Chapter 37: It's Normal For Teenagers

October 21, 2002, Chicago, Illinois

🎤 Jesse

'Speaking of dead', I thought as Ebele's grandmother advanced towards us.

"Ebele Adeoye!" she demanded. "Why are you carrying your clothes? Explain yourself!"

Actually, I thought 'dead' might be merciful if Ebele's grandmother was as angry as she appeared to be.

"Why you playing the harlot with this boy and give him what rightfully belongs to your husband?!"

As much as I objected to that kind of thinking, I was certain that I could only make things worse by opening my mouth.

"Ìyá àgbà, let me explain!" she pleaded. ("Grandmother")

"There is nothing to explain! You put on your clothes and come with me! Right now! We shall see about this!"

"Use the powder room in the coach house," I said quietly.

"And you, Boy! Your parents will hear about this!"

I almost laughed but managed not to because the worst thing that would happen would be a conversation. I was FAR more worried about Ebele's dad and what he might do. I decided to wait until Ebele was dressed before going into the house, as I felt going in with her might make things worse. She was back in three minutes, and her grandmother grabbed her arm and literally dragged her from the yard. I went inside, went up to my room, dressed, then started on my homework.

When my moms came home, I went downstairs to tell them what had happened. As I expected, they suggested I talk to Dad, as the odds were that Ebele's dad would call Dad, not them. I went to the main house and found him in his study.

"Got a sec?" I asked.

"Come in, Jesse. What's up?"

"An angry Yoruba grandmother."

"The pretty black girl I've seen at your hockey games?"

"That would be the one," I replied. "Her grandmother showed up when we were walking back to the coach house to shower. We were wearing robes and carrying our clothes."

"What was said?" Dad asked.

"That my parents would hear about it. I suspect from Ebele's dad."

"How old is she?"

"She'll be fifteen in about ten days," I replied.

"OK. I'll let you know if he calls or comes by. A two-year difference isn't going to raise any eyebrows except with unhappy parents. Is this serious or what Mom One calls 'dalliances'?"

I couldn't help but laugh.

"Her comment was 'like father, like son' before she sent me to see you! It's a dalliance, though Ebele would like it to be more. I was completely honest with her, and we discussed it both before and after."

"And you followed the rules?"

"She's on the Pill and had an STI test."

"That's all I need to know. Thanks for warning me about the impending phone call."

"You're welcome. I'm going back to the house to finish my homework and have dinner with my moms."

I left Dad's study and went back to my room to work on trigonometry homework.

October 22, 2002, Chicago, Illinois

🎤 Steve

"Steve Adams," I said when my private line rang on Tuesday evening after karate practice.

"Mr. Adams, this is Gbadebo Adeoye. I need to speak to you about your son."

"Good evening, Mr. Adeoye," I replied. "What can I do for you?"

"This is something that must be said face-to-face. May I come to your home?"

"Yes," I replied. "Do you know where it is?"

"Yes, I do. I will be there in about fifteen minutes."

"Do you drink tea or coffee, Sir?" I asked, electing to be formal.

"Black tea," he replied. "I will see you shortly."

He ended the call, and I went to the kitchen to make the tea. Fortunately, the kettle was still warm, so it would only take a few minutes to whistle, and when it did, I poured water into a teapot through the leaves I'd added to the strainer. Once they were covered with water, I put the lid on, set the teapot and two cups on a tray, added the sugar bowl and small pitcher of milk, and took them to my study. I went to the sunroom and let Kara, Jessica, and Suzanne know I was having a visitor, and asked Ashley to please not answer the doorbell, then went to my study to wait for Mr. Adeoye to arrive.

The doorbell rang, and I went to answer it. I opened the door to see a tall, muscular man.

"Mr. Adeoye? I'm Steve Adams."

I extended my hand, and he shook it firmly.

"Please come in."

He followed me to my study, where I closed the door.

"Please have a seat. Do you take milk and sugar in your tea?"

"Yes, please."

I poured him a cup, added the amounts of milk and sugar Sweeney had indicated were correct, then poured my own, neat.

"How may I help you, Mr. Adeoye?" I asked as I handed him the cup of tea.

"Thank you for your hospitality. I am here on a matter of serious concern. Your son has disgraced my daughter, Ebele, and our entire family."

What I wanted to say is that it took two to tango, but I felt that would only serve to inflame the situation. On the other hand, there wasn't much I could offer by way of mitigation.

"Have you spoken to your daughter?" I asked.

"Her mother and grandmother have, and she confessed to them that she had lain with your son. Does he deny it?"

"You'd have to ask Jesse directly," I said. "He's sixteen, and in our family, such matters are private decisions."

"You have daughters?"

"I do, and yes, the same would apply to them."

"You, as a father, have a duty to protect their virtue!"

"I do not wish to offend, but I disagree. That is a decision that belongs to each individual. I respect your beliefs, and you are absolutely free to practice them. In the same way, I ask you to respect our beliefs and leave us free to practice them."

"And what happens when they marry and their husbands discover they have not remained pure?"

"I would expect my sons and daughters to be open and honest with their prospective spouse."

