I grew up with just one sister but I had a very sensual father who sculpted nude statues as a hobby and constantly reminded us that we are all sexual beings. Nude boys were fascinating to me, and as I got older I saw many shapes and sizes of male genitalia in my art school drawing classes. My boyfriends also provided a glimpse into the world of the penis. I went on to have three sons after one daughter, got peed on, washed, wiped and clothed them as they grew up. I stood in sports stores debating which size of protectors, jock straps to buy and, knowing the potential for insult, I usually erred on the side of buying bigger.
But it isn’t th
e actual organ that is mystifying to me; it is the symbolism of it through all of life. I was used to hearing about male pissing contests and knew that meant men were competing, not peeing, for something. I read about “Why Dogs Mark Their Territory” in an article published by The Humane Society. I learned that male dogs often pee certain places to reaffirm their claim on the site or to assert their dominance. Having some years ago acquired a small male Poodle; I notice how he has to mark every tree outside and bark when a dog walks by our house when we are inside. Occasionally I run out of patience with the constant marking and yank the leash, marveling at how much pee is inside this small animal—always enough to label our path in the neighborhood.
Despite my life experiences, I did not foresee that the same male turf-related behavior would occur in my house, between my then boyfriend and my newly returned college graduate son. My late husband’s study downstairs was a shrine to his work, his book and CD collection. There’s a desk, a futon couch and many shelves overflowing with books, articles, videos of his lectures, photos and memorabilia. My boyfriend claimed the study as his place for working on his laptop, often leaving the desk strewn with his papers as he moved between his house and mine.
When my son moved back home, he announced he was going to sleep in the study and then proceeded to set up the futon as a bed and to take two of his father’s books off the shelves, putting them on the large desk with his speakers and laptop. I told my boyfriend that he would no longer be able to use that space.
However, my son continued to sleep in his bedroom upstairs.
Now my boyfriend and I talked about where he could work in my house and I suggested my older son’s empty room. That son, who lived in New York, still had a fully equipped room with books, a queen-sized bed, a large desk, clothing and souvenirs. My boyfriend agreed and put his stuff on the desk in there. I then noticed that my son began to use his brother’s room, spreading his stuff out on the bed and often setting up his laptop on the desk.
A month went by and it became clear that my son was using the two upstairs rooms, his small bedroom becoming a large closet of clothing thrown everywhere and his brother’s room his work space. That meant the downstairs study was now empty. So I moved his things off of the desk in the study, undid the bed sheets, set up the futon as a couch again, and told my boyfriend to work there. Fine! I am done with this problem!
I need to mention the driveway. It has space for two cars, and we have a two- car garage where I park my car. My son pulls his car into the second space in the driveway but never pulls into the garage. Wintertime from November to April you cannot park on the street in case there is need for snow removal. So my boyfriend parks behind me, requiring us to do some morning jockeying but we live with it.
Springtime arrived and the street again became a parking option, so my boyfriend has been parking on the street near our driveway. Yesterday as I was driving out of the driveway, I saw my boyfriend pulling his car into my son’s usual space next to mine in the driveway. I rolled my car window down and said “You could park on the street.”
He gave me a smile and leaving his car exactly where it was, walked into the house.
Humorous Humans 