Let's Talk About Sex

When I was a child, my mother never talked to me about sex.  When I started asking questions, she handed me a book.  When I had questions about what was in that book, she gave me a different book. 

I was determined to do things differently with my children.  I've talked to my 12-year-old daughter about sex and sexuality ever since she was small, using age-appropriate language.  When I was pregnant with my son and she asked how the baby would get out, I told her.  Later, when she asked how the baby got in there in the first place, I told her.

When she was about eight, she found a condom in my bedroom and asked what it was.  I gave her what I thought was a simple, basic explanation, and then she asked, "So Mom, what did it feel like?  You know, when you and Dad were having sex?"  So I've always had my hands full with this one.

The official talk was the easy part.  The harder part has been filtering the messages from books, television, movies, magazines, music and her friends to help my children, particularly my daughter, develop a view of sex and her burgeoning sexuality that is healthy and natural, yet morally conscious.

A New York Times book review I read around the time my daughter was asking me how sex "felt" provided the morality framework for our later discussions.  The book being reviewed was about a man who learned to renounce his sexually promiscuous lifestyle, thanks to the teachings of a monk who became his lifelong friend.  The monk taught the author that his principal failing wasn't sex, but selfishness -- in particular, the selfishness of using another person for your own pleasure, which diminishes both the other person's humanity and your own.

Although I never actually bought or read the book, and don't remember the name of it or the author, I've used the selfishness concept in conversations with my daughter about sex and have found it quite useful as a way to reframe and critique those messages that bombard them daily. 

One thing that makes it harder now, is that she thinks she knows everything already.

When a rap song comes on the radio, I am quick to point out the rampant misogyny and hyperbolic boasts in the songs.  My daughter is equally quick to let me know that she not only knows all the words that are half-edited out, but fully understands the salacious meaning behind them.

The other day, a song came on the radio in which the rapper instructed his lover that good "lawn" maintenance was essential if she wanted to enjoy his company.

I changed the station.

"Mom, you know I know what that means," she said.

I shrugged. "Oh, I'm sure you do," I chuckled. "But that's not why I changed the station.  Why is he insisting that she mow her lawn?  What about his lawn?  What's his lawn care situation?  I'll bet he's not mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges."

She laughed.  I could tell that wasn't the response she had expected.  So I continued.

"You don't need some man telling you what to do with your lawn. The way I see it, if I want to let weeds grow in my backyard, that's my business."

She took "backyard" to mean something I hadn't intended.

"OMG!  MOM!  MOM!  Mom, that's gross!  That's disgusting!  Weeds in your backyard!  Ew!  Ew!"

I didn't correct her. I think it's okay for the pre-teens to think there is more to this sex stuff that they don't really know yet.  Stuff parents know that they don't.  Especially since it's true.

Most recently, I found a Zane book in her room.

If you're not familiar with Zane, Zane is the pseudonym of an African-American author of hardcore erotica, erotic fiction that can best be described as "nasty." 

And by nasty, I don't mean shocking, titillating, and heat-inducing.  I mean base, vulgar and crude. 

I couldn't really complain.  I was reading Harold Robbins novels at her age.  Now there was a man who could write a sexy sex scene!

I wasn't upset by the presence of the book, only disappointed that she didn't have better taste in smut.  "Really, dude? Zane?"

"It's not mine!" she said.  She admitted she had read some of it, then went on to tell me a fairly plausible story about who the book actually belongs to. 

Not that it matters, but I believe her.  My daughter's taste runs more to sexy vampires.  Still, there was no point in letting her think Zane books represent appropriate sexual behavior, any more than rap songs do.

"Throw it in the trash," I said. 

She willingly obliged, which all but confirmed that the book wasn't hers.

I was all geared up for a morality discussion about selfishness and using another person for self-gratification, but she was way past me.  "I suppose if you don't know anything, you might look at some of it and go, 'Ooh,' but for me, it was...actually, it was kind of boring."

I let it pass.  I'm not going to get mad about a dirty book.  Later, of course, I fished it out of the trash.  The book was definitely nasty, in a gag-inducing sort of way. But there was nothing erotic about it.  And after a few repetitive scenes, it was kind of boring.

Curiosity is normal and natural.  But at the same time, I am maintaining a watchful eye over her.

I hope my daughter continues to come to me with her questions and worries and concerns, the way I never was able to with my mom at her age.  Books are fine -- both as sources of information about sex, as well as enjoyment -- but I know from my own experience that they can generate more questions than answers.  Open communication is key. 

In the last few years of her life, my mother finally started to talk to me about sex.  It was uncomfortable at first, because it was so unexpected.  But my mother had finally come to relate to me not just as her youngest child, but as a woman, and our "no holds barred" sex talks are now among my favorite memories of her.  I hope my kids remember our "talks" with fondness instead of discomfort or shame.

Original to NYC Moms Blog.  Carolyn Edgar is a lawyer, writer and single mom who lives with her two children in Harlem.  Carolyn also writes about her life experiences on her personal blog (http://carolynedgar.wordpress.com).