I’ve been sitting on this one for a few months. I tried to keep it contained, but it makes me laugh far too hard. It’s embarrassing for those involved, so I will change their names to protect the innocent. My 10-year-old daughter has another friend we will call “Braxton.” We are going to specifically protect Braxton because he is just a 10-year-old boy who underwent what will probably be one of the more traumatizing memories of his life. However, for me, in the moment, it was hilarious.
I know that sounds insensitive, but we all have one of these things, at least going back to our childhood, that in retrospect is funny but also makes you go awwwwww.
Braxton came over to our house and knocked on the door. He’d never done this before, but he’s known my daughter for several years and lives in the same neighborhood. The kids are getting more independent and riding their bikes around the neighborhood, which makes me very happy.
So Braxton comes over, and he knocks on the door, and I answer the door, and we have a staring contest after I say, “Hello,” and he says, “Hello,” and I say, “Hello,” and he says, “Hello.”
And so I ask, “Can I help you with something?”
And he asks, “Is [insert daughter’s name] here?”
So I call her name, and she comes downstairs, talks with Braxton for a moment, then finds me and asks, “Hey, is it okay if I go riding bikes with Braxton?”
And of course I say, “Cool. Yes, absolutely. Be home by X time.”
So she goes out riding her bike, and she eventually comes back to the house, and they play a little bit with toys and such before going out again on bikes, and it’s getting later, and she comes home when she’s supposed to, and we eat dinner.
At dinner, I do the terrible dad thing where I say, “Ooh, you had a boy over. Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?” in my silliest voice possible, trying to embarrass her. It does not as my daughter is smarter than me. And no, of course they don’t have to be boyfriend and girlfriend. I’m just giving her a hard time.
But she says (haughtily), “Yes, actually we are now.”
And I very maturely respond, “Ooh, daughter’s name and Braxton sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”
She tells me to shut up, and it is warranted. I do. Or at least I ask about what they actually did.
She says they were playing on this green hill in our neighborhood. We literally call it “the green hill” because it’s a large green hill surrounded by forest. It’s great for sledding, running amok, flying a kite, Etc.
Then…
My daughter goes on to tell me that Braxton pooped in the woods.
My daughter has been known to spin a yarn or two in her day, so I tested this with all of my parental wiles by trying to poke holes in the story.
“No, he didn’t,” I say. “No way.”
“Yes, he did,” she says.
“He really did?” I say. “Did you actually see it?”
And she says, “No, I didn’t actually see it, but I saw him go back into the woods a ways and squat down.”
At this point, we are having a regrettable poop conversation at the dinner table. Ill-advised.
And I say, “No way. How did he wipe? What did he use?”
And she says, “A stick and some leaves.”
And I say, “Oh, well, that’s really uncomfortable,” but really I still didn’t buy it. Like… I didn’t think that this boy was actually taking a poop in the woods in front of my daughter. If you knew my daughter, you would realize that this kind of flight of fancy was possible.
I prodded further, and she says that afterward they rode their bikes to his house and parked in the garage, where Braxton’s mother spoke to him about what happened and he recounted to mom, right there in front of her.
Braxton was made to go into the house and change his pants and underwear because of the event. I guess it got a little messy, and I ask my daughter, “What about his hands? Did he wash his hands at all? That sounds gross.”
Without missing a beat, she replies that his mom made him wash his hands, come out with Clorox wipes, and clean his bike’s handlebars.
At this point, and after several more questions, I have begun to believe my daughter. The pieces were all fitting. But it also makes me question some judgment. I at once feel bad for Braxton and also for the status of their relationship.
I ask her, “Was it before or after the poop incident that you became boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“After,” she replies.
And at this point, dear reader, I die laughing and point out that my daughter needs to increase her standards from someone who poops in the woods to someone who does not poop in the woods.
Later on, I was discussing with some friends, with much sympathy toward Braxton, as I once, as a 7-year-old, had an accident on the couch of a neighbor and got several of her throw pillows wet. It was embarrassing as hell, and I can still feel embarrassed when I think of it.
I also questioned the judgment of Braxton… as if I were him, and in the presence of a cute little girl, relatively popular amongst her peers, I probably would have rather shit my pants and run home with some excuse and hide the fact that I had shit my pants, as opposed to running into the woods, shitting there, causing more of a mess, and also a situation where I had to confess what had happened to said girl.
When you gotta go, you gotta go. So kudos to Braxton for his bravery, but oh my God.
Needless to say, I told my daughter not to discuss this story with anyone else at school for Braxton’s sake.
It is several months later, and they are no longer an item, as 10-year-old boyfriend-girlfriend relationships tend not to have staying power. They are still pals.
My heart goes out to Braxton. However, in our house, I use a new saying, a new idiom.
If something is certain or true and absolute and you are confirming it, I like to say, in proper dad joke fashion: “Does a Braxton shit in the woods?”