Dodging the Hornet’s Nest

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In the car, on the way to school a few months back, Griffin dropped this bomb on me:

[quote]Daddy, where do babies get born?[/quote]

Gulp.

I panicked. My mind raced as it seemed the day I had been dreading for the past 14 years had arrived. I, apparently, was going to have THE conversation with my autistic son in the 8 and half minutes it would take us until we would be pulling into the school parking lot. Considering how ill-prepared we both were for this conversation, I foresaw an awkward meeting with the school principal and possibly local law enforcement in my very near future.

Of course I couldn’t be certain. After all, Griffin’s language, due to his disorder, is one part formal-contraction-free English, one part adorable caveman, and all marbles-in-the-mouth ambiguity. So I did what any of you would do under the circumstances. I stalled with a,

What did you say Griff?

Undeterred, the boy replied,

Do babies get born in the emergency room?

Emergency room?

Whew. False alarm.

It was just another question in a long line of questions about his current obsession – Why People Go to the Emergency Room and How Long Do They Stay There. Just to be safe, I wiped the sweat from my brow (and ample jowls) and embarked on a filler-buster conversation about maternity wards, nurseries, HMOs, deductibles and co-pays until he bounced out of the car at school and began his daily quest for breakfast burritos.

Another stellar day of parenting by Big Daddy.

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