Last Sunday we waited in the foyer after church. Spot danced around me, describing the people from the next congregation, who were leaving the chapel in ones and twos for the bathroom, a drink, a tithing envelope. “That’s a man with a mustache” she chanted (quietly). “That’s a boy with a vest.” “That’s a big lady with a big bum.” (It was.)
Yesterday Susan or Spot or Sally, somebody spilled something and didn’t clean it up. Made a mess and wouldn’t take responsibility. I couldn’t get a confession. I resorted to, “I don’t care who did it, I just want you to be honest.” They are too young and trusting (and short-memoried) to know that I do care, and that once I’ve lavished the child who was honest with praise, I’ll still make them clean it up. Susan finally relented. “Mom, can I tell you the real, real truth now?” Of course, I said, pleased. “It was Spot,” she said.
Several weeks ago at lunch, Carina said she’d read somewhere that if your kid hasn’t asked you about sex, or where babies come from by the age of seven or eight, they already know, from someone who is not you. I started to panic. Sally was turning nine the next week, and she had never asked, or when we talked about the baby, she was satisfied with answers like, “people can have a baby once they’re married and you love your husband.”
But I thought, I know my child, my girl-child who would rather gallop like a horse than strut like a Bratz doll, who reads boy books and girl books without knowing that some people think there is a difference. Who wears her holey jeans to school with the same air of indifference that she dons her church dress and says she’d prefer to get her hair cut again because she likes it just below her ears.
Who, even though I offered first when she turned eight, and again before she turned nine, doesn’t want to get her ears pierced, not yet, not now. She is wholly, completely, gloriously, still a child, my child. Who doesn’t have a cell phone, doesn’t know how to work a computer without my help, who has never seen a video game, for whom a half hour of TV watching (Fetch with Ruff Ruffman on PBS) is a treat, one that doesn’t happen every day.
Some days she watches more TV, if I am done, for whatever reason. Sometimes she will only eat one of each vegetable in the salad, and makes gagging noises when we make her try the tilapia, despite warnings to set a good example for her sisters. Sometimes she wails when I ask her to unload the dishwasher, even though I’ve been expecting it of her for what seems like a decade. Sometimes I think she must be starting her period four years early as she screams, “You hate me,” and barricades herself in her room.
But I go up to her room later and see the twenty-seven horse posters on the wall and the picture of Jesus torn out from The Friend, and, in the front and center of her dresser, the picture of a three-year old Sally in her father’s arms, kissing his cheek, in front of the great pyramid. She knows I don’t hate her.
I came home from my lunch and asked her, casually, if she knew what sex was, and how babies are made. She shrugged and said no. I breathed in relief and went to find Tom to let him know we’d be having The Talk with Sally that Sunday.
On Sunday, after my nap, I sat Sally on the couch and told Tom that, yes, he needed to actually be there, to sit and listen, and maybe say a few things. I was surprised how apprehensive I was. I’m not shy about sex, or uncomfortable with my children, but The Talk is a delicate thing to balance.
I wanted Sally to a) feel how much we love her and want her to be happy, b) believe two seemingly contradictory things: that 1) sex is good and fun and special and 2) it’s only like that after you’re married (I want her to both look forward to sex as a wonderful, natural, normal part of life, and to resolve within herself to wait for it), and c) to comprehend some good, accurate information (I spent the years eight to thirteen thoroughly confused about one part of the male anatomy).
I started out talking about how dad and I got married, but resorted to the same thing that calmed me on my wedding day. I asked her about Adam and Eve, and what God told them, and what they did. I don’t believe the only purpose of sex is procreation, but it’s a big part, and it helps to think of it in those terms, biologically, especially as my own tummy gets rounder and rounder. I explained that sex also helps married people love each other more.
She had some questions. “Have you and dad, you know, done it?” I said, well, we do have three kids. “When do you do it?” And I told her, if our door is locked, like on a Saturday morning or a Sunday afternoon, you probably don’t want to come in anyway.
And then she asked, “How does it feel?” I looked at Tom. He didn’t want to answer that one. I said, you know how you feel when you’re really, really hungry and then you finally eat something? Or when you have to sneeze and then it finally comes, and it’s a relief? Something like that, but better. “But how does it feel?” (That was the only question I deferred until she’s older, like thirty-five and engaged. I promised to tell her everything when she is engaged.)
