us. Well, except maybe that guy that wore all black and had a chain hanging between his ear and nose piercings. But even him, I didn’t want to judge too quickly. Maybe he just wanted to be unique. Surely he wasn’t on drugs.

This trait of mine is apparently not genetic, however.

Jane was talking about a Skyping conversation she had with three friends: one male, the others female. I wasn’t listening too closely but I heard her say that the boy was talking and made a joke about his Happy Trail.

“What’s a Happy Trail?” I asked.

What’s a Happy Trail?!” she asked. “You mean you really don’t know what a Happy Trail is?”

“You don’t know what a Happy Trail is?” my husband called from the other room, dissolving into laughter.

“She doesn’t know what a Happy Trail is!” my daughter called back to him. They both died laughing.

“Am I ok with my daughter talking to a boy about a Happy Trail?” I asked him later.

“Probably not,” he said.

“How do you people know these things? I mean, how does it come up?”

“We just listen,” he said.

I’ve come to the conclusion that they are listening in all the wrong places. I’m just too high-brow for them and I’m okay with that. I may not know what a guy’s Happy Trail is, but hey! At least… At least I don’t know what a Happy Trail is. Or… I didn’t. Now I do. And I’m honestly confused how stuff like this reveals itself to them but not me. Am I really that clueless?

(Dear sister-in-law… don’t answer that! *grin*)