It was 1997. My oldest child was in the 4th grade. I was in nursing school, in the pediatric rotation, and our class was giving sex-ed to 4th graders in St. Clairsville public schools. What an eye-opener! The girls were asking questions that needed to be taken into a private room individually. I was positive the school nurse would be doing some follow-up. I came home that day from my associate degree nursing program, and picked the children up from the after-school sitter's. We talked a lot after school, debriefing about the day. I was a single mom, on food stamps, getting ready to graduate with my ADN in a few months. After dropping their book bags inside the door, they plopped down on the couch, and I looked at the three of them - my two sons and my daughter, the youngest, still in preschool. I did not want to do this. But a sickening sort of knowing gave me resolve that I must.
I knew they were old enough now. I knew it was never too early. I looked at their innocent eyes, looking back at me, "Mommy," and I thought about the questions those children had asked - those children the same ages as my children. "What if your friend tells you her uncle is putting his hands where he shouldn't? Who should you tell?" "What if you're afraid to tell because they will hurt you?" "Can you get pregnant if you like a boy a lot?" "What if your step-dad is touching your little sister like that?" Yes. That telling.
I pulled out my biology book, a boy on each side, and my preschool daughter looking on. I opened it to the male anatomy; then the female anatomy sections. It was a long evening. They were fascinated. We talked about what kind of touching was okay, and what kind was not. Where was okay? Where was not? How was okay? How was not? I defined "molesting," and explained that it was a crime that someone could go to jail for; and that it was wrong. We talked about what to do if someone did that to them, or what to do if a friend confided that someone had done that. We talked about what to do if they felt threatened. We talked about bathrooms and what to do if they were approached when they were alone. We talked about when people grew up and met someone they wanted to be close to, that such touching was then okay, and only if both people agreed, but not until they were older; that children were not supposed to do that. My oldest son asked me, "Mom, how do the egg and the sperm get together to make a baby?" I stared at him. I said, "We will talk about that when you get a little older." Enough was enough, it had been a long day. I wanted my children to hear it from me, and to not have any misconceptions like the children in school did. But I just was not ready to tell my 4th-grade son THAT.
I did not want my sons to be molesters or rapists. That should be a mother's fear. Unfortunately, some mothers don't give it a second thought. There were stories in the newspapers about children molesting other children. I wanted my sons to know what that meant, and why. I remembered my youth, of little boys exposing themselves, or wanting to touch me. They are memories I dislike recalling, and are not pleasant.
When my oldest son was in 8th grade, he came home one day soon after school began, and had fear and tears in his eyes. He asked me if he could tell me something, and wanted me to promise to never tell anyone. I told him I couldn't promise that, but that I would do my best to help him. He was a geek, and he ate lunch with the girls. One of his female friends had told him she had been raped at Jamboree in the Hills while her parents were drunk, and that she thought she was pregnant. She had not told anyone else, and didn't know what to do. My son looked horrified and terrified with this information. This tall, skinny, lanky boy. I explained to him that I would have to report it if she did not. She needed to go to the school counselor or to tell her parents. If she was pregnant, it would not go away, and she needed help. I said that I would answer any questions he wanted, and we talked about her options, and what could happen with each one. I talked to him about girls who had not told anyone who had ended up in the news for different reasons, and explained that as her friend, he needed to make sure she got an adult to help her through this so it didn't get really bad. Later in the week, I learned that she had gone to the school counselor. I had never seen such a heavy burden on my son before that, and watching it lift when she got help made my heart swell with pride.
Years later, as I drove my daughter to college, one of her friends was along for the trip. She had a lot of questions about birth control. She said that it was a topic that she could not approach her mother about, because her mother felt she should not have sex. All through high school, there had been a lot of these girl discussions in the car to and from places. I think I have anonymously supplied the local teen population, through my children, with condoms, Today sponges, and pregnancy test kits. I perceive it as a positive investment in my community. If only some of them knew. Most of my friends and acquaintances were not virgins by high school graduation, and I thought it very naive of any parent who felt her daughter might be an exception. Advice and contraception was free-flowing, even for; no, especially for the Catholic girls. I was earning an income for a reason.
If only the other parents knew what their children weren't telling them. I have never regretted having that initial talk with my children, nor the subsequent conversations with them or their friends. I do believe, that if a drunk woman were disrupting a party, that my sons would take her home and tuck her in bed.
They would not urinate on her or digitally penetrate her.
After my own investment in my community, I feel very strongly that parents who have raised their children in a manner where they would do this; and school officials who would promote a community of people who would do this, do not deserve my sympathy or empathy in any way. Teenagers who would think to do this kind of thing are not safe in this society of teenagers, and teenagers who would threaten the girl that they did this to, when the boys were held accountable for their actions, should absolutely also be held accountable for their threats.
There is never an excuse to abuse another human being in such a vile manner.
There is never an excuse to make them pay when such abuse is punished.
When my oldest son was 21, we were working in the kitchen together one day. He stopped what he was doing, and turned to me: "Mom?" I said, "Yes?" He was quiet for a little while. Then he said, "You know, you never DID tell me how the sperm got to the egg." Our eyes met, and he burst out laughing.
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