So Tornado S eventually came out of his blanket caccoon yet still refused to name the boys who told him. I warned the teacher, who asked if I could investigate without pushing. Life went on as usual.
Then one day we were returning home from running a few errands, and as I jammed to music, I listened to the conversation in the back seat.
Tornado S: Tornado A, where do you think babies come from?
Me: Tornado S.
Tornado A: (Pause) Well, they come from mommies’ wombs…. And God makes us…. So God makes the baby and gives it to Jesus, who kisses the baby and puts it into the mommy’s womb.
You could here the pride in his voice as he figured out the solution to Tornado S’s question.
Tornado S: Not even close.
Me: Tornado S!
Tornado A: Tell me!
Tornado S: I can’t. You’re too young. It’s a secret.
Me: Tornado S.
Tornado A: Tell me! I’m not too young!
Thankfully, we had just pulled into the driver.
Me: It’s not Tornado’s responsibility to tell you. That’s my job. Tornado S, out of the car and into my room. Now.
So I marched Tornado S back to my room and started the part of the lecture series in “So Help Me God, Child.”
Me: You do realize that Tornado E was explained sexual reproduction at your age. Did he ever tell you? (No.) That’s right because he was mature enough to know that this is a conversation between a child and a mother, not brother to brother. It is my job to talk to Tornado A about this, not yours. I will tell him when he’s ready, not when you want to show off your knowledge. Do you understand? (Nod.) You will not talk to your brother about this. (Pause) You will not tell your friends about this (Pause) until you’re in high school. And you will only talk about the facts as you have learned them from me. And if you do tell your little brother, the consequences will be severe. Video games disappearing severe.
Sure, that’ll work.
At least, Tornado A still doesn’t know where babies come from.