While tucking Huck in just now on this birthday eve of mine, I began reminiscing about what I imagine this night was like 42 years ago for my mom.  Huck asked who was more important to remember at birthday time: the mother who gave you birth or the father who married your mother and allowed it so she could give you birth.  I didn’t really like so much how he worded that question so I quickly answered “the mother” in a lower voice than normal.  Next he began talking about how without the mother and the father there would be no baby and how the father plants the seed into the mother, and then his voice trailed off a bit in uncertainty and he asked, “How does the seed get gotten in?”  Glad to be in darkness, I made that facial expression like when you’re about to see two cars collide into each other or like when you’re hearing Rush Limbaugh’s voice.  ”We’ll talk about that a little later,” I said.  And then he told me how his little friend at school explained that when the mom and dad sleep naked and their private parts touch the seed gets planted.  ”Is that true?” he asked.  ”Pretty much,” I said.  ”Oh!” he replied, somewhat surprised but perfectly pleased with my answer.  And that was that.

Happy my birthday, Mom and Dad.