Sex Education

I posted the following elsewhere in response to another person's post. Although it was started in response to her post, I think you'll get the gist if you start in the middle of our discussion here.

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It isn't a liberal vs. conservative debate though judging from the viewpoints of the participants it could be seen as such. The misperception of the real problem is what gets people thinking about this issue dogmatically and myopically and therefore debating about it from a very weak position. They simply don't wish to give the other side the credibility they deserve. And that's just plain stupid.

To wit, the "conservatives" rightly claim through much of their diatribe that the responsibility for educating kids about sex lies with the parents. And they decry those who would usurp their ability or right to do so. I wholly agree with that premise. The problem is, most parents, especially conservatives, don't or won't teach their kids about sex. If they talk about it at all, it's very frequently on a minimus level and it's couched as an embarrassing topic, if not in the words chosen during discussions, then definitely by the tone of voice and the body language of the parent squirming like a bug stuck on a pin. It's a supreme form of hypocrisy. So, to qualify the credit given a second ago, I agree with the thought and the principle of parents teaching their kids about sex and their responsibility to do so but the reality is, most parents . . . . Okay, I'm repeating myself.

Which demands, by the necessity created by chicken-shit parents, public sex education. Here's where the "liberals" get it right. Kids are going to have sex as soon as they learn about it or the moment they hit puberty, whichever comes first. Who's going to stop them? Parents aren't home most of the time and kids have a lot of unsupervised time, more than ever and earlier and earlier in their lives. To wit, it used to be that kids didn't have sex until they could drive a car, now they have a key to the house at age 11 for when they come home from school for three hours of alone time before momma comes home from work. Hell, kids have been having sex throughout all history even when they WERE being watched every minute of every day by their parents. Does anyone think they're going to stop now when by comparison, they have very little supervision?

Not a chance.

So, if we know they're going to have sex, let's teach them how to do it right. No, I'm not talking about breaking out the Kama Sutra for their ultimate pleasure though it could easily be debated that such is a good thing, especially for kids new at sex. What I'm talking about is teaching kids how NOT to fuck up their lives with sex. (Now there's a double-take!) Because you're not going to stop kids from having sex.

At least teach them how to prevent pregnancy and WHY preventing pregnancy at their age is a good thing. Teach them how to minimize their chances of disease so they don't go around spreading it if they have it or getting it if they don't have it. It's very simple: you're not going to stop kids from having sex.

I'm not a proponent of abortion as birth control, necessarily but I am a proponent of birth control as abortion prevention. This is the only territory where it becomes a legitimate liberal vs. conservative argument. But one of the many ways in which conservatives kick themselves in the nuts is they forget that abortions are primarily caused by irresponsible sex. Read that: Uneducated irresponsible sexual practices. Kids who get pregnant "by mistake" did it because they didn't know about any form of birth-control because their shy, embarrassed (selfish) parents didn't teach them about it. But the same people who are against abortion aren't doing their jobs to prevent it, ie., teaching their kids how not to get pregnane when they have sex because dammit, As much as you might like to, you're not going to stop them from having sex.

Why do I say selfish? Because the parents are more interested in preserving their so-called dignity or privacy or whatever they don't even consider the harm which could be caused by their kids not learning about sexual responsibility. But they don't want anyone else teaching their kids about it either. Utterly insane.

As I alluded to at the beginning of this post, it shouldn't be about politics. It's a life debate. And the prevention of one of life's disasters. Or more importantly, about taking one of life's greatest pleasures and keeping it from becoming one of life's greatest disasters. Here is an issue which should be the MOST non-political of them all and yet, it tends to be one of the most political. All the more reason to believe both sides are badly weakened by their own dogma on this issue.

So, all you antagonists of Sex Ed, bring on ANY objection which can be raised about prevention of sex education, public or private, and I'll blast you with my keyboard bazooka over it.

'Cause prevention of Sex Ed at any level is the prevention of life itself.

--Wag--

P.S. I should mention that I, myself, do not have kids, originally not by choice but as time has passed, we're actually glad we don't. Having said that, one might ask, "How the hell does he know anything about what it's like to have to teach a kid about sex?" Look, stupid, I was a kid once and dang. Wouldn't you know it? I was screwed up by my own anal retentive parents and it would sure be nice if I knew that someone else were being spared that fate.

Calculus Update

I should update my progress in my Calculus Class. This has been a geek's adventure, I assure you. Tonight begins my fourth week of the eight-week summer course. Normally, it's 16-weeks which is to say I'm really bustin' my hump to learn this shit in a maniacally fast, compressed course. Do you think the instructor will cut us any slack as to how much material we cover? Nope. The entire textbook is listed on on syllabus and she's right on track with all of it so far.

Yeesh. (And if you think the word "yeesh" is outdated and old-fashioned, you're right. Who cares?)

Last week's experience was an eye-opener: We had our first big exam but before I tell you how I did, you have to listen to this story first. Unless you hate my stories, then skip to the bottom and find the score. And on your way down there, blow me.

So, the weekend before last, July 2, to be precise, I spent all evening after work on Friday studying until 10:00pm. Then all day Saturday studying from 8:00am to 10:00pm. Then Sunday, I taught piano from 9am to 10:30am, then did bookkeeping work for a client until 2:00pm, then came home and studied from 2:30pm until 10:30pm. Monday, I had the day off from work and studied from 8:00am to 6:00pm and my brain finally said, "Fuck you, Wag. I'm not working on this any more." I told my brain, "Me either," and closed everything up and went to a movie with my woman. Spider Man 2, I think.

And after all that, I didn't feel any more competent with derivatives and differentiation than I had on Friday evening before I started that marathon. Damn.

