Whenever I meet a reader, the second question they ask me after how much sex it takes to be a sex columnist, is what your parents think... Well my ultra-liberal mom and dad are devout readers of my sex column. They sometimes cringe, turn red, sweat profusely and want to call my sister (the rabbi) to reform me immediately after reading, but they are still loyal readers. The question arises, how much should parents know and how much should adults share with their parents when it comes to sex and the champagne room?
Most of my girlfriends share very minimal information with their parents. One of my best girlfriend's mothers, an eccentric and lively painter, reads my column, but she and my girlfriend have never uttered the word sex during any chats. Her mom actually sent me a fabulous article about designer vibrators being sold like Prada purses in New York City, but my girlfriend would rather sign up to join a nunnery than discuss my theory of good vibrations with her mom. Yet my other roommate was home for some quality family time when her dad inquired as to what her roommates were up to. When he asked what my column was about her mother chimed in and said, "Oh stop, you read the column, you know what it's about." Her father turned a haunting shade of red and my roommate turned a somber green color. Sometimes the topic of sex sneaks into parent-child conversations.
My parents on the opposite end of the spectrum must live with the knowledge that their second daughter in a family of intellectuals spends her days writing about blow-job trends. While I grew up in a household of Shakespeare's "to be or not to be," my parents must digest my literary quest of advising twentysomethings to swallow or not to swallow.
But my parents are not purely innocent; they did raise me after all. Growing up in a household of two psychiatrists, there was no topic off limits and no joke too taboo. My siblings and I developed a healthy hunger for asking questions and for acquiring knowledge. While my sister the rabbi thirsts for religious knowledge, I spent my senior year of college studying Kama Sutra instead of the Torah. But in their wholehearted effort to be supportive parents, they read my column and they are curious about just what goes on at AU after hours, even if they preferred I was the first Jewish nun.
My father has been known to snoop around my dresser drawers and during one of his Inspector Gadget escapades he discovered everything from "Positions of the Day Handbook" to dirty dice. Luckily, no heart attack has occurred just yet, but it has been harder for my dad to retain that Punky Brewster image when he finds such paraphernalia.
When my dad moved me into my sorority house the summer after freshman year there was an oversized neon pink dildo with spiked balls sitting on the center of the kitchen table where lilies would traditionally sit. As we schlepped the heavy boxes of clothes and books, the vibrator caught my dad's eye. He stared at the toy, glared at me and just shook his head.
But if my father hadn't stumbled upon my roommate's dildo, he could have found the same knowledge of twentysomething single life by watching prime time television. The media provides parents with more images and information than most can digest. Between MTV's Spring Break, "Girls Gone Wild" and the "Real World," my parents could learn all about whipped cream bikini contests and casual sex.
When it comes to college sex and dating, parents only need to have the simplest form of basic knowledge, but sharing some stories about a romantic dinner date or a wild first kiss may provide parents with the feeling that you trust them and that they are maturing from the parents box to the parental friends box on your status roster. Who knows, maybe all of their years of life experience and the fine print under their names that reads: older and wiser, may come in handy when it comes to advise on sex and dating.
When it comes to open communication with parents there are usually two extremes. You either talk about the weather and the casual happenings of life, or you talk about the down and dirty. And at my parents' kitchen table when Monica Lewinsky went down, so did the scandal, all over the dinner table. Being able to openly communicate with parents about sex is a luxury that comes with age and a healthy and comfortable level of communication. I grew up in a house with two psychiatrists, all we did was communicate, and communicate and communicate, and I am still communicating.
Parents are not stupid even if they pretend to be oblivious. They know, trust me, they always know. It's the same way you discern a person's feet smell but you chose to refrain from telling them to save them the embarrassment of knowing their socks stink of garlic and rotten eggs.
Most parents know that birth control pills aren't used just to minimize cramps and that their baby girls have to grow up sometime, but the transition from daddy's little girl to another man's play toy is tough for any dad to digest. While your parents may want to pretend that your chastity belt is still worn tight, secretly parents know, after all they were feisty youths once.
While they may have the knowledge that their daughter is a Trojan girl, is it ever ok to have sex in your parents' house?
My mother made another one of her famous decrees this winter when all four of her children returned home. My sister, 24, was home from Israel with her boyfriend, my younger brother and his Barbie-doll girlfriend of three and a half years were necking in the basement, and my younger sister and I were baking cookies. My mother, a petite woman with fiery red hair put one hand on one hip and instituted a new rule: no sex in her house. With my sister exfoliating her long-distance boyfriend's bottom in the shower upstairs, my brother spooning with his long-term girlfriend, I felt that the rule was a bit too late to be effective. "This is becoming an abstinence only zone," she said.
I am constantly sneaking kisses and some steamy make-out sessions when I bring my beaus to visit my family. Since they were in love with my possibly proposing ex boyfriend, they gave us plenty of alone time in my bedroom, but suddenly my mom had decided that sex in her house was no more.
My parents have become more realistic about what goes on in our lives as adults. I feel lucky that I can talk to my parents about almost anything, whether the story involves sex or not. When my column about erectile dysfunction was coming out my dad lectured me on its causes for a good half hour while I revised the piece, and when I returned from a date with Mr. Sexually Stupid, my dad said that I shouldn't give up on this boy, and I should just try and teach him some new tricks. My mom provides great listening ears after I feel the butterflies brewing in my stomach, or when I need to complain about an under-the-covers ego-monster. I feel fortunate to be able to talk to them so candidly, and I hope to continue to be able to call them and spill my guts always.
