"Tell me what I should say."

"Tell me what I should say!"

I hear those words come from my 12 year old son's mouth directed at his two older brothers from the backseat of the Denali as we are driving home from vacation. It only takes a moment to register that this is not a good thing.

My 3rd son is still my "good" boy. He will still do chores without much complaint when asked and he still believes I make sense when I talk. For the most part I have very little trouble with him and haven't for his entire life. But I know that those teen years are taunting me, ready to snatch him from me at any second and he will cross over to the "dark side" with his older brothers where Mom's are no longer cool and grow increasingly ignorant with each day - where they are driven by the possibilities of bad decisions and poor judgment and everyone over the age of 21 is practically ancient.

I listen carefully to the banter back and forth amongst the three boys while I pretend to be singing happily along to my 70's one hit wonders seeming oblivious to their conversation.

"This is what you say." "Here, ask her what her favorite color is." "Ask her what her favorite boy's name is." "Did she say your name?" "Dude! She totally likes you." "Tell her that her name is your favorite girls's name." "No, that's stupid." "Do you really think she likes me?" "Tell me what to say!"

My mind begins racing with so many thoughts. This child has been homeschooled his entire life. I guess that doesn't put off "liking girls". Rats. I had hoped that since he wasn't in the center of the middle school drama that we might prolong this. But after eavesdropping- clearly this is happening regardless. Bummer. Then it occurs to me that my two eldest sons, whom I have been known to call Beavis and Butthead or Dumb and Dumber since their testosterone poisoning began, is where my 12 year old is looking for relationship advice. Yikes. Scary thought. I keep singing, "Brandy, you're a fine girl (fine girl) what a goooood wife you would be..."

Later that evening Son #3 comes to see me. He starts asking about our plans for the next day and is clearly positioning himself to ask permission to do something. After some beating around the bush, he asks if he can "hang out" with someone. Eventually he gives up that it is a girl. Hmm.

I ask nonchalantly, "Is this the same girl you were talking to earlier?"

The answer is yes. I ask him if she is his girlfriend and he jumps with an emphatic NO! I give him permission and ask him if this is a "date". He does not want to use that word. By this time, his brothers are horning in on the conversation, telling him that if he is meeting a girl alone to spend time with her, it is obviously a date. He doesn't seem to be amused and swears that it isn't. I decide to respect his privacy.

Remember the television show "The Wonder Years"? I loved that show. That show helps me to remember that time in my life and gain some perspective. I think about Kevin and Winnie. I decide not to question him any further. It is evident that his older brothers are going to harass him enough. He has requested permission to ride his bike to a local park that seems to be a halfway point between our house and this new "friend". Her mother is going to drop her off and then they will walk around and talk for a while. The plans are set.

The next day Son #3 gets up and showers of his own volition. Soon after, I smell cologne wafting through the air. He is happy and chatty. I pretend not to notice. I empty the dishwasher and water the potted plants outside. I check my email. Make the bed. All this time, I am pretending not to care that he is obviously very anxious to leave soon. I don't recall that I have ever seen him go through all of these motions to go out with the guys and play "Kick the Can."

He decides that he better get going because he doesn't want to be late and informs me that he will text me and keep in touch with me. I tell him to have a good time. I watch him hop on his bike and head off to meet his friend. As he heads off down the court, I know that this is a big deal. He is my son of few words though. Always has been. I know that this encounter will also be relayed to me with very few words. Somehow I know that would be best for me too.

The phone rings about an hour after he has left, asking me to pick him up from the park. His friend has to leave to go to lunch with her mother and he would like a ride back home. Seems the bike ride there was easier than the bike ride home.

I pull into the parking lot and he is sitting all alone on the curb. Not another soul around. He puts his bike into the back of the truck and jumps in.

"So, how was it?"
"Fine."
"Where is she?"
"I told you, she had to go."
"Did you have a good time?"
"Yes."
"Is she your girlfriend?"
"No."
"Okay. What do you want for lunch?"
"What do we have?"

Just like that it was over. I had no information. No details. Only that he was home, ready for lunch and making plans to hang out with the guys to play some Wiffle Ball. He thanked me for picking him up and for making lemonade. I don't know what happened. I don't even know what the intentions actually were. I just know that it appears I still get to keep Son #3 on my team. As of today, he hasn't crossed over to the "Dark Side". Though I feel now that it is coming shortly...I fear the next time he asks to go to the park, he may not need the ride home. But I sure am glad that he did today.