I am embarrassed to know

I am in the process of getting caught up on my blog entries for the Blogger's Blog Tour. During the week of September 15 our blog topic was: What one thing you are embarrassed to know?

I remember reading an article a while ago that was a rebuttal to an ultra-conservative piece about how children should not be adopted by same-sex couples because they would be damaged by being raised under such conditions. The author of the rebuttal piece argued that children would we "damaged" by any notion of their parents' sexuality, regardless of whether those parents were the same gender or different genders.

This is so true.

When I was in high school, I operated under the happy delusion that my parents had sex the exact number of times it took to conceive my brother and I - two. As a grown up, I would say that - if pressed - I wish my mother and father fulfilling sex lives, but that I have no desire to know anything beyond that.

What does this have to do with what I am embarrassed to know?

In 2007, when it became clear that my father was not going to be able to return to his house, I began the massive task of sorting through his belongings. The house had been trashed by a crackhead that took up residence while my father was in the hospital (long story). While much of the furniture was gone, there were a lot of things scattered everywhere.

My nephews came to help so that we could get done faster.

I was sorting through a stack of odds and ends in the master bedroom when I came across my father's sex toys. What makes matters worse was that I gave a little shriek when I ran across his stash (I won't say what it was that I grabbed), so my nephews came running to see what had frightened me. They arrived just in time to find it in my hand with me trying to stuff it in the garbage bag and failing miserably. To this day, they get a kick out of recounting that story.

What am I embarrassed to know? I am embarrassed to be privy to the type of sex toys my father prefers.