It was easy to explain keeping our bodies clean and pure to Sally, and why we do things differently even when the rest of the world takes sex lightly, because she’s used to choosing modest clothing from racks of stuff “we don’t wear,” and she knows that there are kid movies and mommy movies, for example, and that some good things are only good when you are older, like riding in the front seat of the car (even Spot can tell you that you have to be twelve for that). (There have been exceptions, of course, but only when mom said so.)
I remembered how, when I first went through the temple, I thought, this is all stuff we learned in Primary. Be obedient, serve the Lord, keep your covenants. The Talk is a little different, just like the temple the first time is a little different. It’s a big milestone, a moment in time that separates you a bit from childhood and pushes you toward adulthood. But I realized, instead of being disjointed, instead of being some big thing outside everything else we’ve ever taught her, it was just another step in what we’ve always been teaching her. (Forget for a moment how I teach them to yell and swear, when I forget that everything I do that they see is teaching them something.)
Tom finally made a contribution, at the end. He told Sally that she could ask us anything, anytime. In fact, we want her to talk to us about this stuff and not her friends, because we know there is a difference between sacred and secret. Of course when she’s older she’ll talk to her friends, her roommates, and that’s okay. As long as she remembers where she heard it first.
And then she asked one last question. At the beginning of The Talk, she was curled on the couch, knees to her chest, eyes half-hidden, giggles issuing from her circled arms. Slowly she unfolded, turned towards us, as her interest overcame her embarrassment.
So despite all my faults, my tantrums, my discontents, the days I shout for no reason and use the mean voice instead of the patient voice that is smart enough to know these kids are only children, only young, only innocent, Sally asked, finally, “Can I have a hug?”
And I wondered if Susan, at five, is really too young for The Talk.
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What a wonderful, sweet experience! Even those who are open to talking about sex find the start of the first conversation can be a little nerve wracking. We have two girls and had the discussion a couple years ago when one was 10 and the other 8. The 10YO braved her way through it while her younger sister was all questions and curiosity. Even now the older one is more like “la la la la la” {fingers in her hears} when we talk about things and the other is all about the who, what, when, where, why and how.
I do think kids need to hear it from parents first. The world (and the schoolyard and TV and friends) is full of misinformation and misrepresentation of something so special and sacred. It’s nice to sort of try and get their heads on straight before they have to face such “grown-up” stuff. It is a bit sad we need to have the discussion earlier and earlier. Kids stay innocent only so long!
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Jane Reply:
February 25th, 2010 at 2:33 pm
I had the talk at 8, so I definitely wasn’t doing it earlier, but I agree — esp if we still lived in Florida or something, I would be much more concerned about the early-sexualization of children. I know I need to be concerned here, too, but I am so happy to live here.
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I completely enjoyed reading your sweet experience. And I am so glad that you shared it.
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I am glad my boys don’t seem that interested in learning either. both are well versed in how babies are born(6- you can squeeze em out where they are all squished like silly putty, or the dr can cut your tummy up with lots of blood and stuff)
but think kissing is gross and boobs are yucky girl stuff
LOL
I hold out talking until they even notice more of a difference
steff
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Jane Reply:
February 25th, 2010 at 2:34 pm
Yep — Sally thinks boys are the most annoying thing on earth. ;p
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Sounds much better than my experience! My mom waited until I was 12- which is a little too late, to be honest. The girl across the street had informed me in second grade that sex was “when a boy pees in a girl’s pee hole.”
And then later (I was 16 or so) she realized she forgot to mention masturbation and oral sex. That was a short talk. According to my mom oral sex is “if what you’re picturing is gross, then that’s it.”
They also assured us we could come to them with questions, but to be honest, I didn’t really trust them to answer well, so I never did. Most of my sex ed was from public school. I learned about the clitoris in an online BYU health class, which was useful, but still probably years too late.
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Jane Reply:
February 25th, 2010 at 2:36 pm
I think I did mention something to Sally that it might hurt the first time — I remember being quite upset w/ my mom for not telling me that part — she later confessed to not enjoying sex for quite awhile after marriage. I plan to be much more specific and even more open, as they get older.
