"I'm the proud owner of a penis."
"Here is a penis," my psych professor says happily as he clicks his power point to a textbook drawing that clearly labels every last detail of the male genitalia. "Full frontal," he notes before clicking away, "That’s always good. Makes things more interesting." A few kids snicker, and the rest pretend to be serious and very concerned about the sexual organs.
I feel very much like I am back in sixth grade, except that instead of Nurse Bev giving me a talk about how the penis is inserted into the vagina to make babies and masturbation is for boys and sluts, it’s my Jason Segel look-a-like psych professor.
Sixth grade sex-ed wasn’t nearly half as exciting as I wanted it to be since my friend Kimberly had already told me all the good stuff about sex back in first grade.
“The man puts his penis in your vagina,” she states matter-of-factly, “And then you’re pregnant. That’s how I got my sister. After my dad did that to my mom.” She tosses back her strawberry blonde hair with an expert flick of her wrist. Even before puberty she had the boys going crazy. It probably had something to do with her cute button nose. I envied it.
“Oh…” I feel like I’ve been initiated into a secret club. I figured I was one of maybe three seven-year-olds in the entire state of Arizona who actually knew what sex was. The two of us are sitting on the pink rug in her bedroom staring at a Hustler we stole from her older brother’s room. I am constantly looking over my shoulder just waiting for her mom to bust in on us.“I don’t think we should be doing this…” I say.
“It’s fine,” she answers me, flipping the page to some girl on girl action.
Just then, her mom pops her head in and notices us gawking over a naked red head doing some freaky stuff to what appears to be a bottle blonde. “Ah,” she sets Kimberly’s clean clothes on her bed, “What are you two reading?”
I panic and, thinking quickly, turn the magazine to a page without a dirty picture, not realizing the trite error I was about to commit as I say calmly to Mrs. Romaine, “We were just looking at the articles.”
“What happens when you’re sexually aroused?” my professor asks and fifty heads look down at their notebooks or the wall or their hands. I admit I am one of them. I furiously scribble in my notebook, pretending that the definition of “arousal” is completely new to me. Arousal? What the hell could that be? I try to make my face say.
“Yeah, you guys,” he laughs at the silence, “Don’t tell me because then I’ll know you know!”
One girl gathers her courage, “Um, there’s lubrication?” she says quietly.
I am so happy she answered on the class’ behalf and took one for the team that I want to hug her.
“What’s an orgasm?” he then asks and is met with the sound of a pencil tapping against a table and a cough. “Look,” he sighs, “If I have to explain this than you probably have never had one.” I sneak a peak over at the goth kid next to me whose long fingernails have been filed into a point. I shudder and decide he definitely has never had an orgasm. Or a girlfriend.
"No one wants to answer?" My professor leans against a table in the front of the room and grins.
No.
There’s something difficult about admitting you know about sex when you’re a virgin, nineteen, and have a man standing in front of you asking you to shout out things like “the vaginal walls part and lubrication occurs”. And here I thought I wasn’t shy.
In sixth grade I didn’t seem to be. By age twelve, I already thought that I was superior to all of the kids who still watched Barney at my school. I watched Seinfeld and considered myself much more cultured, often telling off other kids who would ask me things like, “Who is your favorite character on Fraggle Rock?”
“You should be watching Friends,” I’d say with a swish of my hand dismissing their question, “The story lines are far more complex.”
When the Human Growth and Development class came around that Spring, I rolled my eyes and explained to my friends that even though I was partaking, it was just to get out of the alternative activity of helping the school librarian since I already knew what a penis was and I could give them at least six different names for it.
My professor skips through a few slides until he reaches information about the Kinsey study. “So,” he steps back to admire his power point, “92 percent of men in the study admit to masturbating. What happened to the other eight percent?”
“Lying…” some boys mumble.
“Yeah, seriously,” my professor observes. “62 percent of females admit to masturbating. What happened to the rest of them?”
Silence.
“Yeah, lying,” he shakes his head yes and sighs, realizing we’re not going to make this as much fun as he’d like it to be. “Eleven percent of men admit to anal sex,” he points out. One kid snorts at the statistic to prove how straight he is. “Anal sex. That’s always fun right?” My professor continues.
A faint laugh is heard from the back, and I admit, I release a small giggle, but the rest of the class sits as though they’re watching Shindler’s List.
He clicks his power point off and admits defeat, “OK, we’re done. Have a good weekend.”
Quote of the day:
“How do you explain war to a ten-year-old? Like, “Mom, I saw we’re killing and shooting people in Iraq. Why?” Well, Johnny, we’re good people. We drive Escalades and watch pornography while they wear bed sheets. We want to maintain our oil prices so that gives us the right to go to war. Now get back to your violin!”
