I was working in Jamie's classroom yesterday. Two students walked in, both women, both seniors. These students have been especially nice to me, although they are definitely high school-aged girls. It's sort of like being around another species, one that's very other-ing, in part because I used to be one (although, I hope, not exactly like they are). They like to push the boundaries of what's appropriate, they like to talk about boys and fashion, they like to giggle at texts that, when read aloud, aren't recognizably funny at all. All of it amounts to an amusing, and sometimes very surprising, interaction. In theory, they were there for study hall. In practice, they did a little bit of work, a lot of facebooking, and some talking to me.
If I were a teacher in high school, I doubt very much that I would be the "cool" teacher. But lucky me, I'm not a teacher, and being not-a-teacher affords a weird kind of limbo position. It's less restricted, and I can get away with a little more (like, for instance, talking about birth control), but I'm still an adult, and my spouse is still a teacher (usually, a teacher of the student I'm talking to), and there's still an air of authority. Or, not authority, but... if there's a word for connecting with someone younger than you are, and being able to offer help, or have what seems like a rare conversation with them. Mentor, maybe, without all the condescending bullshit that can go along with mentoring.
That's the dynamic, between me and these girls. Kind of. One of them doesn't seem to give a fuck, some days, and others, she's really engaged. The other one, within five minutes of meeting me, asked if I had ever had a boyfriend I didn't tell my parents about. To which I replied "oh yes."
Anyhow.
The conversation in class, as we were leaving, came around to having kids (which Occasionally More StandOffish Girl does not want) and then joking about condoms. Less StandOffish Girl turned to the OMSO Girl and said "what, you gonna make 'em wear one every time?" They laughed. I said, under my breath, that it would be a good idea to do that, yes. The girls descended into giggles again. As a throwaway, on their way out, OMSO Girl said "Nah, but I've got birth control." To which I said, good for you, in the most serious, I-really-care-about-this-and-you-and-no-really-that's-actually-awesome voice I could muster.
These are the same girls who, a month ago, rode around with me in the back of an SUV (we were moving boxes for a friend) and told me they didn't know what an IUD was. I told them about it, how it worked, how to get it. They listened, patiently, and said nothing much at all (the parent/boyfriend awareness conversation came after that one, which looking back, might have more connection than I initially thought).
And it's strange, having had both of these conversations (the IUD, and the condoms/children) with the same pair of women, and knowing that both of them (the conversations) are under the general umbrella of sexual education, but taking a moment to recognize how different they are. I've been thinking about it since the second conversation, which was much shorter, and much more in-passing. There was, by any measure, less information exchanged. But the second conversation, however awkwardly it may have ended, is the far, far more important one to have.
Do you remember the banana demonstration? Or maybe it was the "what if he tells you it's too small?" demonstration, and then your teacher pulled a condom on over their heads to show that no, in fact, he is not too small*. I do. Or rather, I remember all the sex ed I ever got, in schools, and not because of the facts it taught me.
* Addendum: condom fit is important, but the "too small" excuse shouldn't ever be a reason to have sex without one. It should be a reason to go out and find a condom that fits you.
Let me say that again.
As important as the facts were, it's not why I remember them. Learning how to put a condom on is something that you can pick up from the outside of most condoms boxes. And I sort of can't believe I never figured it out before, but: the act of learning how to put a condom on isn't why, I don't think, learning how to put a condom on is so important. It's because within those lessons, those oh-so-antiquated group-structured awkward in-school lessons, you are learning that this is what you do. As best we can, the adults are trying to impart that, no really, this is what you should do when you have sex. It's setting precedent as a thing that's talked about, it's introducing a dialogue, however awkward and strange that dialogue may be, and it's presenting it as something that is important for everyone to know.
Not just the girl who doesn't want kids. Not jus the girl who has lots of sex. Not just the boy who looses it at fourteen.
Everybody.
Because it wouldn't matter if the women I know here didn't know what an IUD was, if they knew, and believed, that sexual health was important. It's almost like the factual stuff is a gateway, or a coverup, for really drilling in the message of: it doesn't matter what you do or how you do it, as long as you do it safer. As long as you understand the risks of what you're getting into.
Which isn't to say that facts don't matter. Of course they do. But it is to say that: when those two women walked out of Jamie's classroom, I wasn't thinking "Oh, wow, I hope OMSO Girl knows that she should take her pill every day, and that it doesn't protect again STDs, and that she should still use condoms." (I mean, I do hope she knows all those things, but it wasn't my first thought). I was thinking "Oh, wow, I hope OMSO Girl has the backbone to stick to her guns about the health and safety of her body, because she is doing the right thing, but she lives in a culture, globally and locally, that tells her over and over again that the right thing isn't cool, isn't sexy, and isn't necessary. That taking the risk of having unprotected sex is somehow worth whatever social face it is purported to save, or that the risk doesn't exist in the first place."
It's familiarity and comfortability through repetition. Just like saying herpes out loud. Just like yelling PENIS at the top of your lungs in a restaurant. Just like negotiating. Being comfortable in what you know allows you to be comfortable that you know it, that you believe it, regardless of what the culture around you says. Makes your guns stickier in a slippery, slippery world.
But they don't have that. And I think that's the heart of what's frustrating about being a part of a young adult population that has zero sexual education. It's not that there isn't information offered. It's that the very idea of asking for information is sacrosanct. It makes it impossible to even get to the gun, much less hold on.
Although if there's one high school senior I know who can do it, it's this woman. Good luck, OMSO.
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