One of my roommates at BYU (how many great/funny sex things do you hear at the Y?) insisted on pronouncing penis “pennis”; she thought that sounded much less dirty or something.
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I have a book called “How to talk to your child about sex.” It encourages having the talk around age eight. My oldest just turned eight and I have pondering about how to have this talk with him. I need to read the book again. We recently had to have a talk about child abuse/sexual abuse as a requirement for cub scouts. He seemed very embarrassed by it also completely innocent. But I know it’s just a matter of time. And I want my kids to hear it from my husband and me before anyone else.
I recall when I found out that I thought it was an awful thing. I was 9. I told the boy in my class that I would NEVER do that. He told me, “You parents did it.” And I said, “No way! We’re Mormon. They don’t do bad things.” lol
I did feel embarrassed and scared that I learned something like that. I felt like it was a dirty secret I knew. There was no way I was going to tell my parents I knew something like that.
So, yeah. I need to have that talk.
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Jane Reply:
February 25th, 2010 at 2:31 pm
Did you have to watch the church child abuse video? We did during teacher improvement for primary once, and I cried the whole time.
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Egads! I have so many errors in that, leaving out words and such.
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I’m a big fan of talking about it at their level and when they ask. My kids knew sex made babies and why one should wait to do it. Then, when they were older (10-11) we talked about the exact specifics. Just last week I was chatting with my 11 year-old and made sure he remembered that when a certain time came all he had to do was throw the sheets in the washing machine and mention that he’d liked them washed that day.
I have always been open and direct and it wasn’t that awkward when we became specific. When my husband taught the boys (10 & 8 at the time) he brought out the anatomy books.
My talks include the things you mentioned, too. No reason to make them scared about it, it is after all a wonderful thing.
Also, want to know slightly uncomfortable? When they get the slightly off color references you make. Those are only funny when just your husband gets them.
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Jane Reply:
February 25th, 2010 at 2:30 pm
That has been my only regret — like when we are watching the Heart literal video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj-x9ygQEGA (which is hilaire!) and I think, uh-oh, she might understand stuff now that I was confident would go over her head before.
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Jane Reply:
February 25th, 2010 at 2:32 pm
Actually, I think the Heart one is totally kid-safe. (the Meatloaf one, however, is not.)
(Okay, so I went back and watched it, and there are a couple things in the Heart one I don’t want to explain to my kids, but it is hilarious; you have to watch it, if you haven’t already seen it. So clever.)
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Jane Reply:
February 25th, 2010 at 2:37 pm
Yes, I thought about waiting longer, but mostly I wanted to open up the subject so that she’d know, when she does have questions later, that she can and should come to us, and we’ll tell her anything she wants to know.
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Wow! I can only congratulate you on a job well done.
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I love this post. And now I’m a little freaked out because it hasn’t even occurred to me that I might need to have this talk with Ebug. Oi vey!
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This post is so, so timely for me. I am going to be involved in giving the Church some feedback on how they can help parents in different aspects of their lives. I am not a parent, but I have worked with teenagers and at-risk youth for over 10 years.
One of the things I see is how little information parents give their kids about sex. You should hear the myths these kids tell me. It’s horrifying. I believe, in a perfect world, abstinence should only be taught in the classroom. But that’s based upon parents actually talking to their kids. I think a lot of parents think that if they talk about their kids will do it. Not true. They will at least have good, accurate information.
One thing I would like to see the Church do better is maybe come out with what to talk about so parents can give information, without feeling like they are giving permission. I think a lot of the talks are basically about intimacy, and times when it’s appropriate, etc., which is great, but honestly, you need to talk about birth control, STDs, pregnancy, petting, how oral sex is still sex, etc. DETAILS.
Sorry, I’ll get off my soapbox now!
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Charlotte Reply:
February 27th, 2010 at 6:57 pm
I completely agree with you! I believe parents should always be the first ones to have the conversation because first impressions on things make such a huge impact. And that includes the details, too. I want first crack at it all.
My daughter is 13 and has a friend (who is LDS) who is no longer a virgin. Luckily we already had the talk and could discuss the repercussions of the her friend’s actions. Isn’t the saying work for the best and prepare for the worst?
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