The first time I hit puberty was when I peed my bed. Well, according to my mom anyway.
"It's called a nocturnal emission," she whispered as we had the talk at our kitchen table. "I'll just wash your sheets and no one needs to know. You're becoming a man and you have nothing to be ashamed of."
Ashamed? Was she crazy? I was excited beyond words. The shortest, skinniest and most non-athletic fourth grader would soon be the tallest, strongest and hairiest beast-man on Highlands Elementary campus. I was so proud, in fact, that I had to let my fourth grade teacher in on the secret.
"Guess what, Miss Blotnik? I had a noturnomission last night." She turned away, and I decided she was probably ashamed of herself for only seeing me as a boy and not the man I was bound to become. I spent the next four years closely examining my upper lip in magnifying mirrors. No hair.
Eighth grade rolled around and I seemed to be the only boy not showing signs of a trash-stache or voice-cracks. My mom got worried. After all, if a freak bed wetting accident didn't signal the immediate onset of puberty, what would?
As it turned out, the second time I hit puberty was when I drew a picture of a naked woman. It was more of a stick figure with exaggerated circular breasts and tousled pubic hair, but it was enough to both repulse and comfort my mom. "Even though I'm upset with you for drawing that, I know you're at that age when you're going to start thinking about," she paused, "certain things."
High school? Stick figures?
"Now that you're starting puberty, you need to be very careful and not do anything that could get you in trouble." She was right. From now on I would destroy all of my erotic sketches.
As the years rolled on and my friends grew taller, my continued status as a boy became increasingly apparent. Throughout junior year, I was the only student regularly seeing an endocrinologist (a doctor who lays naked pre-pubescents on cold metal tables and pokes them in the name of science -- some people make professions out of fetishes). Still, no puberty. Then came senior year...
My fragile 4'10" frame shook as my mom yelled, "It's the hormones!" with her characteristic mix of disappointment and hope. I had just gotten in a fender bender and this, of course, meant that manhood could not be far away. "You've got to stop thinking about impressing girls when you're in the parking lot and start concentrating on driving. I guess you're finally starting puberty."
It's been four years since my car accident, eleven since I wet the bed and not much has changed. But I think I failed a Spanish quiz last week and, if nothing else, that means puberty should be coming anyday now.
