I met Amir K. when we were both 9 years old. I had just arrived to Riyadh and started my new school, and he was among the first friends I made.
Amir K. was an American Iranian kid who loved comic books. The comics he read weren’t for kids though. They had some pretty adult material.
I learned a few new things from Amir. Things I was going to learn at some point anyway, but ideally much later in life.
One day in April of that year, I learned a new concept from Amir. As always, I went home excited to share with my parents what happened at school that day.
I remember the scene: It was evening. My father was seated at the computer typing some document. My mother was on the sofa next to his desk, watching TV.
I walked up to the living room where everyone was, and, very calmly and matter-of-factly, shared my new knowledge.
“A man has a dck. A woman has a pssy. When you put them together, it’s called f*cking. And that’s how babies are made.”
I have known no greater silence than that which befell the living room that evening. My father swiveled around slowly in his chair to face me. My mother was staring at me blankly.
“Who taught you this?” my father asked, in the most composed manner ever.
“My friends Amir K.” I replied innocently, unaware of what I had just dropped.
My father paused long, figuring out his next move in this delicate situation. After what felt like an eternity, he said: “I don’t want you to invite Amir to your birthday party.” My party was next month.
Knowing that the conversation was over, I went back to my room and nothing was ever mentioned of this incident ever again.