Warning: this post has very little in it about Alzheimer’s but a lot about dick jokes. That might just be a dick joke in itself. Post? Get it?
My kid started high school this year and they are immersed in an environment rife with dick jokes. They identify as non-binary and I wonder if this is their way of rejecting all the dick jokes at school and in our culture at large at this point in time. I applaud them.
I worry that obsessing over my family of origin takes away precious attention I should give to my other family. How should one refer to their partner, kid and friends? The family where one is finally understood, accepted and loved. My family of intention, destination, completion? My target family? That’s appropriate. I will name them for the place where Minnesotans shop for their families with great regularity.
I have goals for my target family. The goal this week was to show my kid how to use public transit. We took a city bus to their school successfully, they went off to class and I hunted for the stop where they would pick up the bus to go home. Rounding the corner away from the school I could not help but notice all the penis graffiti on the sidewalk. It made me stop and wonder what is the plural of penis? Penises? Penii? Penes? There were small ones and large ones outlined in brilliant purple spray paint along with a disparaging epithet for my kid’s school. I took a picture with my phone as the graffiti was a helpful landmark in showing where the bus stop for pickup was located in relation to the school. I walked away wondering why this particular image was chosen by the rival school for the graffiti. Then I passed the wrought iron gates to the athletic field and there they were: penises outlined in sturdy iron. I took another picture.
After school I picked up my kid and we took a different bus from a different stop to go to their dentist appointment downtown. We passed the gates and I asked about their design. “It’s supposed to show the key to opportunity,” they said. “Huh,” I said.
That night we were discussing how they were going to take the city bus solo to and from school. I took out my photo to show where to pick up the bus to go home. “So you go down the sidewalk and turn here.” My kid looked at the picture. “Follow the dick doodle road?” they asked. “Yes,” I said. “Follow the dick doodle road.” We commenced to sing Follow the Yellow Brick Road from the Wizard of Oz with new lyrics. And once again in my life I was filled with love and gratitude for my kid and my target family.
helloheidiland 