Of Birds, Bees and Self-Censor

I remember the first time I found out about sex; coincidentally, I didn’t realize it was about ‘sex’. More about how and where babies come from. I do remember a childish explanation my parents once gave me involving sending kids down a chute in heaven and them coming out of a mother’s stomach. For years, that was a source of much thoughtful rumination on the part of a 7 year old. But it didn’t stick in my mind for too long; there were other things taking precedence in my younger self’s imagination. But I digress. The first time I found out about the real reproduction cycle was late in the fifth grade, coincidentally through a book that my mother bought me. It was called ‘365 things to know’ and had an entry for every day in the year. It was a great concept, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. I don’t remember what entry this particular topic was on, but it was all very natural. Something about mothers and fathers loving each other very much, not a lot of specifics but not very censored either. They didn’t go into details of the plumbing, but there was a general idea implanted that there was definitely no heavenly chute involved and that it was, very much, a transaction between two people.

Then came the 7th grade explanation which shattered those illusions as well, where it’s all about the love, etc. A fellow classmate whispered it into my ear in the most crudest terms imaginable for 11 year old kids who hadn’t taken biology yet.

Later in life (but still in my teens—probably somewhere in the early-mid teens), in those Jeffrey Archer novels which seemed as concerned about intimate contact as they were about political intrigue, my older sister would go through the book and censor topics that were too literal for my imaginative brain. She knew, you see, that my unsuspecting self would just pick things up and read. It was left to her to ensure it wasn’t the “wrong” book. To this day, I get extremely uncomfortable reading love scenes in text, glossing over them. I’ve been conditioned well, some would say. To further elucidate my point, I had no idea that “gay” also referred to homosexuals in the sixth grade, always knowing the first definition ie “happy”. In class, my English teacher tut-tutted others who chuckled when that word was introduced and because I was so very curious, I opened up the Oxford dictionary and my world was forever altered.

Years later, when my mother and sister joined my aunt to watch an “artsy” Indian film, there were those scenes again. Now, an older individual no longer expected to look away when iffy scenes were brought into view, I still had the inclination to look away. When my aunt, amused by my actions and verbal reactions to the film on display, turned to me and said “baitay, don’t you know about the birds and bees?” I think I may have blushed because I definitely felt my face warming up and muttered, “sure but that doesn’t mean I want to watch it”. Stating that I knew about it, despite all the protections put in place by the sister in question with my mother there, was excruciating. Thinking about it now, at my need to self-censor in the presence of my immediate family, I can understand the amusement of my more progressive aunt. If it had only been her, maybe I wouldn’t have felt the need to hide my embarrassment behind snarky and dry remarks aimed at the screen.

There was only one time where I was ever placed in the same situation, which coincidentally was a couple years later, when I was well into my twenties. My mother and I, both fans of theater decided to attend Freedom Bound, a more serious minded play in Isloo. As a play, it was well thought out, serious and risqué especially if you were seeing it with your mother. I could sense her discomfort sitting next to me, when subjects like male masturbation came up and other lesser evils. Her discomfort increased my own discomfort except I really couldn’t make comments in between a live performance in this case, so I suffered through it. When it was over, she looked at me and said “well baitay, I didn’t understand any of that” which was, in her own way, self-censor. She did understand every word and did NOT like its implicitness and overtness. When a friend came over and asked how it was, I turned to her quietly and muttered not the sort of play I’d go  see with my mom.

I find the dynamic between parent and child interesting; the need to protect inherent in both sides. The parent protects the child from learning about things and when the child does inevitably grow up and learn about all of that, finds the need to protect the parent from realizing their protectionism failed.

Was I happy with the way things happened for me? The answer can go either way, because on the one hand, unveiling things too early can be uncomfortable and confusing for a child. But never discussing some things at all can be equally damaging, especially when the rebellious stages come up. I think, from a more extended point of view, things like these should be talked about once kids are emotionally mature enough to handle the truth. The knowledge helps as adults, and also negates the very unrealistic expectations Hollywood produces year in, year out.

I think we owe it to the next generation to set up a healthy forum where these issues can be openly discussed, instead of stuffing them under the rug. Pop culture, in music and films, is bombarding our senses every day with sexuality and saying it’s okay. If we don’t start talking about it soon, there are going to be a whole lot more unwarranted pregnancies than we can handle. Find the fine line between saying too much and saying too little and learn to walk it.

And yeah, it’s scary. I think of having a related discussion with my nephew or niece and shrink from the task my sisters might have ahead of them. But it’s also a necessary evil. Set the ground rules but learn to establish a forum where subjects like these can be addressed. And if not addressed, then at least discussed…not make a kid feel like talking about it is equivalent to doing it. Because then, what really is the difference between the two, they’ll argue. Might as well do it.

Is that really what we’re looking for?