All That Glitters is Gold

Sometimes, I have a story I want to share, but I don’t think I have enough details to make it blog worthy.

Actually, this happens all the time, not just sometimes. I might have a thought, or see something on television or in public, or my kids, well, they still say the darndest things. It could be any of those, but those short anecdotes tend to lack the rising action and the denouement. Not that I am complaining about only having the climax, but seriously, we all need something to work for, don’t you think?

I might sit on one of those ideas, hoping to gather more information or find a way to stretch it out or embellish it for the sheer joy of writing and retelling and hopefully, for you, reading. More often than not, I just forget it, which is a damn shame, especially when I find an hour to myself to sit at my laptop and think, hmmm, what to say? Then what to say turns into yet another email or Facebook check, and the next thing you know, I’ve wasted that hour, and have nothing to show for it but a status update that only I find clever.

Can you relate to that? Sure, you can. I bet you waste all kinds of time. This is not a skill unique to me.

This is one of those stories. It’s not fully developed. It made me laugh and want to tell it to other people so that they too could laugh. Doesn’t everyone want to laugh?

Maybe not. My husband told me recently that everything I write is offensive, which might have something to do with the fact I have been doing less of it lately. This underdeveloped story might offend you. If you are offended by this or whatever else I write, do us both a favor and stop reading it. This ain’t no chicken soup for your fucking soul.

Here we go. An unfinished story.

My older daughter, E, is a freshman in high school. She is currently taking her only required year of physical education, unlike the semester required each year in middle school. She is in the middle of the sexual education unit of her class. In high school, this unit lasts for three weeks, which means they teach more than just abstinence. They also teach anatomy, so that you know what parts shouldn’t touch until G-d sanctifies that ring on your finger and you are free to procreate, according to the curriculum the conservative legislators agreed was appropriate and not necessarily based on science.

The boys are divided from the girls, so that they don’t get any funny ideas, like having sex with each other in the back stairwell. E literally stumbled across this one day while leaving class early. She actually tripped over a couple in flagrante delicto on the dirty stairs at noon in a high school. Oh, to be young again.

I asked E all the usual questions the first week of the unit (and is anyone else keeping track of how many times I say unit). My usual questions are things like “Do you have to dress out or just undress?” and “Do they divide you into partners or do you get to choose your own?” and “are they any group projects?” and of course, “Will there be an oral exam at the end?” I have asked these questions whenever the sex ed unit rolls around since the sixth grade, and like jokes about Uranus, they never get old.

This week, E came home and said to me, “I have a good story for you.” I love a good story. I settled back in my chair and waited. My thirteen year old daughter, S, sat across from me, pretending to do her homework.

“This boy in PE today asked the best question. You know it’s sex ed, right? Well, he asked the teacher if the clitoris is the same thing as the vagina!” E was delighted with herself. And does my child know me or what?

I honestly didn’t know that my fifteen year old knew what a clitoris was. This is the same kid who thought she put her tampon in the wrong hole the first time she used one a couple of years ago. I had to ask her if she had a tampon in her butthole because that is the only other hole down there that can accommodate one. She is still mad about that.

I was not surprised, however, that the thirteen year old doesn’t know what a clitoris is. She has yet to venture into the world of tampons, having a huge wrong hole fear. I keep telling her to grab a hand mirror and take a gander, but the idea of looking at her crotch is even worse than trying to plug it up by feel alone. Since we are stuck at this hole road block, we haven’t quite gotten around to discussing the happy bits. Obviously it isn’t a conversation my husband will have with her, but hell, I don’t want to talk about it with her either. Can’t she discover it on her own in the shower or near a pool jet like the rest of us?

After E told us what the boy said, S had a follow-up question, based on what she thought she heard.

“What is a glitter? Glitter? Did you say glitter? What does glitter have to do with a vagina?” she wanted to know.

“Is that a bunny in the back yard?” I quickly diverted her attention before I had to have that conversation that neither of us was ready for, certainly not over her Holocaust homework at the kitchen table.  E snorted and refused to answer her. Lucky for both of us, S didn’t remember she asked a question, as she was busy looking for the rabbit.

