Rememory

I have been thinking about the way that memory works. There are lots of reasons. For one, I am utterly amazed that two people can see the same thing and remember completely different things, down to directly contradictory direct quotes. But that isn't what I've been thinking about this morning.

I have memories from childhood and beyond that are just bits. I don't remember what happened right before, I don't remember what happened right after. I have other memories that are complete episodes, with scene changes and sound. Why is this?

I like to talk about my experience riding the school bus as a first grader, but I have been thinking about the two memories I have, and I wonder what went in between. I remember getting on the school bus and trying to sit down. A big girl (who was probably 10) told me I couldn't sit there because seats had been assigned. Then the bus driver (who was probably 16) yelled at me to sit down or get off. Since I can't see myself getting off, I must have sat down. I don't remember where or anything else about the bus ride. I just revisit the image I saw, standing in the aisle, staring at a white blur of a face telling me I couldn't sit. I remember the mouth moving. I don't remember the eyes. I know it was a girl.

I also remember hiding behind the bushes, waiting for the bus to come, then going home and telling Mom that I missed the bus. Since I remember the wait being pretty long, I have to think that my parents must have been suspicious. I was wondering if those were my only attempts to ride the bus in first grade. I know we joined a car pool at some point, which was pretty traumatic for Mom. I wonder if I ever rode the bus or if this was what happened in the first two days of school. I remembered just yesterday that before I was yelled at, I had really wanted to ride the bus. Maybe Mom had finally relented, then I changed my mind. I guess I'll never know, since Mom is gone and Dad doesn't remember that sort of thing.

As I write this, I think, good grief, where's your navel? I wonder why this small piece of memory sticks with me and affects my life even today.

I rode the school bus through middle school and part of high school, with many more traumatic incidences, but it is first grade that came to my mind when I decided not to make my kids take the bus to middle school. I decided that there are character building exercises, and there are exercises which tear your soul to shreds in such small ways you don't notice until you go looking for that piece of you. I'm still not sure what the bus ride was. Did I learn compassion because of that cruelty? Or did I become more timid and afraid? Or both.

But that's enough of my navel lint for today.

Sex Education

I really don't understand the problem with schools teaching sex education. Should they learn about it the old fashioned way --- on the street?

My parents would have liked the schools to teach about sex. My experience with sex education in school was particularly painful. I was listening to my fifth grade teacher explain genetic theory to us, when something came over me. An uncontrollable urge to ask a question. I hadn't had an uncontrollable urge to ask a question since third grade, when I asked on what day God made the dinosaurs. That experience taught me to control my questioning urges. But this day, I raised my hand and said, "I understand how babies get the mommy genes, but how do they get the daddy genes?"

There was complete silence. The teacher glared at me, then started sputtering. The kids begin to snicker. A friend later told me that her mother had given her THE TALK the weekend before. It would appear that many parents had given THE TALK already. My Mom didn't get the memo. Or she sent it back corrected, as she often did.

So, I went home and about a month later, asked Mom the same question. She sputtered a little and said she couldn't tell me then, because my brother & sister were in the room. Another week or so later, my parents gave me a book.

The book was published by the Catholic Church. It was called "Take the High Road." The cover had some sort of colorful seventies thing on it. I took the book and read it. Well, most of it. There was a chapter called "For Boys," which I didn't read since I'm not a boy. Duh. The chapter called "For Girls" had the other internal organs and the egg with big eyelashes. I learned you shouldn't go steady too early and that it's OK to have wet dreams. When Mom asked me what I learned, I said you shouldn't go steady too early. I didn't know what wet dreams were, but I had a feeling Mom wouldn't want to talk about them.

Years later, I discovered (or my brother & sister discovered) that all of my missing information was in the chapter called "For Boys." It had pictures of internal organs and sperm that looked like tadpoles. The tadpole and eye-lashed egg never met.

I learned about sex in the upstairs bathroom with a friend who my mother didn't really like. This friend, later voted "girl most likely to" at her high school, told me what men and women do, then primly informed me that she was going to make her husband do it to her when she was asleep. My reaction was, "Not MY parents." I think that's typical.

So I'm all for sex education in school. I think they do better now than "I am Joe's testicle" (remember those films?). Values related to sex should be taught at home, of course. But parents need to teach all kinds of things at home. The school is supplying knowledge, skills, and training. Families, churches, communities need to help kids decide what to do with all of that stuff.

Sex education in school and at home are not mutually exclusive. Schools don't let parents off the hook, but they can supply teachers who are better equipped to teach.