Fractured Sex Education

Fractured Sex Education

                                                   



  "Gitty-up, Daddy."

  I galloped up the stairs, humming the theme song of Bonanza, with my pint-sized jockey giggling with delight. The familiar ride ended when Ali dropped to her bed.

  "Daddy?

  "Yeah, baby."

  "Why do you have nipples?"

  "Huh?"

  "Why do you have nipples, Daddy?"

  Where did that come from? "Why do you ask, Ali?"

  "Because I want to know."

  I proffered a defensive response. "Why don't you tell me what you know, and I'll fill in the blanks."

  "Mommies nurse their babies, and the milk comes from their nipples. So why do daddies have nipples?"

  "Did you brush your teeth?"

  "Yes, Daddy," she replied, rolling her eyes.

  I scrambled for a plausible answer. "Well, it's a long story."

  "Good! I love bedtime stories."

  There was no way out.

  Ali crawled underneath the covers, and I sat on the edge of her bed, facing rosy cheeks and dark blue eyes.

  "A long, long time ago, God created Adam--"

  "I know this story . . . and then God created Eve."

  "That's right, but God didn't create Eve at the same time."

  "He didn't?"

  "No. He created Eve later."

  "Why?"

  "Because God hadn't planned to create Eve."

  "Why?"

  "Because there was no need."

  "How could Adam have Cain and Abel without Eve?"

  "How old are you?"

  "I'm six, Daddy," she uttered with a pout.

  "Six, huh? And you know how babies are made?"

  "Mommy told me when Zach was born."

  "So you've known for a year?"

  She nodded and smiled.

  "Okay, like I said, God created Adam in the Garden of Eden. Now the garden was such a beautiful place--"

  "Daddee!"

  "Oh yeah, why do men have . . . Okay, Here's the deal. God planned for Adam to give birth to his children."

  Her eyes lit up.

  "At that time, Adam had everything he needed to have a baby."

  "Where would the baby come out?"

  "Through his bellybutton."

  "No way! It's too small."

  "Not back then it wasn't."

  "How big was it?"

  "Big enough for a baby to come out."

  She nodded again, this time with a deep understanding. "Did Adam have a womb?"

  "You know about wombs, too?"

  "Sure, Daddy. That's where a baby lives inside her mommy."

  "That's right. Adam had a womb, and I have a womb, too. It's called an appendix."

  "You have a pendix?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "So you can have a baby?"

  "No, Ali, I can't. Men's appendixes no longer work, so we can't have babies."

  "Why?"

  "Because of Adam."

  Ali scrunched up her face. "I don't understand."

  "Like I said, God had intended for Adam to give birth to his babies, but he couldn't follow God's directions for getting pregnant, so God had to create Eve from one of Adam's ribs."

  "Adam couldn't follow God's directions?"

  "And he wouldn't ask for help when he didn't understand."

  "So that's why Mommy gets mad when you get lost on the highway and won't stop to ask for directions."

  "That's right, sweetheart. It's all Adam's fault."

  "I like that story, Daddy."

  "I like you, Ali-cat." I kissed my angel and said good night.

  As I stood to leave, she called out, "Daddy?"

  "What is it, Ali?"

  "How did Mary get knocked up?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "How did Mary get knocked up?

  "Ali, where did you hear that expression?"

  "I heard it from Billy, on the bus."

  "Well, that's not a proper thing to say, young lady. The correct term is pregnant."

  "Okay, how did she get pregnant?"

  Totally befuddled, I sank to the edge of the bed, trying to get a toehold on this round of interrogation. "Who's Mary?"

  "Jesus's mother."

  Oh . . . My . . . God!

  "Wasn't Mary a virgin, Daddy?"

  Making a mental note to complain to the School Board about their sex education instruction, I racked my brain for a suitable answer. "You know about vir .  . . Never mind."

  "Well, Daddy, I'm waiting."

  Bending at the waist, I rubbed my eyes. "Ali, I'm going to give you an answer, but give me a moment to come up with one that you can understand." At last I turned to her.

  Ali cupped her hands behind her head and gazed at me with waning patience.

  "Okay, you know how bees pollinate flowers, don't you?"

  "Sure. They take the pollen on their legs from one flower to another. Is that what you mean?"

  "Uh-huh," I replied, hoping her curiosity had been slaked.

  It hadn't, not by a long shot.

  She tilted her little head. "Are you saying God pollinated Mary with a bee?"

  "Well, kinda sorta. You've seen pictures of angels, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "Angels have wings like a bee, right?"

  Sensing I'd turned the last furlong and was racing to the finish line, I went on. "Angels are God's bees. When a mommy and daddy love each other, sometimes an angel touches the woman when they hug, and that's how mommies get pregnant."

  "That's not what Billy said."

  "Who is this Billy?"

  "Nobody you'd want to know."

  "Ali, I want you to remember this. You can't believe everything you hear, especially from little boys. Okay?"

  "Okay, Daddy."

  "Good," I said, bending over her bed. "Give me a hug."

  Ali pulled back onto her pillow. "Are you sure it's safe for us to hug? Mommy told me about my guardian angel, and he's always close at hand."

  Oh what a tangled web we weave, when we practice first to deceive. Surely, Sir Walter Scott must have had an inquisitive daughter.

  "Ali, it's safe for us to hug."

  "Good," she said, and hugged my neck.

  After tucking her in, I kissed her.

  "Daddy, what time are we going to the circus tomorrow?"

  "After lunch, sweetie. Good night, and don't let the bedbugs bite."



With a stick of pink cotton candy in one hand, Ali strode under the Big Top, holding my hand.

    My nose filled with the pungent mix of hay and exotic animal waste, my ears with the fluttering hum of crowd noise mixed with the calliope, and my eyes sponged the kaleidoscope of colors--a fantasy world no longer valid to me but real and wonderful in my daughter's eyes.

    The clowns were working the crowd before the ringmaster started the show.

    "Popcorn, one dollar. Getcha popcorn and win a gold Timex watch. Popcorn, one dollar."

    "Daddy, can we buy a box. I could win a watch."

    I stopped in front of a Freddie the Freeloader clown with orangutan hair and a painted frown, and exchanged a crumpled bill for a small box of corn. With Ali hoping the box contained a Timex, we took our seat on the second row as the ringmaster blew his whistle and bellowed his greeeting.

    Ali dug to the bottom of her treasure chest, spilling fluffy corn onto her lap.

    I smiled at her adventure, turning my attention to the elephants parading trunk-to-tail around the center ring.

    People around us clapped and cheered and grew silent, only to hear Ali cry out at the top of her lungs, "A box of rubbers!"

    A red-faced lady in the front row cackled in three-fold harmony of jiggling bellyfat, and a boy in the third row leaned over my shoulder to stare. I felt my anger rising, thinking the worst possible joke had been played on my daughter. My eyes flew to the red box in Ali's hand, now held high in the air for all to see.

    Emblazened in bold print was the word 'RUBBERS', and above it, in much smaller print, the word 'Canning'. I leaned over and whispered that it was okay, but she begged to differ. "What do I do with rubbers?" she exclaimed. And that's when I lost it, along with everyone within earshot. Even Freddie the Freeloader slipped out of character.

    To the sound of unbridled raucous laughter, Ali, my precocious daughter, couldn't see the humor of her major disappointment here at the greatest show on Earth.