Tuesday, I studied at lunch time and got nowhere. That evening, I asked the instructor a couple of questions and she cleared some things up. That night, I was able to make some headway, and I studied until 11:00pm. Next day, lunch, same thing; evening, instructor cleared some things up; evening study session, made a little more headway. Thursday, the day of the big exam came and at lunch, I was able to make things click. FINALLY!!! I went through the review with no troubles at all. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Whatta relief! I finally felt ready for the exam.

That evening, the instructor lectured for an hour on the next section of the class. Then a short break. Then the big moment! I was ready to shine. She hands me the test and I looked at the first question! Nothing. It was like looking at an essay about the ancient Egyptians, written in Ancient Sumerian. Crap. As I have on past tests, I read through the entire thing to see if I could at least do a couple of other questions and at least get SOMEthing right. Still nothing. The entire test was a mystery.

I turned back to page 1 and read the first problem about 500 times. Still nothing. Looked around the room at 45 other students, busily working away. Bastards. They knew what they were doing. I felt like an alien from another planet. Or at least from some other country. Damn. Now there are people getting up handing in their completed tests. Either they are 90% brains or they just gave up easier than I do. I nearly got up and surrendered myself.

What the hell. I looked at the first question again, sweat pouring from my brow. (Okay, the A/C was turned off and it was hot in there just on general principles but doesn't that sound cool? ". . . sweat pouring from my brow." Sometimes, I crack myself up!)

For whatever reason, a crack opened up on some remote part of my brain and a little pinpoint of light shone forth. "I think I understand this question all of a sudden and for no real reason at all." The answer made sense. I got excited and colored in the little box on my scantron. The next question popped out at me too and I colored that box in too! The third one as well! Hey, I'm starting to get this! (Later, I discovered that I got the third one wrong but that's the breaks.) I began working and the test was making more and more sense. I worked through everything and by the time I was done, I was one of three people left in the classroom and triumphantly handed in my test. Whew! I was done and I was confident I had actually done a good job! Well, I had.

The instructor gave me the answer key on the way out the door and I realized I had missed three questions, 9 points. I had gotten a 91. And the three I missed? One of them, I missed a minus sign. Another, I used the wrong bracket symbology. (Yes, there is a difference between "()" and "[]" if you ever take Calculus.) The third I just flat out got wrong and I suspect it was because in a long list of algebra, I missed a minus sign early on in that one too. But who knows for sure.

But a 91. Wow. I was suprised at myself, to be real frank about it. And pleased, to be sure.

And that's about as exciting and adventurous as I can make a post about Calculus. But since that's the only thing really going on in my sorry life at the moment, you'll have to take it or leave it. If you want something better, read the "Dental Times" post from May in the archive section. ;-)

--Wag--

At least we had chainsaws.

While I lived in Missouri, Grandpa and I and my brothers and sometimes my deadbeat dad would go out into the forest every fall and start cutting firewood. The trick was, you had to cut it two years ahead of time in order for it to cure adequately for the stoves. We already had this year's wood stacked but we needed to get on with next year's supply. On the average, each tree would yield about a cord of wood. (Despite what people may say, it isn't physically possible to get a cord of stovewood into a standard 8' pickup truck. Sellers will sell a pickup truckload as a cord but believe you me, it ain't a cord.)

It took 23 cords for each of our families ours and grandpa's to stay warm through the winter, so we would cut a minimum of 50 trees every year, just to be sure we had enough plus a little extry. Needless to say, we only cut dead trees of which there always seemed to be plenty. Wood heat was the only heat we had for the winter, hence, the large amount of cutting we needed to do. Also needless to say is, wood heat is far more satisfying with which to warm up next to a Franklin style stove. Yet, I remember several occasions when I would wake up in the middle of the night due to the freezing cold because the fire had died out. A stack of six blankets made it possible to roll over and go back to sleep, however.

You may be familiar with the ferocity of Missouri winters in the Ozarks. One night, I jumped out of bed - and nearly right back in 'cause the floor was so cold - to find that the fire had gone completely out. Since I had to pee, I shivered my way downstairs to use the bathroom. Ever been so cold you could move around the house without walking? All you have to do is let your shivers vibrate you in the direction you're going.

Anyhow, I went over to restart the fire but the woodbox was empty. Dang. I went running back upstairs hoping the exertion would help warm me up a little. Glanced at the clock in my room as I put on a pair of pants: 2:34am. Sheesh. I stopped at the pants 'cause I figured the trip to the woodpile was going be relatively quick. I opened the door to the house and was confronted by a near-gale force wind. (Later the next morning, the weatherman announced that the temperature the prior night had dropped to -40F with a wind chill of -72F. I figure at 2:34, I hit my front door at the coldest possible part of that night.)

I nearly froze to death in the short, 100 feet to the woodpile, filling a wheelbarrow and bringing it back to the house. Remember I was only dressed in my Wranglers. No shirt, no shoes, no gloves, no coat. I barely was able to carry one armload into the house and fortunately, I had the presence of mind to bring some small pieces in with me to light a new fire. Lighting a match was a problem though. When your fingers no longer bend, you can't grip a little tiny match any more. I went to the kitchen with a tightly rolled newspaper and lit it at the stove. Dangerous, to be sure. I could've burned down the house along the way. But I didn't. Got the fire going and fortunately, it took on the first try.

An hour later, I was still warming myself by that fire. The cold was more than I'll ever be able to forget. Of course, the family was unaware of what I had done, not that it mattered. It did make me realize that over the course of the time we spent in Missouri, my father had basically kept that fire going every night for all that time and we never knew it, really. Except to complain every morning about having to refill the empty wood box and to notice we were warm and mostly toasty when we got up. When you're poor as church mice, having "free" wood heat was about as much as you could ask for.

--Wag--