Sex Talk With My Daughter

“Daddy, do I have the clitoris?” 

I did a straw poll of my closest friends. Seems most of haven’t had this question yet. After all, we have 6th graders. On one end of the

spectrum, my Protestant friends make it their mission to avoid the sex talk. They all go with the same message: “You’re not doing ‘it’ before marriage so don’t worry about it.”

The opposite end of the spectrum are my friends who believe orgasms should be taught with the A, B, Cs. I’m more in the middle of the spectrum. No, I'm not referring to my own mental health. I want my daughters to be comfortable with their sexuality, just not misguided by their desire for intimacy. Like thinking anal sex keeps a douchebag and his dumb stick interested. Unfortunately, many girls today believe anal sex keeps them a virgin. No, really, they do.

This is not going to be a problem for the vast majority of parents. That is of course unless you’re so chill and named your kid Warm Showers or Petal Blossom. Don’t laugh, but there’s a Summer Rain, Sage, and Sunday Rose running around somewhere out there.

Before I go much further, I will tell you that I chose to use correct anatomic terminology for their lady parts. So many parents project their own awkwardness about sex. They give their kids absolutely absurd names for genitalia. They prefer cutesy names like, “who-ha,” or “hoo hoo,” or my favorite, “kitty." Really? We're going with that one. Let's just share the term 45 publicly voiced as past generation's favorite label for a woman's vagina. See, right there. I did it again.

Look, any boy before the age of 26 won’t be adequately declawed. Even if he was, that whole clitoris is off-limits. To him, it's nebulous, and he doesn't care to understand it. Not yet, anyway. Besides, he's definitely not manscaped. Unless he's gloriously embraced his LGBTQ+ lifestyle. Of course, there's a celebrated spectrum there, too.

My decision to give my daughters the correct terminology is really rather simple; the human body is nothing to be ashamed of. That’s why I take my cues from the divine O. Oh, not an orgasm, no, I’m talking about Oprah. And thanks to Ms. Winfrey, my girls continue to confidently call it their vajayjay.