Wednesday, April 11, 2007
My Son, My Pornographer
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So there they were: three eight year olds, two seven year olds, a four year old and a year-old girl just taking her first steps. Alone, and looking at hard-core pornography on the Internet in my son’s room. Cum shots, analingus, girls on girls, they saw it all, while their parents whooped it up at dinner, unknowingly, in the dining room below.
How quickly it can come to cum. My son had just discovered the power of Google earlier in the week. Like many boys his age, Calvin and Hobbes is his new addiction. I showed him how to Google a website on my computer (free of Internet blocks) and a world of wonder appeared before us — the Calvin and Hobbes website.
A concerned parent tipped us off to the sordid goings on in my son’s room — in fact, all the kids “told.” After an official interrogation of my son, confessions, many tears, apologies, etc., we learned that the incident began with a perusal of the Guinness Book of World Records. The kids found a picture of the “Oldest Living Male Stripper” — a cheesy, Vegas-style guy in sequined pants. He was 90, and his picture made the kids laugh. My son, the entertainer, inquired if the kids wanted to laugh harder. Indeed they did. “Stripper.com” was Googled on his computer and the rest is history. Evidently, the kids were terrified by what they saw, but not so terrified that they logged off immediately. “Boobies,” said the two year old. “Wow,” said the seven year old.
Lessons learned all the way around. Internet blocks for kids don’t always work; and they need to be updated and re-tested. Porn is everywhere, and good judgment is not. A few weeks after the incident, my son and I were doing a school report on the U.S. Presidents on my computer (he had yet to regain possession of his). I Googled “white house.com” and from the depths of cyberspace came T & A like you’ve never seen. Everyone mounting everyone else. United Colors of Benetton, without the sweaters. Big black things, going into tiny pink things. We stared at it in horror. “Omigid,” was all I could utter as I clicked us off of the site.
My son, the seasoned pornographer, just shrugged his shoulders. “See Mom,” he said, “it can happen to you, too.”
Comments
Whoa! I’m way behind on ways to protect kids from porn and other information you want to spare them. I don’t have children, but I need to know anyway, since I spend a lot of time with my nieces. Any suggestions?
Marty
I think this is funnier than it is scary, but then again, I have yet to make babies.
Dawn, start making babies.
Marty, don’t take your nieces to any peep shows and you should be okay.
Oh, Lenore:
The loss of innocence…
I believe it was nearly my first day in eighth grade that I heard much discussion about the blow jobs that W.P. had recently performed, and while I stood aghast, all else present acted if they were being told that spam pizza was being served that day in the cafeteria.
When my son was 6, he yelled upstairs to me to ask “how do you spell bagina”. A girl had shown him her “bagina” in school that day and he wanted to see one again on the Internet. We stopped him in time but I’ll have to google it sometime to see if the pornographers have clued in to that particular misspelling.
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