Sex Education For Girls: Part I

I am having another girl. I will have two girls, total. That is two weddings to pay for. Two girls to send to dance classes and tumbling. And...two girls to whom I will have to teach about the "birds and the bees."

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Two girls I will have to teach to respect their bodies. Two girls to make sure they don't end up pregnant and on the fast-track to a life of welfare and food stamps. Two girls to make sure they don't end up the class floozy.

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I know, I don't have to worry about this for a while--my girls are two and a half, and in utero. But I will have to do it someday! And with today's sexually-charged pop culture and shows like Teen Mom and Jersey Shore, it seems like promiscuity and puberty go hand-in-hand.

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How will I teach my girls to be smart? How will I teach them how empowered they can be, making wise choices and taking ownership of their bodies and sexuality? Especially given my sex education...or lack of.

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My sex education went something like this: Don't have sex. God does not WANT you to have sex. Don't have sex until you are married. Wait until you are married.

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It sure seemed like God really wanted me to be a virgin. And since I was an awkward teenager, I didn't have any boyfriends anyway.

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So I always found it annoying that my mom read my diary, not that she'd ever admit it. There was nothing juicy to report! But what if there was?

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Just how important was it NOT to have sex? I decided to find out. During my senior year of high school, I decided that I would write a fake, detailed entry about losing my virginity to an older boy who waited tables at the restaurant where I worked. I penned a sordid account (to the best of my ability!) snickering to myself, knowing that my mom would HAVE to admit she was reading my diary then. There was no way she could keep this information to herself! What would she do? It didn't take me long to find out.

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The next day, I drove back from school to find my dad home from work. Howard was sitting next to my mom on the couch. Both of their faces were ghost-white. What had happened? Had my dad lost his job? (Doubtful, since he was self-employed and would hardly fire himself.) Did someone have cancer?

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"Christine, sit down," said my dad in his deep, no-nonsense Howard voice. "We need to discuss something important."

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"We know about you and that boy," said my mom.

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Oh, so that was it! I couldn't control myself. I started laughing. And laughing. For some reason, this seemed to make my parents angry.

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"I caught you, I caught you!" I yelled triumphantly in between laughs. "You read my diary! I KNEW IT. Why are you reading my diary? The whole story was fake. I was trying to see if you were reading it!"

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Oddly enough, Margaret and Howard did not find this humorous at all. After a few minutes of repeatedly reassuring them that yes, I was still a virgin, probably one of the few in my senior class who was, the color drained back to their faces. And what about the whole snooping diary thing?

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I got grounded. For two weeks. For playing "a mean trick on my mom."

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And that was my sex education.