My seven-year-old son loves the water. Swim club seemed like the perfect extracurricular activity.

It was all good until his lesson was over and it was time to change into dry clothes.

He doesn’t want to go into the women’s locker room. He refuses to change in the bleachers while I hold up a towel.

No. He insists on going into the men’s locker room. Alone.

As every ounce of Momma Bear in me protests, I let him go all by himself.

“I’ll wait for you here by the door,” I say. He disappears into the abyss.

I wait. And wait. And wait.

Another pair of MOBs are standing nearby watching their sons’ swimming lessons. They look at me and nod.

“Mine doesn’t even have to change his clothes,” says the first. “He only has to put on his sweatpants over his swimsuit. And it still takes him a half an hour!”

“Well, mine came out telling me about all the friends he made in the locker room,”  said the other. “I told him we don’t make friends in the locker room. That was the end of that. Now he changes in the bleachers.”

Friends in the locker room? Oh, dear.

“Honey,” I crack open the door. “You okay in there?”

I wait. No answer. Dare I go in?

Then I hear it. The unmistakable sound of two dozen slippery sea lions smacking the pavement. The high school boys’ swim team has finished their laps, and they’re headed my way.

The rushing stream of soaking wet, teenage boys flows through the locker room door. Panic ensues.

I imagine shouting, “Cover yourselves! Mom on the floor! I’m coming in!”

The thought of seeing a bunch of naked teenage boys is as appealing to me at 41 as it was at 16. I stop short of my raid.

I pace around outside the locker room, scanning the club for a responsible adult male to help. Where are the instructors when I need them?

A clean-cut boy who looks to be about 15 emerges from the locker room wrapped in a towel. Boldly, I approach.

“Excuse me,” I say. He looks at me. Deer in headlights.

“My little boy’s in the locker room. Yeah, and he’s been in there a long time. Could you go in and check on him? I’d go in myself, but that might be awkward.”

“Okay,” he says.

Towel boy scampers into the locker room. I wait. And wait. And wait.

The door opens and out bounces my cub. Unaided. Unharmed. Happy as a clam. And barefoot.

Where, oh where, are his shoes?

Yep.

“Cover yourselves! Mom on the floor! I’m coming in!”

Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart.
The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away;
may the name of the LORD be praised. Job 1:21 NIV

Enjoy your weekend, everybody.
See you here next week!