This story reminds me of when I learned the definition of a certain unfamiliar word.

I was no more than eleven or twelve. My dad was talking to a few people after church when I suddenly remembered that I’d read a word I didn’t know, and Dad would probably be able to tell me what it meant. There was a lull in the conversation, so I spoke up.

Me: “Dad, what does ‘necrophilia’ mean?”

My dad’s eyes went WIDE. He turned back to his friends.

Dad: “Excuse us a moment.”

Dad took me aside and bent down to put his hand on my shoulder.

Dad: “You’re not in any trouble. Where did you learn that word?”

Me: “It was a newspaper article.”

Dad: *Clearly relieved.* “Okay. It’s a term for wanting to have sex with dead people. If you have any more questions about it, can you wait until we get home?”

Me: “Oh! Yes… I don’t think I want to know any more.”

Dad nodded and went back to his friends, and probably gave a brief explanation of my out-of-the-blue question. While it was, of course, awkward at the time, I think my dad handled that curveball pretty well!

A student came up to me one day, out of the blue…

Student: “My dad’s a hot doctor.”

Me: *Internally.* “Your mom must be very happy.”

Me: *Out loud.* “I bet he’s a great doctor!”

Student: “Yes, he is!”

This went on for a few days. The student would tell me his dad’s a hot doctor, and I’d reply with vague platitudes about how his patients must appreciate him or he must have done well in medical school.

Then a couple of weeks later…

Student: “My dad’s a…” *He paused with concentration.* “…cardiologist.”

The student had a mild speech impediment. The whole time he’d been trying to say HEART doctor!

This is a story from the early 1990s, when my siblings and I all came down with chickenpox, shortly before the vaccine was widely available. A little while after, I went with my mom to take our dog for her vet check-up. Mom mentioned how we’d had chickenpox, and he related this story to us from when he was in his twenties:

Vet: *Having noticed itchy red spots, on the phone with his mom.* “Hey Mom, did I ever have chickenpox?”

Vet’s Mom: “Yes, your brother brought it home from his kindergarten class, and you kids all got it then.”

Vet: “Kindergarten?”

Vet’s Mom: “Yes.”

Vet: “So, [Brother] was five or six?”

Vet’s Mom: “Yes, why?”

Vet: “Mom, he’s eight years older than I am.”

The spots were indeed chickenpox, and the vet was pretty miserable for a while, though he did recover. He was glad on our behalf that we kids got it out of the way with mild cases in our youth, and I’m sure he’s even more glad there’s a vaccine for it now!

This happened several years ago, when I was in middle school (around the age of twelve). A school event had just ended, and the mom of a good friend came up to me, a serious expression on her face.

Friend’s Mom: “I need to give you a ride home. Your mom was in a car accident.”

She stopped just like that. I stared at her. Seconds passed. The shadows lengthened as the sun moved through the sky. Seasons changed. Civilizations rose and fell. She remained silent, her face a stone.

Me: “Is my mom going to be okay?”

Friend’s Mom: “Oh, of course! She’s fine, and so is your brother, who was in the car too. Just a fender bender. She just needs me to give you a ride home since she’s dealing with all that hassle.”

That was around three decades ago. I still don’t know why she didn’t lead with the fact that no one in my family was hurt or worse. And yes, the friend’s mom did give me the family password, after she told me my mom was okay.

UPDATE: This story has been updated with extra details supplied by the OP.

A while ago, my mom, my sisters, and I (then eight, eleven, and thirteen – and thirty-nine, for those curious about my mom’s age) had taken a ferry ride across Puget Sound to do some things in downtown Seattle. After a nice day, we made our way back to the ferry dock to go home.

There are two ferry options: the state-run boats which are part of the highway system and can take vehicles as well as walk-on passengers, and the smaller boats of the “fast ferry” system run by Kitsap County (on the west side of Puget Sound, where we live) that take only people, and a limited number of bicycles. 

We planned to take a fast ferry since it crosses Puget Sound in half the time and was leaving sooner than the state boat, so we’d be home much faster. The fast ferry is a little pricier, but we kids would be free on either boat, and one fare increase was worth it to Mom to get home.

The line was pretty long when we joined it, as a lot of people were commuting home from work at that time. Still, we were hopeful there’d be enough room for us.

A woman behind us in line, a bit younger than my mom, was also concerned. And very chatty. She kept peppering my mom with questions, always in a pleasant tone, and with lots of giggles, but WOW. She just. Kept. Talking.

The fast ferry started loading (with the woman still going on and on), and soon it was clear that if we made it on this sailing, we would be among the last passengers. When my family got to the head of the line, the worker informed us that there was only room for two more people.

Mom: “Well, state boat it is. I’m hardly going to send just two of you ahead to wait on the side for forty-five minutes until we get there.”

Woman: *Fumbling in her purse.* “Oh man, I can’t find my ORCA (transit) card! I need a few minutes.”

Worker: “Ma’am, the boat is due to leave the dock right about now. We can’t really wait.”

Woman: “I need to dump out my whole purse to find it! Darn it; I guess I’ll be on the state boat too.”

Mom: *Quickly tapping her own ORCA card on the pay platform.* “No worries; I got you!”

Woman: “Oh my gosh, really?! Are you sure?”

Mom: “Yeah, go ahead. Enjoy the ride!”

Mom led us away to the state boat as the woman and one other single rider boarded the fast boat.

Me: “Mom, that was nice of you to pay for her.”

Mom: “Well, it did help her, but I didn’t do it to be nice.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Mom: “Did you notice how chatty and giggly she was? She was drunk. I didn’t want to be stuck entertaining her while we waited for the state boat. And then for the hour-long ferry ride.

Me: “…Yeah, that would have been really annoying. Well, I guess this way we’re happy and she’s happy, so it works out!”

Mom: *Nodding.* “Yep, and all it cost me was [fast boat fare]. Worth it.”