STORY BY
That awful black and white film they showed us in the school cafeteria. The cousin who visited that summer who knew things you couldn’t fathom. That book you found when you were baby-sitting for the new neighbors down the street. And of course, that day your mom said, “Ask you father” while he said, “Ask your mother.”
These are your stories.
Read them all: You’ll laugh till you cry and recapture the ignorance—I mean innocence—of your youth.
It was fifth or sixth grade and all the girls in our class were told they'd be going to the "library" – a temporary building – for THE FILM.
The boys were acting like wild chimpanzees as we walked out of the room, taunting us with comments like "have a bloody good time!"
I had no idea what was in store.
Standing at the back of the library, cloaked in shadows, were all of our mothers – hard to tell who was more embarrassed, them or us. At least their faces were hidden, which is more than I can for ours.
Slack-jawed, we watched the black and white film, cursed in the light reflecting off the movie screen. The end-of-school bell coincided perfectly with the end of THE FILM, as we were told to gather our belongings from class and meet our carpools.
As I sat in the front seat of our woodie station wagon, neither of us acknowledged that we had just occupied the same air space in the library. My mother's white-knuckles gripping the steering wheel, her steely glare avoiding all eye contact, she finally asked, "You don't have any questions do you?"
That kind of question prompts only one kind of answer: “No, ma'am."
My mother started out perfectly: after I had sounded out an odd four-letter word on the bathroom wall, I insisted my mother explain it. She said it was an ugly word for a beautiful act between two people who loved each other and it was how husbands and wives showed that love.
I was repulsed but relieved it was an old-people thing. But…my parents were recently divorced. So I was twice as confused. Did they do it, thus causing the divorce? Or never do it, causing the divorce?
A few years later, I was informed by an eighth-grader that the four-letter-word was also how babies were made. I deduced that my parents did it twice, decided it was gross and divorced.
In fifth grade, (New Orleans) Mama sent my sister and one of her precious and popular girlfriends into my room to tell me the facts of life. At that time, I did not have a clue what they were telling me or why. All I knew is that I loved being with them.
Then, in seventh grade, Mama brought me a number of books from my aunt, who was famous for telling all the girl cousins that if you bathed during your period, you could get sick and die. Need I go on? That she is a sister of my mother is still a mystery to me.
However, I do clearly remember that as a very young child, she answered me in the simplest way possible but truthfully, whatever I asked. I tried to do that with my daughter.
I was out of town that weekend many years ago and indeed, her dad took her [to sex education class at the synagogue.] Mothers went with girls, fathers for boys, and my husband in the middle. They talked and asked, and questions were answered. Then on the way home, my daughter innocently asked her father, "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, what is it?"
"What’s masturbation?"
After he recovered from choking and then hitting the car in front of him, he discussed executing a perfect chip shot when you're 30 yards from the pin.
I do remember that in seventh grade when the synagogue had the "bring your child in to talk about sex session," my parents thought it best that my father take me. I don’t think I learned that much, but he may very well have used the time to teach me how to perfectly execute a chip shot when you're 30 yards from the pin.
My mother firmly believed that avoidance was the key to effective sex. Even when she was pregnant with my brother, she managed to escape any real explanation of how that baby got in her belly. She said simply that my brother started out as “a goopy.” (also known as “guppy” in some parts.)
In my 5-year-old mind, that meant she had a giant eye booger growing in her tummy, and that was just gross. I asked no further questions, and she provided no further explanation – ever. That’s what the public school system was for. If my teachers couldn’t answer all my questions, well, I probably didn’t need to know.
I survived puberty with a borrowed copy of Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret, a few outdated films in science class and a dictionary. Eventually I got it all figured out, and three decades later, I can safely say I still don’t want an eye goopy in my belly.
My son (now 11) had a day off from school in Kindergarten and was home with an older boy from down the street. I was a bit concerned when I realized that he was in his room (with the older neighbor) with the door shut so I walked in and what did I find? The two of them sitting in the dark with the flashlight reading one of my daughter’s (then 11) books about puberty. I figured I should ask them if they had any questions and while the neighbor boy (also 11) wanted to get up and run, my son merely wanted to know when he'd get pubic hair.
Twenty-eight years ago, the nursery school called to say that my 3-year-old daughter had fallen off her tricycle and said she hurt her labia. I asked if she were ok and if I should come pick her up. They assured me she was fine. When I then asked why they had called, they responded that it was because she herself had used the word labia! (Unfortunately, I think the school might still be uncomfortable and would still call!)
My mom handed me a book and said, "Read this." I mostly just looked at the illustrations and got the idea. Friends helped me to fill in the educational gaps. But, I suppose I was more fortunate than my grandmother.
Granny (97) told me that she knew nothing about sex and found out about sex on her wedding night. She was quite shocked! At 17, she married a man 10 years older than herself. She said, "He was a good man and very patient."
My Mom was embarrassed so my Dad had to have the talk.....we sat at the kitchen table while my Mom covered her face with her hands and my Father explained what a beautiful thing it was and how it was healthy and good. I always wondered if it was so wonderful why did she have to cover her face? It had to do with the way she was told about it, I'm sure. Thank Goodness for my Dad!
Slumber party, 1961 at Pat’s house, who was the "experienced, mature" one.
She ended up pregnant in 11th grade and had to leave school. Glad I didn't "listen" to her "words of wisdom!”
My younger son tried to find out about it from the Victoria's Secret Catalog, but didn't have much luck there and my elder son found out from Playboys his cousin gave him that were two decades old!
Some time around fifth grade, my mother took me to a class comprising a large number of girl scouts and their mothers. It was in the elementary school gym/multi-purpose room.
There were lots of diagrams, and I still remember the pear-shaped uterus, the snail-like fallopian tubes, and the walnut ovaries. Whoever was teaching – or was it a film? – talked about and showed the sperm swimming up to the egg and everything that happened afterwards.
The instruction must have been somewhat vague about how the sperm got in that environment in the first place. So, on the way home, I asked my mother to explain. My response:
"Does that mean you have to take your panties off?"
At 14, I was considered “old” back when I started my menstrual cycle.
One afternoon, I went to the restroom and found blood in my underwear. I started screaming, as my Mom had not even thought about telling me the “Facts of Life”. When she came into the bathroom and saw the blood, she suddenly slapped my face, which of course, made me cry even more. I yelled, “It’s not my fault—it’s not my fault.”
She then dried my tears, wiped my face with a damp cloth and asked me to come into the living room where she proceeded to explain the birds and the bees.
The reason that she slapped me is that in old Eastern European cultures, there is an old wives tale that if you slap a young woman across the face upon starting her period, the monthly cramps will not be bad. And you know, they weren’t.
» Return to "The Talk" - Part Two
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