Small talk.

Well, it happened, as we knew it would. Mike and I were at a social event over the weekend where we didn’t know very many people, and in the course of small talk, the subject of children invariably comes up. We were talking to a couple we just met, and the subject of body odor and deodorant came up within the first five or ten minutes of conversation. We all laughed and said that was obviously indicative of parents of boys of a certain age. Then of course came the questions.

You know those questions – you’ve likely asked them, and answered them. Not far after introductions of names, the questions start. How many children do you have? Are they boys or girls? How old are they? Where do they go to school? Small talk. Polite talk. Show you are interested in the other person and their family. Respond politely with gender, ages, maybe names.

Mike said, quickly, “twelve,” (Carson’s age) and looked at the floor. I followed up, almost as quickly with “our sixteen year old passed away last summer.” This couple was shocked and saddened, and responded correctly, with a quiet “I’m so sorry.” I said “thank you,” and then we turned the discussion to their three young sons.

Another couple we met knew of us, although we had never met before, but we have mutual friends, and her nephews played hockey with Mitchell. She told her husband, before the questions started, “their son is the reason that (my nephew) played hockey this year.” In that gentle way, she was communicating to him the whole story. I noticed, and was thankful for her kindness.

How are we supposed to answer those questions? It feels like the polite thing to do would be to only say that we have one twelve year old son, to spare people we don’t know the shock and awkwardness that comes with my answer. But to not answer those questions feels like denying Mitchell’s existence, and his very real daily presence in my life, in our lives.

So, if you ask me, I will tell you I have two sons. Now and forever.