Later, I asked E if they actually taught about the clitoris, since they certainly didn’t bring that up in the sixth through eighth grades. She said the teachers didn’t say what it was for, just that it’s there, which means she is getting her sex education like everyone else, from the internet and her friends. She did say the class had to watch a rather awkward video about doing breast self-exams while the boys had to watch one about testicular self-exams. I have no doubt the majority of the class will demonstrate not on themselves but on each other over the weekend.

Except my daughter, whom I expect will remain abstinent until I no longer ask what happened in school that day, like when she is away at college or something.

Let’s pause here for an even shorter unfinished story. I know a woman whose husband is a lady parts doctor. He told me once about a patient who came into the ER with some sort of vaginal emergency. Again, this is a story lacking in details, except for one significant one. She had some sort of glittery hair gel with which she had styled her pubic locks. Glitter puss. I wonder if that was in the medical records.

Sometimes, maybe there is glitter near the vagina. And just perhaps the clitoris is such a fabulous little organ that we should start calling it a glitteris.  

Are you offended yet? I hope so, because I would hate for my husband to be wrong.

Abstinence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Last week, my 14 year old daughter started the sex education unit in PE at her middle school. The school was smart to schedule it in winter, so they could use two weeks that are too cold to go outside to discuss one of the world’s favorite indoor sports. Unfortunately, we live in South Carolina, and unfortunately, the educators of this state don’t believe in teaching about sex. I don’t know why they bother, especially since what they teach to sixth graders is almost exactly what they teach to eighth graders. It doesn’t seem like the best use of anyone’s time, now, does it?

I’m still trying to figure out why this stuff is not part of the science curriculum, especially the way they teach it here, as there is nothing physical about sex ed. I have a feeling they flipped a coin and the PE department lost. No matter, really, because nothing is being taught, so it doesn’t matter if they miss a week or two of four square and kingpin. I just find it amusing that the one class that requires students to disrobe is the same one that discourages it.

As with every other year since the fifth grade, my teen likes to report back what she didn’t learn in sex education. I like to start our conversations with a little joke to lighten the mood, usually about how they split up the class in couples or if the test is going to be oral. Now that she is fourteen, she gets all the jokes, but I do have to remember that technically she is still a child, even with her young woman’s body and raunchy twelve year old boy mind, and no, I don’t wonder where she gets it from. I try my best to keep it on the clean side of dirty.

It turns out she isn’t the only one who gets the jokes. Her whole class, girls who have pretty much all started their periods and have also sat through the waste of time that is sexual education in South Carolina, realizes there is nothing new to be gleaned from the third year of learning about abstinence. And if they have to sit there, not learning anything, they might as well have some fun.

Not the kind of fun you are thinking of. After all, it’s abstinence education. In our state, the girls are told they have to abstain from sexual activity until marriage. The boys are told it’s normal to have urges, but they should still try to abstain. Mind you, there is no education on how to abstain, if such a thing exists. I pity those girls who have no plans to marry.

The only thing my child has learned in sexual education is that she isn’t the only one who thinks the whole thing is a joke. Every day, a different girl raises her hand and asks a question their female PE coach isn’t allowed to answer. And it’s fabulous. She doesn’t want to discourage them from asking questions, but by Friday, I am sure she will no longer recognize any hands in the air. Here’s a taste of some of the more thought provoking questions:

Um, oral sex, is that like a blow job?

So, is it okay to masturbate with a magazine?

What other kind of sex is there besides oral, vaginal, and anal?

Does anal sex always hurt or only the first time?

Is it easier to learn how to do it if there are mirrors on the ceiling?

And my personal favorite:

Can you break a penis?

After each question is asked, the PE coach then has to provide an answer without actually answering. Her response was usually a version of “I am not allowed to answer that” or “I am not supposed to talk about that” or “I am not authorized to use that word.” Her hands were tied, but not in a good way. Sometimes, she started her answer with a head shake or a small chuckle, and this is a woman who generally doesn’t even smile.

At one point, in the course of not being able to answer any questions, she explained that the panel that decides on the curriculum has to have anywhere from two to six ministers, since they are experts on both sex and public education. Makes sense to me.  Kudos to her for not losing her cool, and extra kudos to the class for trying to make her.

Next year, my daughter will be in high school and most likely take physical education again. She told me that rumor has it in high school, they pass around condoms and talk up the birth control. What a difference a year makes.  