"And that is sufficient to give your son the right to disgrace my daughter and my family with impunity?"

"Mr. Adeoye, with all due respect to your traditions, we don't see things that way. First of all, despite old wives' tales about the wedding night, there is literally no way to prove or disprove virginity. If you don't believe me, I can bring in my wife, Jessica, a medical doctor, to confirm it for you. And, as there is no way to prove one way or the other, there is, ultimately, no disgrace unless you make an issue of it."

"You would have my daughter lie?" he asked. "And me lie to her future husband?"

"But you cannot, in any way, guarantee your daughter is pure. You can, as now, know she is not, but any assertion you make that she is pure would be based on your own assumptions and biases because you cannot know. What's the Yoruba tradition with regard to dating?"

"It was mediated, and the couple was not permitted to spend time together until their wedding day. Of course, that has changed because of foreign influences which have given young people ideas which are incompatible with Yoruba tradition. My daughter obviously has been exposed to corrupting influences, including your son."

"May I ask how you propose to resolve this? Jesse and Ebele obviously are not ready to marry."

"And yet he lies with her! And you are not bothered by this!"

"Purely from my perspective, you're correct. Jesse's decisions in that matter are up to him. That said, I am sympathetic to your concerns about your daughter, even if I disagree with your perspective. But I also don't see any way to restore the status quo ante."

"No, it cannot. Ebele's value as a bride has diminished and cannot be restored."

I knew only a tiny bit about Yoruba culture and had no idea how a dowry or bride price worked, though I objected to both practices. That said, I had not only accepted but participated in a Muslim marriage where a «mahr» had been contracted. A «mahr» was different from a 'dowry' or 'bride price' in that the «mahr» was legally the woman's property and was transferred to her at the time of marriage.

"Most Americans would not see it that way," I replied. "Yes, some religious groups do, but in general, it's not a concern. I'm assuming that you intend for Ebele to marry a Yoruba man?"

"Yes, of course! The continuation of the Yoruba people is very important."

"I'm curious, but do you intend to select her husband?"

"No, but my mother and my wife would help Ebele choose from men of the Yoruba community."

"Does Ebele have any say?" I asked.

"Yes, of course. She will make the decision as to which Yoruba man to marry, though her options are now much more limited."

"Could she marry someone who is not Yoruba?"

"That would be disrespectful."

I felt he was going to be sorely disappointed, as from what I knew of Jesse's friends, those cultural considerations took a backseat to personal desire. Ebele did not remind me of Sakurako, for whom duty, honor, and tradition overrode any personal desires, though the flexibility of Japanese culture with regard to intimacy had allowed her freedom, which Mr. Adeoye did not allow Ebele. But there was one parallel I could use.

"A young woman who works for me, a Muslim, had the same concern about her marriage, and she simply said nothing to her husband in advance, and, to my knowledge, there was no concern, despite the tradition of purity in Islam."

"How would you know that?" he asked.

"I served as «Wali Mukhtar» and stood in for her father to contract the marriage. She was concerned, but after consultation with an Imam, she was advised to simply say nothing."

"That is deceitful!" he protested.

"Not in the Islamic system, as when she is asked if there are reasons not to marry, she has the right to remain silent, and no conclusions may be drawn from her silence, and her husband may not ask. But I don't know enough about your tradition to say one way or the other. What do you propose to do?"

"Speak with my wife, certainly, but also, I do not want your son to be near my daughter, nor do I want her in this house."

"Please make sure she is aware. I will tell Jesse about your wishes and enforce them with regard to being here."

"You choose your words very carefully," Mr. Adeoye said. "I did not hear you say you would instruct your son to stay away from my daughter."

"Jesse chooses his own friends and always has. As I said, I'll ensure he knows Ebele is not to be here, but beyond that, it's up to you to enforce your rules with your daughter."

I left unsaid 'and good luck with that', knowing that teenagers the world around were more likely to do the opposite of what their parents demanded they do. That was one main reason I set broad guidelines and made limited use of strict rules, instead relying on my children to make good decisions based on the principles we modeled for them.

"Keep your son away from my daughter," he said firmly. "That is your job as a parent."

It wasn't, but I knew I'd make no headway with Mr. Adeoye, so I decided it was better just to let it go.

"I'll speak to Jesse," I said.

"Thank you for the tea," he said, finishing his cup.

"You're welcome."

He stood, so I stood as well and walked him to the door. He did shake my hand when I offered, which I took as a good sign. I shut the door behind him, then headed for the coach house.

🎤 Jesse

"Mr. Adeoye came to see me," Dad said.

"How upset is he?" I asked.

"Moderately. Well, maybe more than that, but he was completely controlled, and we had a reasonable exchange of views. He doesn't want Ebele coming to the Compound and is going to tell her to stay away from you. He insisted I tell you to stay away from her, too."

"We don't do that!" Mom Two protested.

Dad nodded and said, "I know. I told him we would enforce his decision about her being at the Compound but that it was incumbent on him to enforce his rules with his daughter. I made the point that Jesse makes his own decisions about his friends and that we don't interfere."

"I won't go out of my way to talk to her," I said. "But I won't shun her, either."

"What did he actually say?" Mom One asked.

