Can sex ed get any worse?
Hard to believe that we are debating sex ed in my community, but here we are.
What did your sexual education look like?
For me, sex education was, at best, a sporadically taught class, akin to weightlifting or square dancing. Arguably, I received more instruction on proper partner etiquette by learning how to do-si-do and spot a lift.
Sex education usually consisted of a brief allotted time (maybe a week) where an anxious biology teacher awkwardly stumbled through a lesson plan in front of a class of giggling Beavis and Buttheads. There was always that one really religious kid who disappeared for a week.
The visual aids consisted of crude diagrams that made the human anatomy look like something you might find at a meat-packing plant. And the lesson culminated with a video that featured a live birth. The boys in the classroom were usually disappointed because they were hoping to see the conception.
My sex education was less of a classroom lesson and more like a decades-long experiment of trial and error. And, to be perfectly honest, probably more error than trial. I somehow managed to find a partner and produce two healthy children. (Actually, my partner did most of the work on that group project; I just added my name at the end so that I could take credit.)
What is currently being debated — and inspiring hundreds of citizens to petition our local school board — is comprehensive human sexual education (CHSE). CSHE is sex education with a performance-enhancing drug — a figurative one, of course. Fortunately, lessons about Viagra aren’t included.
The first word of CSHE says it all: comprehensive. Rather than treating sexuality as an awkward topic to speed through in a week, CSHE spreads the awkwardness over the total lifespan of the student, starting as early as kindergarten. Though that may seem young, the goal is to provide age-appropriate content, such as teaching kindergartners about topics such as healthy relationships, not how the fallopian tube isn’t a ride at the water park.
CHSE proponents believe that the education system can address this touchy subject matter by providing medically accurate lessons that will help students make informed decisions. Some added benefits of CHSE, proponents argue, include reducing unwanted pregnancies and sexually transmitted infections. Nobody likes to look at pictures of genital herpes but better to have those images burned in your memory than other types of burning sensation.
Opponents believe that CHSE goes too far, asserting that this a topic best left to parents. Furthermore, opponents believe the state standards are too loosey-goosey and don’t provide any assurances that kindergarteners won’t be rolling condoms on bananas.
With this wide chasm of opinion, school districts understandably get gun shy in adopting anything new. So, instead, they opt to do what most public institutions tend to do: nothing.
Ideally, this conversation should start at home. For me, I had “the birds and the bees” explained to me when I was six years old. My parents felt pressured to teach me at a young age because they caught wind that the neighborhood kids were playing a new game called “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” And their talk did the trick: All I wanted to do was hide in my room after I figured out that my parents… you know.
And though I do believe parents should help guide this conversation, I’ve also watched many adults struggle to navigate a roundabout. I worry about which direction they’ll turn when they arrive at the human reproductive system. (“Now, was it a left or right turn at the urethra?”)
I tend to agree with the CHSE-hesitant crowd: The state standards come on a little too strong. If you are in need of a new form of contraception, may I recommend reading the Colorado Revised Statutes to your loved one while in bed? I’m turned off just thinking about it.
However, that doesn’t mean that the status quo will suffice, either. In lieu of the state-based program, it would be nice to see an alternative model presented — one that is tailored to our local needs and sensibilities but also suitable for a modern audience and based in science. Simply put, just shouting “keep it in your pants!” probably won’t work.
Furthermore, on the abstinence-only approach: Of the top 10 states with the highest teenage birth rates, eight states — Tennessee, Texas, West Virginia, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Mississippi, Arkansas, and Alabama — mandate or emphasize abstinence in their curriculum. Apparently, when we teach kiddos to “wait until they’re hitched,” we learn less about sexuality and more about reverse psychology.
In the absence of good information, children will likely stumble upon bad information. Plus, kids will likely take this bad information and experiment on their own. This how the sex ed classroom starts resembling the classroom traditionally reserved for driver’s ed — just with foggier windows.
