First Sex Talk

Sex Talks

“Your balls have chemicals in them.” Those are actual words that came out of my actual mouth, directed towards my very actual, very silently, noticeably shaken, visibly afraid three little boys. They were just a part of a far more frightening, lengthier conversation that occurred between my vulnerable self and my three young boys in reference to their sex questions. In my defense, their question about sex came upon me suddenly. I had not planned on talking to them about sex for, say, another 40 years or so when I could safely assume that they had already figured it out. That was until an impromptu visit with my pregnant sister-in-law spawned the question “when is mommy going to have another baby?” At first glance, the question seemed innocent enough. In hindsight I should have quickly recognized its potential for great embarrassment. Without thinking (a fact that will become increasingly clear as this story progresses) I responded “That can’t happen, don’t worry.”
Inquisitively Luke asked simply, “why.” Now, let me insert at this point some wisdom for future fathers in similar dilemmas. Do not waste the iron-clad response “because that is the way God made it” on petty things like “why does my brother have different color eyes than me” or “why do the leaves fall off the trees in the winter” or “why do some dogs bite people.” No gentlemen, do not waste it. That response is tailor-made for moments like this one, and others that are dangerously close such as “why doesn’t mommy have a pee-pee?” As a pastor, I admit I have squandered the phrase by sprinkling it into nearly every conversation since my sons were born. And I was going to pay for that dearly. Instead of silencing my kids, the question now only makes them more persistent with an increasing number of “whys.” So…rather than giving you commentary that would break up the hysterically awkward conversation that took place that day, I know give it to in full. Enjoy.
Me: “Well, daddy had an operation and now we can’t have any more kids.”
Long, long pause.
Luke: “What do you have to do with mommy having babies?”
Me: “Mommies can’t have babies without daddies.”
Luke: “Why not? Daddies can’t have babies.”
Me: “No (gulp) but we help make them.”
Long, long pause.
Luke: “How?”
Me: (insert mental swearword of choice here)
Me: (long pause hoping they would think the conversation was over)
Luke: “dad, why?”
Me: (more silence, pretending not to hear) then a faint…”what?”
Luke: “Dad…how do moms and dads make babies?”
Me: (quick breath, quicker prayer)…”ok. It’s like this…”
Much of the next 10 minutes that passed in that tiny, suffocating little mini-van is still very blurry. I was shooting from the hip, poorly. I typically prize myself as someone who is quick on his feet, but during those ten, torturous minutes I was anything but. What I do remember is talking about “chemicals” in their “balls” that “go on mommy’s eggs.” The questions just kept coming and I sat sweating profusely begging for Jesus Christ to descend from the heavens until I finally blurted out, “YOU PUT YOUR PEE-PEE IN HER VAGINA.”
Though I have never experienced it personally, the car filled with what I imagine it might be like moments before a nuclear bomb goes off. When a strange, warm calm comes over the land seconds before the explosion ripples across the landscape and culminates in a stratospheric mushroom cloud. Or like some sort of cosmic record player scratching across the entire Universe. Mouths opened, jaws dropped, and three little minds began to melt out of 3 little sets of ears. I could tell that even Zachary, at just 2.5 years old, could tell that something cataclysmic had just happened. Then, as the reality set in, Luke asked the most obvious question.
Luke: “You did that to mom?”
Me: “Yes.”
Luke: “Where…in front of everyone at your wedding?”
Me: (Oh dear Lord, come and save me now)
Me: “No Luke, behind closed doors, at night, when we go to bed.”
Luke: “That’s what you do when you go to bed at night.”
Me: (with a bit of a smirk)…sometimes…well yes, often.

Needless to say, I am hardly proud of myself. I am nothing more, and nothing less than a survivor at this point. Since the “incident” I have guarding my words like a sniper, and wondering, in hind-sight if there could have been any more emotional damage done to my children if I simply swore to them until the day I died that I had absolutely no clue how they got here. That is my advice to all of you.