I proceeded to define every sordid term and vile word I'd ever heard and I doubt I missed any. I put each in context and explained its degree of vulgarness. While she knew shit, bitch, ass and bastard, nearly everything else was new. While she remained obviously uncomfortable, I could tell she was relieved to be pulled out of the dark on yet another unseemly topic. She began to ask questions. The whole session took us over an hour. When I was finished, I suggested we should get back to the subject of Mary Ellen.
"You're just calling it the F word to shock me and tell me not to do it until I'm married or something! That's what all parents would tell their kids!"
I knew I had to be careful. "No, I'm not saying that at all. If I did, I'd be lying, and I promised you I would be truthful. Right now, we're talking about Mary Ellen; not you. Some man is taking advantage of her, and at her age even if she agrees to having sex with him, it is rape."
Karen clammed up, I hope to ponder what I said and not because she disagreed with my statement. We ended the session, and I was disappointed. Was what I told her over kill? Did Sarah the teacher present too strenuous a curriculum? Part of me was ashamed of myself but I felt I'd made progress. While I was pleased her questions were getting more personal, I felt guilt that my answers might be too graphic.
Timmy often accompanied me to the toy store and became great friends with Mrs. Peck. She would take delight in demonstrating how she despised any and all children in spite of the world knowing the opposite. All the neighborhood customers had years of experience with this. She'd growl at them until they giggled. Timmy caught on quickly.
"Here comes that nasty little Kathy Smithfield. I suppose I'll have to wait on her."
"She's not nasty!" Timmy would say. "She's nice!"
"Oh, I forgot. She's your new girlfriend."
"Is not! She's not as nasty as you!" He'd giggle and run into the back room to hide, our dog joyfully tagging behind him.
"Careful," Mrs. Peck would call. "I'll sell you to the next customer instead of that big stuffed bear!"
"Woof will protect me!"
"He's too busy scratching his fleas."
"Woof doesn't have fleas, does he Mom?" he'd call, trying unsuccessfully to get me involved.
At home, we soon became a family of game players, testing each new discovery from Peck O' Fun around the dining room table or on warmer nights, out on the side porch. Karen often asked if I'd played a particular game with Grandma and I sought some of our old favorites. Paul beat us miserably with word games with only Karen giving him a challenge. While it took effort to find games where Timmy could play on a somewhat even level, a number of the newer fun younger children's games filled the bill. He caught on quickly with a little help and was rapidly catching up to the rest of us. As soon as the evening dishes were cleared, out came the games. Television was nearly forgotten.