Anyway, today my wife and I had "the talk" with my daughter. Like most parents, we were trying to avoid it for as long as humanly possible. But there was a catalyst we just couldn't ignore: this week she's going to see "the film" that her school show girls when they begin the sex education part of the curriculum.
Before they show "the film", the school sends home a permission slip for parents to sign. I imagine a lot of parents sign it with a huge sense of relief that the school will now be doing a job they're too embarrassed to do.
We didn't see it that way. We thought she should hear it from us first.
As we started to talk to her, my ten-year-old daughter turned red, pulled the blanket over her face and laughed a whole lot while we explained how things work and where babies come from. But a little while into it, she quieted down and really listened. Then she asked questions. Then she understood.
My invaluable contribution was teaching her important phrases, like "put it back in your pants", "zip it" and "I don't care if you're happy to see me."
So right about now the wife and I are feeling pretty proud of the mature way we tackled "the talk." If it hadn't gone so well, I was ready with Plan B.
But I guess now I can put the donuts and hot dogs away.
