The Epic Fail of My Big Bang Theory Theory
“What exactly does that expression mean, ‘friends with benefits’? Does he provide her with health insurance?” Sheldon, Big Bang Theory
I am really beginning to dread springtime. Some people associate spring with warmth and new life, looking forward to the promise of summer and dreamy vacations. Not me. Since about two years ago, I associate spring with one thing – the Annual School Sex Talk.
In our little pocket of conservative, gun-totin’ Texas, I am a bit surprised any kind of sex education is undertaken by our public schools, but I support it whole-heartedly. The problem is that my daughter does not, which is probably better than the opposite extreme – a ravenous hunger to discuss every detail. But it still bothers me.
My own mother raised me to talk about things, and I had no problem asking her questions about the topic. I also had no problem giving my opinion about it the first time I saw “the video” in 5th grade. “That is absolutely disgusting, and there is no way I’m going to do that! Ever!!!”
I hear horror stories from many of my peers about how prudish their own parents were, and how they had to learn everything, most of it wrong, from their friends. So I resolved that my daughter would feel just as comfortable talking about the topic with me as I had been with my mom.
All of the experts say, “Answer their questions honestly, but don’t go into detail. Don’t give them more information than they request.”
“No problem,” I thought.
Only my daughter refuses to cooperate with this plan. According to her, there is nothing to discuss.
In 3rd grade, she learned about the menstrual cycle.
In 4th grade, she learned about her anatomy.
This year, I got wise. I told Cap’n Firepants that we needed to stop shielding our daughter from “risque” shows, because it was probably making her think that we were embarrassed by the whole topic of sex. My reasoning was, if we don’t make a big deal about it, then she won’t feel like it’s a big deal to ask questions. Hence, no more switching to the Disney Channel every time she walked into the room while we are watching The Big Bang Theory. The Cap’n seemed pretty doubtful about this reasoning. But since his name is Cap’n Firepants, I don’t see how he really has any room to talk.
So this year, in 5th grade, she learned about the male anatomy, and fertilization of eggs. No mention of how the sperm gets there in the first place…
No. Questions. HOW CAN YOU NOT QUESTION THAT? First you have eggs, and suddenly they are dodging sperm missiles. Sperm missiles that you were just told are in the MALE ANATOMY. Does it not occur to the kids watching this film that a key part of the story is missing?
Sheldon would question that. But my daughter is obviously not Sheldon. Which I am thankful for – most of the time.
“So, how was Maturation today?”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Did you learn anything you didn’t know before?”
“Do you have any questions?”
The experts don’t say what to do about that.
I don’t want to scar the kid for life, but what if she thinks she knows something that she really doesn’t know? How am I supposed to know?
More importantly, what if she never talks about it, and then she grows up and tells everyone that her mom never discussed the topic with her so she had to learn it on the street?
I’m not sure what street she would learn it on, because our suburban cul-de-sac inhabited by octogenarians who never come outside seems an unlikely place to get educated about sex, but I guess you never know.
The point is, I could get the rap for being a bad mom, which is completely unfair because I totally tried.
Of course, I could also get the rap for being a bad mom because I included my daughter in the same post as sperm missiles.
Posted on March 21, 2013, in Children, Dimples, Family, Humor, Parenting and tagged Big Bang Theory, can you believe my daughter gave me permission for this post?, humor, motherhood, parenthood, sex, Sheldon. Bookmark the permalink. 32 Comments.