How to Celebrate a Teen Boy’s Birthday: Chick Talk, Potty Humor, Wiener Jokes

The first of Graham’s buddies arrived on the dot at five pm. Lindsay and I were in the front room with the Iron Bowl on, and within two minutes, Lindsay looked at me and said, “Oh my gosh, it’s already so loud and only one of them is here.” Four more arrived within fifteen minutes, and so began Graham’s low-key birthday extravaganza.

You may recall that the division 2 cross country race fell on Graham’s birthday, so he didn’t wind up celebrating with friends then. What do fifteen-year-olds do to party? First, while they waited for the last of their buddies, they talked about girls and girlfriends. At one point, one told the other, “Someone needs to get her in line,” which inspired Lindsay to stand up and announce to me, “That’s it. Someone’s going down.”

“Go ahead,” I said, “as long as you can assure me that your friends don’t talk about guys inappropriately.”

Lindsay held off.

We took two cars to Red Robin. Lauren drove the minivan with all the boys, and I drove the smaller car with just Lindsay. “Can you imagine what Mom is going through?” Lindsay said to me as we drove.

“Oh I can imagine,” I said. “We had Grant and his buddies back in the day.”

Sure enough, when we reached Red Robin, Lauren pulled me aside and said, “I might need you to drive the boys home. That was … something.”

Red Robin is teen-boy heaven. Lauren, Lindsay, and I sat at a separate table across the aisle from the boys. The waitress brought the first batch of endless fries before anything could get going. A few minutes later, we looked over to see five large mugs with ice cream being delivered to the boys’ table—bottomless root beer floats all around. Because of course.

It was Lindsay’s last night in town before heading back to college. We talked about school, winter break, wrestling, and so forth. At one point, Lindsay said, “I’m gonna leave and never make it in your stories anymore, Dad.”

“False,” I said. “You’ve been in plenty without being home.”

“Graham sure is in a ton, though.”

I will now be accepting orders for sponsored stories—for the small fee of $100, I am happy to integrate you into my life and a story where you and I can both be mocked equally.

After Red Robin, Lauren dropped the boys at a trampoline park to jump for an hour, then met Lindsay and me at Target to shop for Christmas (yes, Lindsay, you made it to the adult table, car, and shopping trip).

Back home, before the boys were picked up, we had a review of the cards and gifts. You wouldn’t think boys would be crafty, but you would be wrong.

I have no idea what is going on in this card. I’m not sure I can even read it correctly, which I would suggest has to do with the handwriting, but to be honest, it’s not worse than mine.

This card is much clearer.

From inside jokes to potty jokes and finally on to wiener jokes.

I’m not sure how truth in advertising works but they look more like balls to me.

Years ago, when I was heading home from my mission, I had a layover in Dallas. I walked into an airport restroom as two white-haired me pulled up next to each other at urinals. As they got started, one sighed and said to the other, “Tell you what, if I had me a beautiful woman in one hand, a beer in the other, and a pisser in front of me, I reckon I’d be in heaven.”

Ah yes. There we are—all the elements of a great fifteen-year-old birthday … the peak of life.