It Takes The Village, People, Part Deux:

Let's Talk About Sex, Baby


The whole sex talk thing is something I remember pretty strongly. I was five years old with a chronic masturbation problem. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. It was innocent, really. Embarrassing in retrospect but modesty is sort of a waste of time these days. My mom tried to explain sex to me but I was so confused and grossed out, she stopped herself. (Ewwwwwwwwww, cooties!) and waited until I was a little older to give me the full-on sex talk.

I was seven years old at the dining room table making books. (I started young.) I had just finished stapling my book about animals together when I started another. The title, "Sex." Believe it or not, I was a fairly sheltered little girl. I was only allowed to listen to classical music and no TV except Sesame Street. The George Michael song, "I want your sex" was a current hit AND in my head so I created a book, quoting the song and illustrating each phrase accordingly.

My book read...
Page one: Sex is natural.
Page two: Sex is fun.
Page three: Sex is best when its one on one
I proudly brought it to my mother when I was done.
"This is for you," I said.
Her mouth dropped. She crumpled the book. I was devestated. My book was banned! Literature a disgrace! What had I done?
"Where did you learn this?"
"I think its a song."
"Where did you hear this song?"
"Um..."

I sure didn't hear the song from a friend's parent. Nope. I was friendless in those days. I was the quiet girl, wandering the fields at recess picking dandelions and writing poetry about unicorns. Barking like a dog when kids made fun of me and dressing up like my pet rat, Kevin for Halloween. I was completely socially inept, quietly obsessed with.... sex? Who knew? I might have heard the song from the window of another car or in a store or, I froze...

"...the boy next door."

Just two weeks previous I had walked through the front door proclaiming "Fuck you!" to my mother, sweetly after just hearing it from BJ, the kid who lived next door. I had no clue what it meant, or that it was a bad word. When my mom gave me the sex chat I was so embarrassed, I wanted to hide under my bed and never come out. It was a nightmare.

"Fuck means.... sex means...."
OH GOD IN HEAVEN! It was all George Michael's fault and that stupid boy next door.

The times they have a changed though, and contrary to growing up in the suburbs, city-life is quite a different place to raise a young'n. Even if I wanted to shelter Archer it would be impossible. And that's okay with me. But when is the time to introduce him to adult concepts when he is surrounded?

Exhibit A: Like I mentioned in "It Takes a Village, People..." Archer has more gay influences in his life than most. This makes my husband nervous so it has come to him pointing out hot chicks and saying "Hot chick" to Archer.

Last night I left the room for water only to come back to Archer on my husband's lap, getting a lesson in "heterosexual sex" between two characters. He pointed at the scene, "Pretty, cool eh?"

"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Teaching him the ways of..."
"Um. He's a little young."
"Well he's a little young for hair advice and talk of eyebrow waxing as well."
"He's too young for all of it."
It was silent. The ooooh yeahs of the actors echoed throughout the house.
We both agreed, put Archer to sleep and shook with fright over having to have the "sex conversation" when he was old enough to understand what we were saying.

I tossed and turned all night, while the visions of George Michael danced in my head...



GGC