- Dr. Lueck on explaining the war to kids.
I feel very much like I am back in sixth grade, except that instead of Nurse Bev giving me a talk about how the penis is inserted into the vagina to make babies and masturbation is for boys and sluts, it’s my Jason Segel look-a-like psych professor.
Sixth grade sex-ed wasn’t nearly half as exciting as I wanted it to be since my friend Kimberly had already told me all the good stuff about sex back in first grade.
“The man puts his penis in your vagina,” she states matter-of-factly, “And then you’re pregnant. That’s how I got my sister. After my dad did that to my mom.” She tosses back her strawberry blonde hair with an expert flick of her wrist. Even before puberty she had the boys going crazy. It probably had something to do with her cute button nose. I envied it.
“Oh…” I feel like I’ve been initiated into a secret club. I figured I was one of maybe three seven-year-olds in the entire state of Arizona who actually knew what sex was. The two of us are sitting on the pink rug in her bedroom staring at a Hustler we stole from her older brother’s room. I am constantly looking over my shoulder just waiting for her mom to bust in on us.“I don’t think we should be doing this…” I say.
“It’s fine,” she answers me, flipping the page to some girl on girl action.
Just then, her mom pops her head in and notices us gawking over a naked red head doing some freaky stuff to what appears to be a bottle blonde. “Ah,” she sets Kimberly’s clean clothes on her bed, “What are you two reading?”
I panic and, thinking quickly, turn the magazine to a page without a dirty picture, not realizing the trite error I was about to commit as I say calmly to Mrs. Romaine, “We were just looking at the articles.”
“What happens when you’re sexually aroused?” my professor asks and fifty heads look down at their notebooks or the wall or their hands. I admit I am one of them. I furiously scribble in my notebook, pretending that the definition of “arousal” is completely new to me. Arousal? What the hell could that be? I try to make my face say.
“Yeah, you guys,” he laughs at the silence, “Don’t tell me because then I’ll know you know!”
One girl gathers her courage, “Um, there’s lubrication?” she says quietly.
I am so happy she answered on the class’ behalf and took one for the team that I want to hug her.
“What’s an orgasm?” he then asks and is met with the sound of a pencil tapping against a table and a cough. “Look,” he sighs, “If I have to explain this than you probably have never had one.” I sneak a peak over at the goth kid next to me whose long fingernails have been filed into a point. I shudder and decide he definitely has never had an orgasm. Or a girlfriend.
"No one wants to answer?" My professor leans against a table in the front of the room and grins.
No.
There’s something difficult about admitting you know about sex when you’re a virgin, nineteen, and have a man standing in front of you asking you to shout out things like “the vaginal walls part and lubrication occurs”. And here I thought I wasn’t shy.
In sixth grade I didn’t seem to be. By age twelve, I already thought that I was superior to all of the kids who still watched Barney at my school. I watched Seinfeld and considered myself much more cultured, often telling off other kids who would ask me things like, “Who is your favorite character on Fraggle Rock?”
“You should be watching Friends,” I’d say with a swish of my hand dismissing their question, “The story lines are far more complex.”
When the Human Growth and Development class came around that Spring, I rolled my eyes and explained to my friends that even though I was partaking, it was just to get out of the alternative activity of helping the school librarian since I already knew what a penis was and I could give them at least six different names for it.
My professor skips through a few slides until he reaches information about the Kinsey study. “So,” he steps back to admire his power point, “92 percent of men in the study admit to masturbating. What happened to the other eight percent?”
“Lying…” some boys mumble.
“Yeah, seriously,” my professor observes. “62 percent of females admit to masturbating. What happened to the rest of them?”
Silence.
“Yeah, lying,” he shakes his head yes and sighs, realizing we’re not going to make this as much fun as he’d like it to be. “Eleven percent of men admit to anal sex,” he points out. One kid snorts at the statistic to prove how straight he is. “Anal sex. That’s always fun right?” My professor continues.
A faint laugh is heard from the back, and I admit, I release a small giggle, but the rest of the class sits as though they’re watching Shindler’s List.
He clicks his power point off and admits defeat, “OK, we’re done. Have a good weekend.”
Quote of the day:
“How do you explain war to a ten-year-old? Like, “Mom, I saw we’re killing and shooting people in Iraq. Why?” Well, Johnny, we’re good people. We drive Escalades and watch pornography while they wear bed sheets. We want to maintain our oil prices so that gives us the right to go to war. Now get back to your violin!”
- Dr. Lueck on explaining the war to kids.