My thirteen year old daughter got to pass around a condom in class yesterday with classmates. Her friend Ken learned a new word: “ejaculation”. And the eleven-year old giggler sitting next to her can now identify an erect penis. They are being taught “safe sex” by a team of outsiders who visit her school four times a year (twice in fall, twice in spring) to show the children how to have safe sex.
No doubt about it, the Puritans still own our twisted souls. Are there any other mandated “health” education subjects I need to know about? The state keeps pushing the sex one. We get it. AIDS. Unwanted pregnancy. Yes, bad, scary. So is decapitation in a Chevy Cruze, yet I’m sure legislators do not feel the political pressure to mandate driver education to my thirteen-year old, even if she finds herself drooling for sex in the passenger seat of a car this summer, and the the car driver rolls the car over a cliff while cleaning up his ejaculation. What about the threat of Type 2 diabetes and the traveling pedagogic team of Safe Eaters? They leap into class carrying baskets of fresh fruits and vegetables. The kids shoot carrot stick darts at posters bearing the smug mugs of Kraft and General Mills CEO’s.
No, according to our state and federal education departments, half her class is rolling around in bed, licking the dust out of Dorito bags and dreaming of unprotected sex. Rebel teens and preteens. Anne of the Green Gables had to worry about sex too. Gilbert was ready, but not for syphilis. Matthew had Anne alone in the pig barn too often, and Marilla, with the political push of the women’s rotary, was able to persuade the teacher to speak about farmer pedophilia, and the smutty culture practiced by Canadian cows out twerking in the field. Anne and Gilbert courted in college and probably fooled around a bit, and I am certain they had unprotected sex, but probably not with the whole fraternity and likewise, sorority. Just one of those silly traditions from way back when—sex with one you love, or at least, are determined to marry. Still, there was always a risk, even with just the one partner. A shotgun wedding and a private shame suffered by the family.
What else, beside STD’s, do our little children need to learn by strangers in this cowardly new world? I mentioned safe driving. Perhaps they should wear little condom helmets so, after the head slams against the dash, the tainted blood doesn’t freely pour out of an ear potentially infecting the other passengers. Instruction in vigilant hand washing and a mild electric shock at the shared drinking fountain could weaken flu outbreaks, and prevent a few rotavirus accidents in the kid’s new jeans. Banning the marine recruiter from the guidance office might save one or two young girls from guaranteed sexual humiliation. We could always do the near impossible, and get these kids taught a civics lesson by a competent civics teacher, one who has read his nation’s constitution, and can interpret the Bill of Rights in the same liberal way it was meant to be interpreted by war weary white guys wanting to check future abuse of power. That is, in the liberal sense that each of us has a right to practice the freedoms guaranteed by the first ten amendments. We have the freedom of speech but not to yell “fire” in a crowded auditorium. Likewise, I have the freedom to talk with my daughter about the birds and the bees, but would be arrested on the spot should I walk into a school displaying a picture of an erect penis for all and sundry. According to that dying, old-fashioned document The U.S. Constitution, I still reserve the right to protest “professionals” being granted the legal opportunity to show kids the same penis.
All joking aside. Perhaps I am one of those few parents left in America still having meaningful conversations with his child. Maybe I know too much since my daughter, as a private human being, came through the door upset that her teachers want her to know not only what an erection is, but what to do with it when it appears out of the blue. She told me that she was not ready for that information. She didn’t want a condom put into her hand. She knew what her vagina looked like. She didn’t want Ken to know what her vagina looked like. Not yet anyway. Not until her heart got brave enough to hold his hand. I feel that she has been violated. If her uncle Bob got caught telling these stories to her, Uncle Bob would go to jail. At least Uncle Bob is my brother. It would be up to me to give him my permission on what I believe is a sensitive subject for girls and boys two years older from believing in Santa. Not because it shouldn’t be taught. It should. But not to pre or mid-pubescent children. Not by Uncle Bob, and certainly not by the state traveling safe-sex team.
It is our responsibility as procreating adults to decide when our children are ready for the state version of sex education. We are a liberal family with an old-fashioned, conservative approach to raising children. I object to the state normalizing casual sex to keep up with Hollywood and other cheesy media executives who, by virtue of their chosen careers, take a lizard’s approach to bringing up the kids. We are liberal. Not in the Hollywood liberal way, which is just more of the same greasy smut smeared on a smooth arrow. It’s predicted trajectory will land us all in looney land soon enough. Love and nurturing do not rise in proportion to cultural degeneration. It’s obvious to anyone who loves. It is degenerate to show kids sex before they’re even thinking of it. Even Hollywood rates its smut so we as parents can decide if it’s smut worth sharing with our only angels.
Here is Lou Reed teaching sex education, and a tale about how the state can take away whole body parts whenever it wants to, provided the citizens allow it the power to become dangerously self righteous in its anti-morality.