Fifth grade. Sex Ed time. Only now they don’t call it sex education, it’s “Health and Family Living.” And they don’t actually talk about sex! That would be unbecoming and unwarranted. But they get the anatomy down. And puberty. And apparently, the week-long subject ends with everyone coloring penises with crayons. Balls and alls. I’m sure they must have colored in both gender’s anatomies, but coloring in the penises was what Sophie first trumpeted to me after the third and final session of their awkward seminar.
When I was in school they gave us an anatomy lesson with a portion of a book that had a man on one page and a woman on the other, both sliced open lengthwise like fish, their head turned to the side in shame for the whole procedure and all the organs, sexual and otherwise, available for immediate viewing. The penis was cut in half so you could see all the invisible tubing, and all the interesting womanly parts were mangled in the same way on the opposing page. Breasts laid open to see the milk providing apparatae, the ever mysterious and curious female genitals reduced to their substantial plumbing. It was more frustrating than educational for me as a young male. Where were all the good pictures of the parts I really cared about!? What a load of crap. This was the founding moment for my and many of my friends’quest to raid their father’s Playboy collection and have a good look at what was actually going on. What all the big deal was about.
That’s really what it is. We make such a big damned deal about it as Americans. We’re such prudes and dance around the real issues, when we should be matter-of-fact. Hell, kids are going to find out information, wrong or right. Nature abhors a vacuum. But just like a diet that only excludes one thing, this obsessive exclusion of sex only makes us want it all the more. Whatever we’re not allowed to have, we want more than anything in the known universe. Which is why our Puritan culture ironically reeks of it in every observable facet. In seemingly every popular song, ad, movie, books. It’s exhausting, really. Like a flashing, neon HOT NOW Krispy Kreme sign to someone on a strict no-carb diet. Oh, the nasty things I would do to that Krispy Kreme doughnut. Yeah, mmmm, as soon as that light goes on I would get a whole dozen…start with a couple classic glazed, those go down so easy, that’s right, that’s how I like it…”
But you’ve got to do something, right? Start somewhere. Stem the creative carnival of misinformation. Sophie’s friends have been barking delusions from around the corner like proud Carnies in front of their games. Kitten-call falsities like, “Babies come out your butt!” “French kissing too much can get you pregnant!” “Lesbians can only have girls!” If you don’t tell them the correct facts, they’re gonna make some shit up. Then they’ll share it with their friends, who will instantly believe them. I have to believe them, they’re my friend! They haven’t let me down one time, in all the information they’ve given me that I’ve never checked up on! Plus their carnival games have great stuffed animals and we eat lunch together.
So they were separated by gender into two classes, a female teacher with the girls and a male teacher with the boys. At least there was an attempt. Tell them about the wonderful changes puberty brings you. Pimples and swelling chests and periods and moodiness. Oh my! The things they have to look forward to. That I have to look forward to.
The boys’ class was always done a few minutes early, streaking outside to play basketball and handball and soccer. Not a hint of embarrassment or confusion. The boy’s teacher was fantastically short but sweet. Keep it simple. These idiots aren’t listening anyway, so I’ll just stick to the simple crap they need to know. Testicles, penis, urethra… breasts, vagina, uterus, fallopian tubes, yes, breasts, no, they don’t look like that in real life, no, that’s a cross section of the vagina, yes breasts, yes, I said vagina, that’s enough now, hey let’s watch this cool video about puberty then go outside and play games with balls.
The girl’s class, however, was always late. They had real questions, wanted some clarification. They knew, somewhere in the back of their quickly changing brains, that they were going to be the ones responsible for the details and results of all this activity the adults were dancing around. So their wonderings were written down on little sticky notes for the teacher to anonymously respond to at the end of the class. Questions like,
Q: What is menstrubation?
A: That’s one for your parents.
Q: Can you get pregnant by sitting in a two-piece swimsuit too long around boys? A: No.
Q: How do you get pregnant?
A: That’s one for your parents.
After the icebreaker of having all the girls say the different body parts, ending, of course, with “PE-NIS,” which most of the girls apparently whispered with blushed cheeks. (Get used to it girls, it’s all about the penis!) She then dutifully explained to them all the changes in their bodies, the hormones and emotions and body hair and bleedings. But not sex. That would be one for your parents. The parents who have assumed that you covered it in this big class. So they’ll be steeped in their friends’ information made up or gleaned from the internet, the great autistic oracle of our time.
Luckily Sophie had to have the talk at age 7. Much earlier than we had planned, but the “babies are born out of your butt” carnival of 2010 was in town and had their tents securely fastened in the 3rd grade playground.
A man puts his penis in a woman’s vagina and squirts semen that has sperm in it. The sperm travel to the egg in her uterus, fertilizes the egg, and nine months later a baby is born and it comes out of her vagina. There. Done.
“OUT OF HER PEEPEE!!!??” She yelled with horror and dismay. I don’t know why that was so much worse than your butt. Maybe her young mind had thought, already solid stuff coming out of there, a baby can’t be that much worse that a giant turd.
“I am so adopting,” she said with finality, even after we assured her that the female body gets ready for it all, and it is a natural process where the hormones loosen everything up and dissolve the cartilage, expand the opening. Still adopting.
Lilah, who was only 4 and forced by proxy to learn the facts of life when she still could not pronounce her R’s, L’s, or Y’s, just laughed a lot.
When we were done, Sophie told C., “That was hilarious. And gross.”
At the end of her official school-sanctioned seminar, they colored in the penises. To normalize it, I guess. Whatever color you want, correct or inventive. Apparently blue was the most popular.
Sitting in my office writing, I heard Sophie and her friend gathering up our pug for a walk. He was so excited about the whole event that his red rocket shot out, embarrassed and proud all at the same time. Damn deviant dog. Keep your lipstick in its holster!
“Ewww!” Sophie yelled, then whispered. “It’s his nocturnal emission.” They both laughed and snapped the leash on him, running out the door.
Are you fucking kidding me!? They taught the girls about nocturnal emissions but not how babies are made or STD’s are given out? What the hell do little girls need to know about nocturnal emission? NOTHING! They can discover that waaayyy later and be grossed out as adult females. This is not useful information!
But I just quietly seethed in the office. I’m not correcting this one. They can think that our furry numnut’s red rocket is nocturnal emission. They’re about equivalent, anyway. How gloriously misinformed. The alpha and the omega is the penis in our world. That gross dangly thing that holds all the important things you need to know, girls. Get used to saying it, coloring it in, finding out what weird things it does for no reason, and coloring them in.
The abstinence of useful information continues to protect us like a condom kept too long in our wallet. By the time we have to use, it we find out it’s broken.
I love this. Imagine what the generation before you were told. We are making progress I think. Thank goodness these kids have parents who are alert, aware and willing to fill in the gaps.