Puberty - My Little Bighorn

I recently saw the movie Night at the Museum 2 with my family. It was a funny movie and it gave me the opportunity to dust off Daddy the teacher, and explain some history to my girls, which they seem to like. As a matter of fact they seem to encourage it through their inquiry. As I was watching it, one of the characters that I explained to them provided me with a clear understanding of a phenomenon that is about to change my life. That historical figure was General George Armstrong Custer.

General Custer is best known for his death at Little Bighorn. It has been recreated in cartoons, on screen, and in illustrations again and again as a clueless general who allowed himself to get surrounded by several groups of Native American Indians. He and a third of his 700 man regiment were killed, and 60 more injured. What is lost in the retelling of Custer's history is that he was a fairly successful Civil War Vet, who was there at the final battles when the North conquered the South. He had a lot of wins under his belt, but he will be remembered as a loser. This fate is not unlike Billy Buckner during the 86 World Series. Buckner was an excellent baseball player, but he will be remembered as the guy who blew the World Series for the Red Sox by letting the ball go through his legs.

Once upon a time, I had a wife, two daughters, some cats, and a bunny, and lived in a modest home in suburban Essex County, NJ. I walked into the house and my daughters would run to the door and greet me like a returning conquering general. My wife would look on shaking her head (having been with me for over 19 years) in disgust over the adulation I would receive. She would tease "Daddy can do no wrong," and for the past 10 years, she was right. I had daughters because I always thought "daughters will love you longer." How naive of me to not see what was about to happen next.

Well a new conflict broke out over the past couple weeks, and General Daddy has been called out to battle. Instead of the insurgence being potty-training, boo boo fixing, monsters under the bed, or learning to ride a two-wheeler - all items that my wife and I fought through together, shoulder to shoulder (But I got most of the credit), the new foe is more powerful than any that I could ever imagine. . . . . one that I was intimate with once upon a time. One that made me into a man. . . . that once wonderous friend turned foe, who has also enlisted the services of my one time foxhole mate, my wife, is none other than. . . . .PUBERTY!

Puberty. . . .I walked into the house yesterday, and my wife and 10 year old (with the 7 year old listening in) were discussing the joys of womanhood. Periods, body hair, leg and armpit shaving, boobies. . . .BOOBIES!!! Instead of the conquering general walking in, this day I became a man. . . .no, not like a young Jewish boy going through his Bar Mitzvah, not like an Indian Warrior bringing back his first buffalo. . . .I became a member of the other team. I became "a man."

Unlike General Custer, I can see my Little Bighorn; however, just like the legendary General, I too fear that I will be losing a third of my regimen, and will soon be surrounded by an overwhelming force - a tribe known as Estrogen. Unfortunately, unlike Custer, who was seemingly put out of his misery, I will be taken as a prisoner of war, and tortured mercilessly for the remainder of my days.

Still. . . . I wouldn't trade my captors for the world.