S_E_X Ed the Song of Solomon Way

(Editorial note: I have used symbols to either break up words [as in the title] or to omit vowels in certain terms. I do this not because I feel uncomfortable “writing” these words [which would fly in the face of the entire point of my post]. I do this because I’m still a blogging neophyte and am not exactly sure how search engines scan sites for ad posting and other such Internet-ish things. I hope to avoid offensive ads for offensive sites and products since this post deals with a topic that is typically corrupted, especially on the Web.)

I find one of the most interesting aspects of parenting to be the chit-chat that happens “on the side.” It’s that conversation you have with fellow parents while waiting on the kids at birthday parties or waiting for school to dismiss.

Recently, I was talking with two moms while Susanna had her swim lesson. Who knows how, but we came around to the topic of having “that talk” with our kids, how much they know, when the know it, and so on.

One of the moms said, “I really think we’re going to have to say something soon.” Her voice quivered with fear and trepidation. “My sister is pregnant and I know that my daughter [she has two: one about 6 and one about 4] is going to be asking questions about how does the baby get in? How does the baby get out?”

The other mom sighed, relieved. “Well, I’m just really grateful that when my kids have asked, I can just point to my C-section scar and say, the doctor cut me open and took you out.”

I was stunned. Am I the only one here who has talked about this with her kids?

“Well,” I begin, boldly going where no swim mom has gone before. “I just say, ‘God made a special place for the baby to come out. The baby comes out the vag*na.'”

Gasp. Sputter. Faint.

“Oh! My daughter doesn’t even know that word,” said Mom-of-two-girls.

“Oh, no way. My kids know p*nis but not the other. We have a horrible time with ‘potty words.’ I figure if they are calling names using ‘willy’ or ‘wiggle’ or whatever, then at least anyone who may overhear doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

Um, yea. OK.

Chris and I agreed early on that we would use proper anatomical terms with the kids for their body parts. Their body parts. I can’t help but believe that this tiny, initial step does more to foster comfort and proper context for s*xual*ty than most any other. A child who can say “p*nis” just as he says “arm,” is, in my opinion, going to be OK with the way God made him.

Growing up with no brothers, I think the first time I heard the word, “p*nis” was in the movie, E.T. If you recall, one of the boys calls the other, “p*nis breath.” Everyone laughed, but I had no idea what it meant or why it was funny. We called that body part a “dinky,” which can actually be quite derogatory, if you think about it, but I digress.

But for me, the word, “vag*na” bears greater scars. I must have been at least 10, maybe closer to 12. I had been reading some “female” book that my mom had given me. And while it was helpful in that it told me what I needed to know, there was an unfamiliar word repeated: “vag*na.” I remember going to my mother and saying something about the “VAG (rhymes with hag)-uh-nuh.” Either she corrected my pronunciation or sent me to the bookshelf because I do remember consulting the dictionary for the proper phonetic spelling.

So. I had (have) one and I’d never heard the term. I didn’t know how to say it or what it did. Heck, I probably knew more about the function of my liver than my reproductive system at the time.

One of the greatest temptations for us humans is s*xua*l sin. My goodness. Our culture is saturated with images of how we teach our little girls to be s*xua*lly mature women. We’ll allow her to play with trampy Br*tz dolls (and I will write another post about my loathing and hatred of these toys; stay tuned) but not even teach her about her body, the names of the parts, why God made those parts, and how God created s*x. And our boys? God help our little boys to cherish their wives and guard their eyes, minds, and hearts from all the temptation that screams at them from every magazine cover.

Always relevant, the Bible beautifully maps out God’s intention for human s*xual*ty. The Song of Solomon should be our starting point for s*x ed with our kids. What most parents are too terrified to broach with their kids (sometimes, sadly, Christian parents are the biggest offenders) is that the vulnerable intimacy of the husband and wife relationship on earth is a reflection of the intimacy we will know with our God for all eternity. Celebrating s*x in a biblical manner on earth, then, glorifies God and gives us a unique foreshadow of that which we will enjoy forever.

What an absolute disgusting shame that humanity has soiled and degraded that precious gift of God.

Especially since it makes us feel too uncomforable to tell our six year old daughter that she has a “vag*na.”