When my big brother was 12, my dad sat him down and gave him the talk about the birds and the bees.
“It was awful,” my brother told me later. There was a banana involved. A copy of Hustler. I began to dread it.
A few years later, my dad told me he needed to talk to me alone. I told him, “Later.” He asked again. I said I was too busy. Finally, he cornered me. I sat, my face flushed, fidgeting in my seat.
“Your mother and I are getting a divorce.”
In that moment, all I felt was relief.