When I was 12 years old, I had my first and last conversation about sex with my mother. She and I were walking to the back of a drugstore to pick up a prescription, and we happened to walk down the “Family Planning” aisle. I stopped in front of the massive wall of prophylactics, turned to my mother and said, “I think it’s time you bought me some condoms.” I was just kidding, but the fact that my mom was speechless told me that we probably wouldn’t be discussing sex again anytime soon.
Fast forward to last summer when my mother called me as I was leaving an HIV testing clinic. I was not surprised to see her phone number on my caller ID-my mom has always seemed to have a sixth sense for the most inopportune times to call-but I was surprised that her reaction when I told her where I was again only consisted of the inability to speak.
I guess I had assumed that in the nine years between that day and the first time we broached the subject of sex, my mother realized that I had learned about sex somewhere. More importantly, I expected her to think that I was smart enough to engage in safe sex practices. Unfortunately, it seems as though my mom blocked out all possible combinations of “Chris” and “sex” in her parental realm of possibility. Hence the shock when the not-so-impossible combination finally occurred and she learned about it.
I understand her surprise, but I thought it might have been mitigated by the fact that I clearly demonstrated that I was careful and safe-one could even call this combination “mature”-about sex. Instead, her response was, “There are some things you just shouldn’t tell your parents.” It was too late for her to continue living in ignorant bliss, but I hoped she at least knew that I was taking care of myself.
Friends tell me that they would never dream of discussing their sex lives with their parents—it’s too personal or too embarrassing. I agree on some levels. Inevitably, when discussing sex with your parents, you must acknowledge that your parents have had sex, generally with each other.
I’ll admit that I don’t like to think about that. I still maintain that I, like Jesus Christ himself, was conceived by immaculate conception. I’m not as special as God’s only son, but damned if we didn’t come into the world the same way. There hasn’t been much my parents have been able to say to convince me otherwise. The difference between our respective denials of each others’ sex lives, though, is that mine is based on the idea that my parents having sex is absolutely gross, while theirs stems from not knowing what to say or being afraid to say it. This is understandable, but not excusable. In any case, if I can ignore the thought of my parents having sex, I see nothing to stop me from talking to them about my own sexual activity.
My mother hears most of the details of everything else in my life, so why not sex? It’s something that affects me, so wouldn’t sharing my thoughts and feelings about sex with my parents bring us closer together? Wouldn’t my parents have wisdom about sex from their past mistakes that they could share with me to make my life easier? Perhaps that’s going too far, but I think there might be something useful in the parental tendency to try to protect the child from harm, even when it comes to the topic of sex.
We can’t deny that sex can be harmful, not only physically, but emotionally and psychologically. I can honestly say I would have appreciated someone, even my parents, advising me on these seemingly non-sexual aspects of sex. They were all too often ignored by my other sources of information about sex, namely, my high school’s sex ed program, the media and friends. Without going into too much detail and at the risk of sounding whiny, parts of my sexual experience have been less than pleasing.
I don’t especially think my method of ambushing my mother with the knowledge that sex is a part of my life was the most effective way to engage in a productive dialogue, but at least it was a catalyst for something. It’s frustrating as hell that we all go around pretending like nobody has sex and nobody gets tested for STDs when clearly we do. We and our parents should stop deluding ourselves and admit what we’re all up to. Discussing sex as honest and responsible adults will make it easier for all of us—and eliminate the embarassing moments in the drugstores.
Christopher Trott is a senior in the School of Foreign Service and associate editor of The Georgetown Voice. He’s in a street gang named “Desire.”
