(My son has just gotten his wisdom teeth pulled, and he’s still loopy from the drugs. He starts crying.)

Son: “Dad, they cut my penis off.”

Me: “No, they didn’t, son.”

Son: “Are you sure? 

Me: “I promise, it’s still there. I wouldn’t let them cut your penis off.” 

My Brother: “They tried, but he put up a fight.”

Me: *nudges him* “It’s still there.”

Son: *reaches down his pants* “THANK GOD! I STILL HAVE IT! DAD’S A HERO!”

(He doesn’t remember any of this, but my brother loves teasing him about it.)

(My husband and I just updated our insurance policy with our agent. My eleven-year-old daughter thinks that life insurance is to insure that you stay alive in the hospital. I explain it is money that your family receives if you pass away. She looks at me thoughtfully and says:)

Daughter: “Now I understand why people kill their husbands instead of getting divorced.” 

(I see a Lifetime movie in her future.)

(When I am about eight years old — around 1972 — my class has an essay contest. The topic is “Why I’m Proud To Be Canadian.” I am a pretty decent writer for an eight-year-old, and my essay contains a lot of stuff about the beauty of our country, the freedom we enjoy, and so on. When the time comes to announce the winner of the contest, I am thrilled to hear my name called. I don’t remember what the prize was – a candy bar, I think – but I am just happy to have won. I can’t wait to get home and tell my parents.)

Me: “Mum, Dad, guess what? I won an essay contest at school!”

Mum: “Wow! That’s great! What was the topic?”

Me: “‘Why I’m Proud To Be Canadian’!”

Mum & Dad: *bursts into laughter*

Me: *smile slips off my face* “What’s so funny?”

Mum: *still laughing* “You’re not Canadian, dear. You’re British.”

Me: “But… I mean, I know that I was born in England, but I’m here now.”

Dad: “You’re not a Canadian citizen, though.”

Me: “What?”

Dad: “You have to go through a bunch of paperwork and stuff to be a citizen, and we haven’t done that for you yet. So, you’re not Canadian.”

(He and Mum went to make dinner, still laughing. I’ve never forgotten how let down I felt about their reaction. Plus, I felt like I’d won that contest under false pretenses. I became a Canadian citizen a few years later, at least.)

(While waiting at the doctor’s office, I overhear a conversation between a four-year-old girl, her mom, and her aunt. The mom is filling out an intake form for the little girl, chuckling at some of the questions.)

Mom: “Do you have a headache? It’s important to tell the truth, because the doctor needs to know.”

Girl: “Yes. No. Yes. Yes, I do. No.”

Mom: “Okay, are you pregnant?”

Girl: “Nooooooo.”

Aunt: *laughs* “I bet she doesn’t even know what that means.”

Mom: “Tell your aunt what you have to do to become pregnant.”

Girl: *raises her hand and counts off with her fingers* “Go to school! Get a job! Get married! Have lots of babies!”

Mom: “See, I told you she knows.”

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(I work at the customer service desk in a major bookstore. I’m helping a woman — who has explained that she’s heading back to school after a divorce — order some of her textbooks. Her daughter, who is in her late teens or early twenties, is also around, checking out things by the register.)

Daughter: “Mom! Can I have your card to get coffee? They’ve got a [Popular Coffee Chain] in here.”

(The mother hands over a card.)

Customer: “Okay, next is [English book with the word “Grammar” in the title].”

Daughter: *disdainfully* “Grammar is a social construct.”

Mother: “Go get your coffee.”

Daughter: “It’s just made up by the patriarchy as a way to keep non-native English speakers down!”

(The mother ignores her daughter and turns back to me.)

Mother: “I hope they don’t try to teach me any of that crap when I go back to school.”

Daughter: “Mom, how can you buy into this crap?!”

Me: “You realize literally every language has grammatical rules, right? Without grammar, language is nonsense.”

Daughter: “That’s racist!”

(The mother snatches her card out of her daughter’s hand and gives it to me.)

Mother: “You can have the coffee, instead.”