Lie-only sex education

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by Stewart Sallo (letters@boulderweekly.com)

I'll never forget the time my dad sat me down and told me about sex. I was 10 years old, and we were sitting on my bed one evening as one of our frequent father-son talks took an unexpected and horrifying turn. By the end of this bewildering biology lesson, in which it was quickly portrayed to me in the most clinical terms what went where, my stunned reaction was a testament to the one-dimensional, dutiful approach that parents typically took in those days.

"Why?" I cried out, already beginning the countdown to the dreaded day when I would be required to do what had been depicted to me matter-of-factly as an inevitable part of growing up. What I really meant by my monosyllabic retort was, "Why would anybody want to do something so disgusting?"

I guess, in modern terms, we might refer to that inadequate, fateful first lesson in human sexuality as "biology-only sex education." But, as insufficient and one-dimensional as it was, my first exposure to what is euphemistically referred to as "the facts of life" was far superior to Mark Mekler's.

One day, 10-year-old Mark Mekler received a phone call from his friend who had just been handed the juiciest of revelations from his dad. "You're not gonna believe this: The man puts his penis in the woman's vagina!"

"Get out of here," the incredulous boy responded. But after I insisted that it was true and that my dad had told me so, little Mark conceded, and, with that, had received an even less desirable, but regrettably common, first lesson in sex. Let's call it "peer-only sex education."

About five years later, I sat down in my tenth-grade geometry class on the first day of school and was treated to the most beautiful sight I had ever laid eyes on: a lovely, dark-haired, mini-skirted girl named Cindy, with whom I was about to fall in love and learn the delights of sex. A few months later, my parents discovered that their teenage son was having sex. Their response was to sit me down—much like my dad had done five years earlier—to inform me that having sex at my age was "playing with fire" and order me to never again see the girl who, I was convinced, was the love of my life. No talk of birth control, not a word about venereal diseases, and certainly no discussion about the genuine feelings of love I was having for the first time. Today we call what I received "abstinence-only sex education."

Predictably, I promised to obey but had absolutely no intention of discontinuing my blissful, first-love experience. I began sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night and returning just before dawn; I creatively invented excuses to leave the house for acceptable reasons, such as going to the library to study; and my male friends became my willing co-conspirators by covering for me as needed. I now call this "lie-only sex education."

And I'm here to tell you that this is the natural consequence of biology-only, peer-only and, especially, abstinence-only sex education.

Fast forward (and I do mean fast) 35 years, and suddenly I have a daughter who is exactly the same age I was when I walked into that geometry class. The proverbial shoe is on the other foot. And I have to decide what manner of sex education I want for my daughter. Here's what my experience as a teenager, coupled with my experience as the parent of a teenager, has taught me.

As a teenager, my daughter is suspended somewhere between childhood and adulthood. During these pivotal years, it is her job to develop and assert her own identity, so that when she comes out the other end she'll be able to make her own decisions and be self-sufficient. As the parent of a teenager, it is my job to allow her the latitude to begin making her own decisions, while providing the guidance she needs to keep her safe and secure. It's a delicate balancing act for both of us that requires thoughtfulness, sensitivity and mutual respect.

I can't think of a more mindless and ill-fated approach to parenting a teenager than ordering her not to do something. This approach, used by far too many parents—and the essential strategy of abstinence-only and just-say-no programs—is devoid of the thoughtfulness and sensitivity that teenagers need during this transitional period. Indeed, this fantastical approach smacks of negligence and flies in the face of the reality of what the teenage experience is all about. Teenagers need support and real information, not easy answers and disrespectful platitudes.

Most importantly, when a parent washes his hands of the very real responsibility of being a personal life guide by spouting convenient, spoon-fed clichés, the possibility of deep intimacy in this precious relationship is compromised, if not lost.

With all of this in mind, the message I try to send my daughter goes something like this:

"You're not an adult yet, but you're certainly not a child anymore. You're sort of like an apprentice adult, and I'm your mentor. It's still my job to take care of you, but you must begin to make your own decisions, especially about issues such as sex and drugs. I trust you to make good decisions, and I want you to trust me enough to talk to me about what you're going through.

"I'll tell you what I've learned and do my best to help you as you go through your transition to adulthood, but you need to take responsibility for your choices and the consequences they bring. Please know that you can talk to me about anything—anything—and that I'll do my best not to judge or criticize you. I will stand by you if you make a mistake and need my help, and I trust you to be honest with me.

"Above all, try to remember that I respect you and love you more than life itself. I believe in you and know that, together, we'll make sure your teenage years are safe, healthy and the best possible training ground for a life filled with all of the wonderful things you deserve."

Parents who think they can replace all of that with three words are kidding themselves and cheating their kids.

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