Careful With the Balls, Girls

I can’t believe I am saying this, but I don’t mind talking to my children about sex. I am very direct and matter of fact about it. I use the real words like penis and vagina, and I even explain why they too should use them (who wants to be the person who tells her doctor that her hoo-ha itches?). I’m glad I am so open and honest with them because I know they will bring their questions to me. I’m also glad because the public school system in our state covers abstinence thoroughly and sexuality marginally. They tell you about the parts and then tell you not to use them. They should call it asexual education.

My teen got in the car on Monday morning, and as usual, she was running late.

“Did you get your lunch and your gym uniform?” I asked her, as I do every Monday morning.

“Yes to the lunch, but I don’t need my gym uniform this week. We’re doing sex education so we don’t need them,” she said.

“What, you just take off your clothes? Wear your birthday suits? They just jump right in, don’t they?” I said.

“Jeez, Mom, gross. No, we just sit in the gym and get lectured. We don’t have to change clothes and we don’t sit around naked. Only they separate us for sex ed, so it’s not like our usual groups.”

“Separate you? How? Do they pair you up? ‘You go with you. You go with you. You with you.  You and you. And you’re left, so you’ll be with me.” I mimicked a gym teacher pairing up kids, pointing my finger at imaginary students.

It took the teen a minute to understand what I meant, and then she laughed. It’s so cool she gets all the jokes now.

“You’re so weird, Mom.” She doesn't know the half of it.

“I didn’t know what you meant,” I said. “First you don’t need clothes, and now they are separating you into pairs. I thought maybe you had, like, partners or something. The buddy system. What’s the test like? Is your grade based on your performance?”

“No, Mom, stop it.” She made her squeamish face. “They don’t teach us how to do it. They only tell us not to do it. And we’re not in pairs. They separate boys from girls.”

That afternoon, I asked her what they covered.

“Oh, you know, the most important thing to remember is to not have sex until you are married and that way you won’t get any diseases.”

“That’s not true,” I said. “You can still get some STD’s through oral contact.”

“Well, they don’t talk about oral contact, Mom. Gross. They just spend a lot of time on AIDS and herpes and how you can have it for the rest of your life.”

“Did they talk about the shots you got for HPV virus?” I asked her.

“No, besides, that’s not as bad as the other ones. And if everybody has the shots, what’s the big deal?”

“Not everyone has the shots, honey. And probably fifty percent of our population has it. And it causes cervical cancer, so you can die from it. It’s a big deal too. And what about chlamydia and gonorrhea? They are becoming resistant to antibiotics. Did they talk about that?”

“Of course not.”

“What do they talk about?”

“Really just the anatomy of the guy’s organs. And the baby and stuff. It’s not much different than last year.”

I quizzed her a bit more, and what I found out is that the public school will tell girls all about penises and testicles, even about the sensitivity of the glans, but girls still aren’t supposed to know they have a clitoris. Orgasms are not mentioned, nor are condoms. Sex is either for procreation or for ruining your life or both.

I almost wish I had a son, or at least a friend with one in the seventh grade, because I am really curious what the boys learn. Are they learning about how fabulous their penises too, or are they covering the mysterious clitoris? If girls are learning to not kick boys in the balls, are the boys learning that against her will is against the law? Is abstinence covered for both genders, or is virginity  just stressed with the girls?

I suppose I could read the syllabus, but that kind of takes the fun out of asking my teen on a daily basis: And what did you learn today? Did your coaches demonstrate it? Did they ask for any volunteers? How do you get an A? Can you earn extra credit?

When I was at the grocery store today, I heard a baby crying when I walked by the dairy aisle. That baby continued to cry for the entire time I shopped for groceries, even while I was waiting in line to check out. It stopped briefly, but then started again while I swiped my credit card. All I could think was never shake a baby, but I’m telling you, I wanted to make that baby stop crying in the worst way. All the people waiting in line to check out behind me commented on the baby too. Poor thing, it doesn’t feel like shopping today.  It must be tired. I'm glad that's not my baby.

If the public schools want to focus on abstinence, they should teach sex education with the soundtrack of a crying baby in the background. I’m telling you, those kids would be so frazzled, they’d never even touch their own parts, let alone someone else’s. That’s what abstinence education needs, a lot of crying babies. But why stop there, why not some crying babies with herpes and syphilis and shit? If you want to put the fear of God in them, then make it something worth fearing.