In the years since our children were born, we've been preparing ourselves for the day when they would not be so interested in hanging out with us. That day hasn't arrived, but all of the signs point to it's inevitable coming.
We have prepared for a great many things when it comes to our son and daughter growing up. We've saved for college. We've tried our best to guide them and help them to steer clear of the many pitfalls that young people are naturally exposed to, while being exceedingly careful to not hover. Honestly, I personally thought that I would be a master at watching my kids grow up. Now, I'm not so sure. Our daughter has begun to develop both physically and mentally. It's the physical part I'm struggling with. I don't mind that she's growing up, it's just that the requirements to support the growing up unnerve me.
I'm a man. I'm a very simple man in some respects. I don't embarrass very easily, but there are a few things that concern our daughter and her coming of age, that surely can make me cringe.
Occasionally, the need arises for me to make a quick trek to the grocery store. Usually, I'm home alone when that need springs forth, therefore I am able to purchase a few items and exit the store with superior speed and with as little expense as possible. However, there are times that the whole crew is home, which complicates my expeditious trip to the store. No only will every single person in the family need an entire list of things, but the cost skyrockets. I never knew they were so needy.
The other day, in a barely audible tone, almost a whisper, I said, "I'm going to the store, does anyone need anything?" Surely not a soul heard my quiet announcement. I waited for the onslaught of lists, needs, demands, etc. Only Sidney answered.
"I need some things!" came the yodel from the second floor of our home.
Immediately, my wife chimed in. "I'll be right down. Sidney needs a few personal items."
I could feel my spine tighten. My shoes suddenly felt too tight and my armpits felt overly moist. Personal items. Dear Lord. We all know what 'personal items' for a thirteen-year-old girl means.
My wife arrived in the kitchen with what appeared to be the top of a small cardboard box. "Here, she needs these and these. Can you handle it?" she said with a smile.
The woman had torn the tops off of two boxes. One was a box of tampons, and the other was the top of a box of maxi-pads. I guess the one time I'd failed to buy the correct 'personal items' had robbed her of faith in me. In all fairness, I wouldn't ask her to purchase a set of spark plugs for my car. "You just bought groceries! You should have bought them then!" I whined. It's not that I mind buying feminine products... well, yes I do. I hate it! It's akin to having bamboo chutes wedged under your fingernails. I have no business wandering aimlessly around the tampon and maxi-pad isle at WalMart.
"Oh, alright. I'll be back soon," I growled.
Fast forward fifteen minutes and there I am, staring at an entire wall dedicated to the female human body. I don't get it, nor should I. Remember? Simple man? I nervously studied the box tops that my wife has so lovingly ripped from their original packaging. For a fleeting moment, I was the only person in the tampon isle. Suddenly, and without warning, it was if every woman within a fifty mile radius needed feminine products. I was surrounded by teenagers, young women, middle aged women, old ladies who by my estimation must have been lost. I nervously slinked away toward the toothpaste and mouthwash. Finally, the crowd thinned and I ambled back to my original destination.
Choices. There's light days, heavy days, in between days, rainy days, sunny days, super, slim, sport, active, wings, no wings, thick, thin, barely there, and many more. I think I even noticed something that resembled a diaper of sorts. I stood, panicked and helpless, staring at the mammoth selection of pads, and tampons that towered over me.
Finally, after a few minutes, a young lady hurried past and grabbed a box near me and began to walk away as fast as she had appeared. "I'd like to see her in the motor oil isle! She'd be totally lost!" I thought briefly. Naturally she knows more about pads and tampons than I do.
"Excuse me. Could you help me find these two items please?" I asked in my most sorrowful voice.
"Sure, here ya go," she said with a smile before reaching to hand me the items she'd located without any thought whatsoever.
"Thanks, they're for my daughter."
She didn't reply, but smiled and walked away. I guess she probably assumed they weren't for a middle aged, overweight balding guy. Oh well.
I bought two boxes of each product in hopes that I wouldn't be back for some time.
I proudly walked into our home with a wide smile feeling rather accomplished at my success, even if I did receive a bit of help.
"I don't believe it! You got the right thing! Good job dad!" Sidney chirped. My wife smiled with approval.
I sat down and spoke. "The next time you go to the store, I need a case of Havoline 5W-20."
My wife looked up from her phone and said, "You know I never get the right thing. Some things you just have to buy for yourself."
