Everybody Has a Story: With sex ed, ignorance not bliss

Sex education was different in the 1950s. Actually, it was virtually nonexistent.

A few years ago, when my friends from high school days and I got together for our biennial meet-up, a friend whose mother was a nurse asked us if our mothers had explained periods and sex when we were young. Most had been told about periods but not sex. This friend was the only one whose mother had an open discussion about sex and periods, out of the nine in our group!

While my mom had explained I would someday have periods, when I started my period, she simply gave me a sanitary napkin and the belt to go with it. No other explanations. So I called a friend who had already started her period to ask her questions.

In seventh or eighth grade, my mother gave me a little black book to read. She borrowed it from an older friend. It had been published in the 1930s. I still remember the sentence on how babies are made: “When a man and a woman love each other, they embrace very closely.” I remember this clearly because it confused more than educated me. After all, I hugged my dad and grandpa.

I read the entire little black book and still knew nothing. I had no one to ask for clarification. Mom did not like to be questioned. My dad allowed questions, but I didn’t think this was a question for him.

By the time I was in ninth grade health class, I still knew nothing. After the one hour of “sex education” (girls only), I was walking home with two of my friends. I had the older Mrs. Mayne for health, and they had the younger Miss Argus. As my friends discussed what they had learned in class, I stopped in my tracks! Mrs. Mayne never said any such thing!

They assured me, Miss Argus clearly explained the male and female body parts and what happens when you have sex. I was shocked. I had just had a sex education class and yet I knew nothing!

So when I had my daughter, Kellie, I made certain she was not as ignorant as I had been. She asked questions starting about age 5. I answered as honestly and simply as possible. If she wanted more information, she would ask and I would answer.

Kellie was in first or second grade when we visited her paternal grandparents for Thanksgiving in Aberdeen. She sat on her grandpa’s lap and proceeded to tell him that she had a boyfriend. His name was Donnie and they were going to get married next Halloween, because they could stay up late that night.

Her grandpa asked how many babies she was going to have. Indignantly, she said, “Grandpa, how do I know how many babies he’s going to put in me?!”

I thought his false teeth were going to fall out of his mouth! My mother-in-law made it quite clear what a horrid mother she thought I was. I assured her that my daughter would not be as ignorant as I had been.

Two or three years later, Donnie and Kellie were downstairs playing. They came upstairs and asked me how babies are born. Kellie said, “I told Donnie they come out by where you go to the bathroom.” Donnie said, “That’s wrong, they are cut out of your stomach.”

I knew Donnie’s mother well enough to know I was on firm ground to have this discussion. And I knew he had been born by cesarean section. I said, “You are both right. Most babies, including Kellie, are born like she said. But Donnie and some babies are born like Donnie said.”

They ran back downstairs, happy as could be. They really didn’t care how babies were born, each just wanted to be right! I let Donnie’s mom know about this conversation. She laughed and explained that recently Donnie had asked how he was born. So she told him how he was born, not how most babies were born.

And of course, there is the pill. It was introduced when I was a senior in high school. While engaged and living in Seattle a few years later, I saw a doctor about taking the pill. He proceeded to do my very first pelvic exam, and asked in an accusatory tone, “Have you been ‘promiscuous’?”

I wanted to die of embarrassment. I had no idea he could tell. Again, ignorance on my part. So I did something I had rarely done in my life: I lied. I said I was married and quickly twisted my engagement ring around on my finger so it looked like a simple gold band. He treated me more kindly then, completed the exam and left the room. There was no conversation about getting on the pill. Perhaps he knew I had lied. And I was too embarrassed about the whole situation to pursue it.

Consequently, my husband and I got married a few months sooner than originally planned. And through the years, I have always wondered: Has a man ever been asked by a doctor during a routine genital exam if he has been promiscuous?

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