Having ‘the talk’ isn’t easy for anyone

The last week of school, the 14-year-olds in my carpool dumped their backpacks into the car and buckled in, looking ashen and shell-shocked.

No, not because of final exams. The two eighth-graders and their classmates were learning about human sexuality in science.

It started harmlessly enough on Monday, with a discussion of what happens to boys’ and girls’ bodies during adolescence. They could handle that — after all, they’re it. But by Wednesday, they had watched a video of a woman giving birth. On the way home, Sawyer slumped against the car door.

It gets worse, Taylor told him from the back seat, her eyes wide. Her class was a day ahead in the curriculum; they had just watched a slideshow of sexually transmitted diseases. She looked queasy.

The next day, when asked about the slideshow as he climbed in the back seat after school, Sawyer responded with an He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the images: “Why did you have to bring up?”

Taylor, in the front seat this time, shuddered.

I chuckled. I appreciate that their school offers sex education, especially as a follow-up to a unit on genetics. The same teacher who explained alleles and haploid and diploid cells is now teaching them about reproduction and STDs.

Arizona law does not require schools to teach sex education, though many do. But the law does require that if schools offer it, teachers must stress abstinence.

No worries about that, the kids say halfway through the harrowing week. “No one is going to have sex —

Sawyer says emphatically. At the very least, they’re going to have nightmares.

Kudos to Ms. Davey. It’s tough enough talking to one teenager about sex. Imagine having that conversation with the entire eighth grade.

When it came to having “the talk,” I am part of a generation of parents who were determined to answer our children’s questions about sex openly and honestly.

We weren’t going to leave books about periods and pregnancy on our daughter’s beds with hand-scrawled notes that said, “DON’T show your brother!” or pretend not to hear our

sons when they asked why their penises sometimes stood at attention.

But when our kids actually did start asking questions — earlier than we expected — we looked into their sweet, innocent faces, and couldn’t say the words without sputtering.

The naked truth just sounds so icky when you’re explaining it to someone wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt.

I answered Sawyer’s first questions about where babies come from accurately, if not a little vaguely.

“They grow in a uterus inside a mommy’s tummy.” Later, when he asked

the baby starts to grow, I told him, “The man has sperm, and the woman has an egg, and when they mix together, a baby starts to grow.”

Later when he asked more specifically, “Yes, but how does the sperm

there?” I stuttered. I tried repeating my earlier answer, but he pressed: “I know How does the sperm there?”

It turned out that someone on the playground had already told him. He wanted confirmation from me. I could feel my insides curling up.

We were in the car, and I suppose it was better that I didn’t have to say the words while looking my second- grader in the face. I didn’t expect question soon.

I took a deep breath and said, yes, his friend with the big mouth (and an older sister) was right. I explained it simply and talked about being a grownup, loving someone and wanting to be close.

A long silence followed and then Sawyer whispered, more to himself than to me: “Gross.”

It’s been an ongoing conversation since.

I found myself answering a whispered “What’s masturbating?” during “Transformers” while moviegoers around us giggled. “Good job, Mom,” someone sitting behind us whispered, and then passed me a box of Junior Mints. (Trust me, I the chocolate.)

And thanks to television, I was forced to explain erectile dysfunction, trying to keep a straight face, when Sawyer was 10. He shook his head: “Cialis for use? Why would anyone want to do it Seriously, it’s gross. As he got older, I even bought books to make sure my answers were correct. (What? Do know why men have nipples?) Sometimes I’d overdo it, and Sawyer would cover his ears and say, “OK! Enough already!”

Let’s face it, teaching kids about sex is not comfortable for anyone involved. As much as it freaks our kids out to think about

having sex, it freaks us out even more to think about

doing it. But we actually do want our children to have healthy, happy sex lives — just not anytime soon.

My worries when Sawyer was little — that he would poke his eye out running with a stick, or fall out of the tree in the backyard — seem tame now that he’s a teenager.

At this age, parents worry more about choices made before kids are mature enough to know for sure, changing their lives before they even get the chance to really start living.

Their world moves at such a fast pace now.

The decisions Sawyer makes in the next few years will have a huge impact on his future. I want him armed with the information to make them well.

Schools teach the facts, starting in kindergarten with Human Growth and Development — or Human and Development, as Sawyer used to call it.

But it’s up to us parents to talk to our kids about our about sex — like responsibility and respect — no matter how awkward we feel, or how far they roll their eyes back into their heads. (This parenting gig is wimps.)

Those books I bought said kids who talk to their parents about sex are more likely to delay their first encounter and to practice safe sex when they do become sexually active.

So we’ll keep talking — well, maybe after a summer hiatus. After their week of sex education, Sawyer and Taylor are done.

In the car, Sawyer groaned, “I don’t even want to about sex.” Taylor nodded in solidarity.

I chuckled again. I suspect they’ll get over it.

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