These days, kids get sexual education in school. I went to private school. Private Christian school. We had sex ed, too.
When we were 16 years old, they introduced sex ed. It was an hour long, three times per week, for two weeks. We were, obviously, separated boys from girls. It consisted of six hours of 'Don't do it until you're married. Don't do it until you're married. Don't do it until you're married'. The lectures took different forms.
Here's what I remember from those classes...
We listened to a two-hour audio sketch called A Tale of Two Cindies. It was the story of two teenage couples. One nearly had sex (read: they discussed the fact that several of their classmates were sexually active); however, they decided that Jesus wouldn't like it if they did. They then broke up. Each of them went on to live a happy, fulfilling life.
The other couple did have sex. Afterwards, they were so ashamed and embarrassed that they couldn't look at each other. They discussed the matter with their parents and decided it was best for them to break up. The experience caused both of them (but especially Cindy) much pain, anguish and grieving. The end.
The mother of one of my classmates came in and told us about her first experience. It was on her wedding night and it was terrible. It took many years and much practice before sex became a thing to be enjoyed.
The mother of one of the boys in my class held a practical demonstration. She cut a large heart out of red construction paper. She gave it to one of the girls and asked her to rip a piece off and give it to one of the people in the classroom. And then another. And then another... Pretty soon there was no heart left. Get the picture?
And so ended our brief foray into sexual education.
Okay. We were sixteen years old! Half the girls in my class had already decided to wait until marriage. The other half had been sexually active for a year or more.
Too little. Too late. Too weird.
My trip to India this spring was a real eye opener. I went with a group: nine girls and three guys. The very idea of it completely freaked me out. I don't deal well with women. I had visions of the trip turning into a big love-fest and can we please talk about our feelings; maybe this would be better if we all held hands and sung koombayah.
[shudder]
So not me.
I think the trip leaders (two of the three guys) feared the same thing. They expected the girls to cry and talk about feelings and be all oooh! I'm frightened; please protect me.
To their credit, though, the girls didn't do that. Sure, there was a bit of girly, coquettish crap, but for the most part they held themselves together amazingly well. What caught me by surprise (and even moreso one of the trip leaders) was the frank, open discussions of sexuality.
What we had were nine unmarried women in oppressive heat, in the slums of Calcutta, surrounded by the poorest of the poor and the prissiest American bridal college students. There was a lot of open discussion of sexuality, something I think the church in general lacks.
Several people have suggested to me that what the Church needs to do is hold talks or workshops or classes to Tackle the Issue of Sexuality.
I disagree. I think it's another case of too little, too late. And frankly, it would just be too weird.
I believe that one of the key things that needs to happen is a change of attitude. We need to stop fearing our sexuality. We don't need to discuss personal specifics with everybody we meet. I'm not foolish enough to suggest that. But we do need to stop hiding in our dark corners, pretending we're unaware of our own sexuality. For too long we've pretended that we don't know anything. For too long we've denied the existence of our sexual nature.
It's not going to happen overnight and it's not going to be easy. And nobody's going to want to be the first to go. But we need to. I need to.
So... Let's talk about sex, shall we?
Credit where it's due; I borrowed the image from the very talented dude who lives at http://www.livejournal.com/users/bboyneko/
