Getting "the Talk"
By Amelia, Member, High School Organizing Team, Advocates for Youth
The How Babies Are Made picture book used paper cutout illustrations and simple, straightforward text to explain where baby plants, chicks, puppies, and human infants come from. I used to love the pictures of the adorable little puppies and chicks and even went through a phase where I requested How Babies Are Made for story time, every single night. Although sometimes my parents insisted on a little variety, most often they were more than happy to reread me the book.
That’s why, in fourth grade, when the local pediatrician came to my school and explained the facts of life, I already knew what was going on. The pediatrician returned to the school to teach my class about sexuality and puberty once or twice a year and my parents used these occasions to have an open discussion with me. Every night at dinner they would ask me how my day was and I would share concerns and anecdotes from my day. The day the pediatrician visited my school was no different. I told my parents all about the topics we discussed and what various classmates said. I was careful to keep the conversation general and rarely used myself as an example. Nor did I volunteer any personal information. I was happy to talk about the embarrassing scenarios my peers asked about, but any talk about me and my developing crushes was off limits. My parents listened closely and freely answered any questions that I raised.
These presentations were not the only time the topic of sexuality was brought up in my family. The Christmas before my thirteenth birthday, my younger brother and I were slightly surprised to rip the wrapping paper off of two brightly colored packages, only to uncover books about puberty and sexuality. I read my books quickly and quietly before promptly stashing them on the bottom of my bookshelf, ashamed to even have them seen in my room. My mom and dad didn’t press me for information, confident that I had taken the opportunity to read the books. That next year, my parents signed me up for the Sex Ed class at my church.
Our Whole Lives, or OWL for short, wasn’t like any Sex Education I’d received in school. This comprehensive program provided me and the dozen other seventh and eighth graders in my class with information on all aspects of sexuality, from basic anatomic functions, to contraceptive options, to sexual orientation. Everything was covered. We met once a week for lessons complete with interactive games, discussions, facts, and panels and when I came home that Sunday after OWL, I was eager to share my newfound knowledge with my family. Dinner conversation swung back and forth from play by play descriptions of my brother’s soccer game, to an in-depth debate over abortion rights. As OWL wore on, I became more comfortable giving personal opinions and beliefs on certain topics.
Jumping forward a few years, a few months ago, my friend Sophia started thinking about having sex for the first time with her boyfriend. What Sophia was most worried about wasn’t getting pregnant or catching an STI, rather, she was distraught over what, if anything, she was going to tell her parents. I offered her the informational handouts on contraception I’d received in OWL but I couldn’t help much with her main concern. Sophia was terrified that her parents would freak when they found out, blame her boyfriend, and keep her under house arrest until she turned eighteen. On the walk to Planned Parenthood to go over her options, I encouraged her to talk to her mom. Sophia ended up getting birth control without her parents’ knowledge. Not too long after my friend went on the pill, her parents saw her boyfriend’s bike in the driveway early one morning, proof that he had slept over. Sophia’s mother merely told her to keep safe and her father didn’t mention the incident at all. Sophia’s situation got me thinking about my own relationship with my parents.
For most people my age, one of the last things you want to hear are the words “sex” and “parents” in the same sentence. Often it conjures up a mental image of your parents that absolutely no one wants to think about. However, theoretically, unless you were born through Immaculate Conception, someone had to have sex in order to make you. More likely than not, those two people are your parents. Even worse, they had to have sex again for each of your brothers and sisters. I am lucky to count my parents as the first people I turn to when I have problems. I want to be able to talk to my mom about situations like Sophia’s and not have to sneak around. Based on the years of sexuality education and communication with my parents, both informal and formal, I am happy to announce that this is the case.
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