The recent, much remarked upon story about fifth-graders having sex in front of their classmates was shocking to everyone in my family -- Gabe especially. It was like his personal nightmare: the sex part, sure, but especially the part about having your butt hanging out in front of your classmates.
What's really shocking is that in the conservative Louisiana parish where this took place, there's no sex ed in the schools. So kids learn what they know from the most lascivious, least reliable sources, like the Internet (thanks a bunch, Al Gore), from movies and music videos.
Predictably, then, these kids understood the tremendous thrill of the act without for a minute thinking about the consequences. Not just pregnancy, not emotional upheaval, not STDs (among fifth-graders, it's not unheard of), but the ignominy and the lasting, even blooming grief the act would bring.
How do you make kids see sex as more than just a thrill?
Just do what Gabe's sex education teacher did:
Tired of the constant snickering and giggling during the sex ed sessions, she waited til near the end of class one day -- the class is right before recess -- and said the class wouldn't be dismissed until every single student could say "penis" and "vagina" without cracking up. If even one student so much as snickered during their oration, the whole class would have to start all over again. If they never made it all the way around the class, they'd just have to miss recess.
The way Gabe recounted this made me laugh til my stomach hurt. He did an imitation of how every kid mumbled or butchered the words, while all the other kids held their mouths closed and snorted through their noses. Of course, for a good long while, everyone was laughing so hard they were in tears. Twice, Gabe was the last kid, couldn't help cracking up, and then they had to start all over again. But in the end, they all had to say "penis and vagina" just like other words you have to deal with every day. And in the end, it stopped being so funny, and they achieved their goal and had their recess.
Why do I think this would keep fifth-graders from having sex? Well, it wouldn't necessarily, but it sure would make it seem more mundane, not to mention clinical. Look, penis and vagina are two of the un-sexiest words in the entire English language. Somebody did that on purpose. Not that I'm a big porn aficionado, but I'd be put off forever if I were to read about the act of lovemaking using only the proper clinical terminology.
More important, of course, is the fact that Gabe and his classmates are learning what happens biologically when kids' bodies mature; what's happening to physical, mental and emotional development when puberty hits; how to deal with it; and, of course, what happens when sperm meets egg, and beyond. We talk about this stuff at home. I talk to him about what was happening to my body when I was his age, and slightly older, so he knows what to expect.
It's kind of weird that I'm relating this story on the blog; it seems like the sort of thing that should be told privately to friends. I'm very conscious lately of the fact that I don't have all that many male friends who are in my life on a daily basis. My two really dear old friends from high school I talk to only occasionally -- even though one's right here in the Chicago area. And yet, they remain, in my mind, two of my closest friends; two people to whom I could tell, or say, absolutely anything, and get away with it, and have it treated both with discretion and with healthy derision.
I speak more regularly to my best friend from college, who's in Denver. He and I have a mutual if unspoken agreement that we can complain to each other about anything: it's very therapeutic, and we're both born whiners. We have unofficially opened the first chapter of WAMFA -- Whiny-Ass Motherfu**ers Anonymous -- I'm founder, he's Sergeant-at Arms. All e-mails between us have taken the form of official documents to be read into the WAMFA minutes.
Joseph Epstein's recent book, Friendship: An Expose, says men have a harder time forming deep and lasting friendships, probably because they don't share as much as women tend to.
"Women are also, I believe, less given to fantasy than are men," the author says.
"While many men believe that they had -- even late in life continue to have -- it in them to be great athletes, lovers, and business geniuses, and are often prepared to suggest as much in conversation with other men, women are not as prone to empty bragging or recounting old victories in the sack or on the playing fields of business. Women seem less status-minded, at least in friendships, than do men; they can more easily be comfortable with friends who have much less money or more money than they. Most women are also able to confide in one another without great difficulty. (Men are often made nervous by these confidences, and especially prefer not to dwell on their own inadequacies.) One sociological study showed that men often confide more easily in women than they do in other men."
Women: Is that accurate?
It could be that friendship to men is as icky, as terrifying, as daring as sex is to fifth-graders. It could be that, like Gabe, we men don't relish the thought of our butts hanging out, and yet would sooner act hang them out in front of a group than we would in private.
I can only think of two possible cures: get all my buddies together, and see if we can all go around the circle and say "You are my friend" without cracking up; and if that doesn't work, just welcome them as charter members of WAMFA.
Are you in?
--T.A.