"That Jesse had disgraced Ebele and their entire family."

"Oh, give me a break!" Mom Two exclaimed. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Dad replied. "He said her value as a bride had diminished."

"What a load of crap!" Mom Two replied.

"I don't disagree," Dad said. "But it is their culture. At least he didn't ask for compensation!"

"Would you have paid?" Mom One asked.

"Me?" Dad asked. "No. What Jesse chose to do would be up to him."

"Not a chance!" I declared. "What happened was between her and me, and her dad has nothing to say about it! Well, OK, he did say something, but it's not like I seduced her or tricked her!"

"You are your father's son!" Mom One declared. "He had his 'dad trouble' when he was just a bit older than you are."

"Aunt Kara's dad, right?" I asked.

"Yes," Mom One replied, "though he had a close call with Ben van Hoek at fifteen."

"If by close call you mean being literally caught in bed with his daughter!" Mom Two declared.

"And nothing had happened," Dad said. "That's what saved my bacon that time. Anyway, Jesse, you make your own decisions, obviously, but please don't invite Ebele here."

"Got it, Pops!" I declared.

"Then I'll say 'good night'."

We all said 'good night', and he left the coach house.

"I'm going up to my room unless there's something we need to talk about," I said.

"Not from me," Mom One said.

"Nor me," Mom Two agreed.

I hugged them both, then went up to my room.

October 23, 2002, Chicago, Illinois

🎤 Birgit

"What are you doing on Sunday?" I asked Bob when we met at Photography Club on Wednesday.

"I didn't have any plans. Did you want to do something?"

I leaned close and whispered, "Fuck!"

"I'll check my schedule," Bob replied flatly.

I laughed, "Don't want to seem too eager?"

Bob smiled, "I thought about playing 'hard to get', but that's not a path to success in most cases for guys!"

"Just so long as you're hard!" I giggled.

"Look down," he said quietly.

I did and saw a bulge in his jeans that HAD to be uncomfortable, but I was positive it would be VERY comfortable when used as designed in the place designed for it!

"I'd offer to resolve that problem, but I don't think Mr. Tavares would approve THAT kind of shoot!"

Bob laughed, "You are SO bad, Birgit!"

"I know! And that's the way it should be!"

Mr. Tavares came into the room, so we had to stop talking. Bob held his camera bag in front of him to hide his obvious erection and sat down at a desk behind me. The session was about portrait composition, and everyone had a chance to both pose and take photos, which we'd compare the following Monday. When Photography Club ended, Bob and I arranged for him to come to the house at 10:00am on Sunday, and then I met Fangsu for the walk home.

"Can I ask you a question about boys?" Fangsu asked as we crossed 55th Street.

"Sure. What?"

"Why are they such idiots?"

I laughed, "Well, according to my grown-up female friends, they say it's testosterone poisoning, and I can't argue with that! I mean, have you ever heard a girl say, 'Hold my beer and watch this'?"

Fangsu laughed, "No, but I hear that girls do dumb stuff when they get drunk."

"Yes, and boys do dumb stuff totally sober! Was there something specific?"

"Just a boy I was interested in being a complete idiot."

"Was interested?"

"He was totally disrespectful to Zahra because she wears a headscarf."

"As dumb as I think those rules are, they should be respected. But I don't think that's a 'boy' thing. My little sister refused to go to a mosque to celebrate a marriage because they required a headscarf."

"Did you go?"

"Of course. It was a matter of showing proper respect for their traditions even if I don't agree with them at all! It's similar to respecting Yuriko's Japanese traditions, even if I would never submit to a man the way she does to my dad!"

"She acts like a servant," Fangsu observed.

"Yes, but that's what she wants to do, so it's fine. Not to mention, it's a very subtle way of ensuring she remains in complete control!"

"How so?"

"She discussed how things are in Japan, and while women are submissive on the surface, they actually run the household. Our karate school is run by a very conservative Japanese man, and women aren't allowed to be students. But his wife, my dad's friend Sakurako, and her mother are in complete control because Hideki-san would never do anything without their agreement. Is it like that in China?"

"Modern Chinese people try very hard to be egalitarian, but we do have a history of male dominance."

"I don't mind when certain males dominate me in certain ways!" I declared.

Fangsu laughed, "You are so bad, Birgit!"

"I know! Which boy?"

"Troy Simms," Fangsu replied. "I would never want to be with someone so disrespectful."

"What did he do?"

"Pulled off her scarf."

"Whoa! That's WAY beyond being rude! I mean, how would he like if we pulled his pants down in public?"

"I bet he wouldn't, but you compare those two things?" Fangsu asked.

"No," I replied, "but Zahra does, and that's what's important. Nobody is supposed to see her hair except her husband. Well, her dad and brothers at home, of course, but outside the house? Nobody. Again, I don't agree, but it's not up to me! I'd go to school naked on warm days if they let me!"

"No way!" Fangsu gasped.

"Why not?" I asked. "I have a great body, and I'm not ashamed of it in any way!"

"But the boys?"

"Would mostly all drool and behave like idiots! The ones who didn't do that, and who were straight, would be the ones I'd want to be with!"