I recently took Mark to the doctor for a routine check-up. It was then he learned firsthand that information can be not only dangerous, but sometimes downright embarrassing as well.

I took Mark in to get a tuberculosis test for camp. He was not happy about it, and fretted the whole time about the impending shot.

"You get shots all the time," I told him. "How can you be scared of this one?"

"Is it as big as the flu shot needle?" he asked anxiously. "Is it gonna hurt?"

"It's gonna feel like a needle in your arm," I answered. "It'll hurt for a minute, then it'll be over."

He decided not to think about. To distract himself, he perused a stack of informative brochures, selecting one with a graphic image on the front.

"Lawn mowers!" he said. He started to read the brochure out loud.

"The power lawn mower is one of the most dangerous tools around the home," he read. "Each year, 68,000 people are injured by power mowers. More than 9,000 of them are children. Older children and adolescents are most often hurt while cutting lawns as chores or as a way to earn money."

He lit up at the last sentence.

"Money?" he said. "Hey Mom, if I cut the lawn, will you pay me for it?"

"Not after hearing that," I said. "I like you with all your limbs attached."

"Children under 16 years should not be allowed to use ride-on mowers," he read, ignoring me. "Do not allow children to ride as passengers on ride-on mowers."

He stopped and pointed excitedly at the ride-on mower. An adult was pictured riding it, with a small child hanging on precariously behind him. The danger the picture implied was completely lost on Mark.

"Mom, check it out!" he said. "Can we get a mower like that? It would be so cool to ride!"

I glanced at him. "Do you understood any of what you just read?" I asked. Before he could answer, we were called in to see the doctor.

The doctor has three small examination rooms. Mark's favorites, in order, are: The room with the poster of ear infection photos, the room with the childhood disease photographs, and the room with the chart of vaccinations and the ages kids should get them.

Mark likes the ear infection room best because the photos gross me out. He describes the photos in detail while I gag. He also likes the poster of the childhood diseases; he quizzes me about them constantly ("Quick, Mom--which one is scarlet fever? Measles?").

Mark was disappointed (and I was thrilled) to get the vaccination chart room. No disgusting pictures here, but there was a whole new set of brochures to choose from.

"Your child has ADHD," Mark read, dismissing it quickly. "Uh, so what!?"

"Your baby won't sleep, something about girls, boring, boring, boring," he said, flipping past them all. He finally picked one.

"This one is about boys," he read. "I'll read this one to you."

I stifled a giggle--the brochure was called "Puberty in Boys." This would be interesting.

Mark browsed through the brochure, looking for a section to read to me, before turning three different shades of red.

"Um, yeah, OK, you do not wanna hear this," he told me. He paused briefly on a page, then shouted, "What? That's DISGUSTING!" He tossed the brochure aside.

But he couldn't help himself, and picked it back up. "OK," he said, "Here's something we can talk about--let's learn how to shave."

"We can talk about all of it," I reminded him. "It's not disgusting, it's called 'growing up.' It happens to everyone."

He shivered. He is not gonna make any of these talks go easily.

"Fine," I answered with a sigh. "Let's talk about shaving."

"Nah," Mark answered. "I changed my mind. I'm gonna grow a beard as soon as I can. I don't want some razor that close to my throat!"

And that's when the doctor walked in. Mark tossed the brochure away as quickly as possible, embarrassed, and I stifled another giggle.

Turns out the tuberculosis shot was not the most traumatic part of Mark's visit after all.