Where Willy Went
Some nights ago my dear husband Nick thought it would be cute and funny to bring me home a book called 'Le Parcours de Paulo: La grande histoire d'un petit spermatozoide.' The title translates as 'Paulo's Route: The Big Story of a Little Sperm,' but a quick search on Amazon tells me that the original title in English of this story by Nicholas Allan is 'Where Willy Went.' Anyway, I said, "Oh, how cute and funny you are, my dear husband," and I tucked the book away in my bottom dresser drawer. Apart from the very general stuff, Lucia hadn't asked any questions about sex yet, and I thought that was just fine. She's only seven after all. And I knew that if she saw the cute little sperm with the swimming goggles on the cover she'd want to read the book and then, well, I just didn't see any reason to get in over our heads. A couple of weeks went by, and I forgot all about little flagellated Paulo. Then one day I asked Lucia to bring me the lint brush which, as it happens, also resides in my bottom dresser drawer."What's this?" I heard from the next room.
Oh, f**k! I thought, and Lucia walked in carrying the little blue paperback. "It's a storybook," I said.
"Is it about a tadpole?" she asked.
Alas, no, I thought. "It's about sperm cells and egg cells and how they come together to make a new baby."
"Why was it in your drawer?"
"I was saving it for another time."
"Oh," she said, and mercifully she put the book back in the drawer and said nothing more about it.
Later that night, after we'd gotten washed and brushed and ready for bed, Nick asked Lucia, "What are we reading tonight?" She walked over to the dresser, opened the bottom drawer and pulled out 'Le Parcours de Paulo.' Nick gave me a helpless sort of questioning look.
I smiled sweetly and said, "It's that book you brought home, honey. Remember?"
And we all piled into bed and curled up with Paulo.
Everything started off well enough. It really is a cute book. It shows, in cartoon form, all the little sperm living happily in monsieur Dupont's testicles which feature, among other amenities, a swimming pool, a cinema, and a 'sperm bank.' It is explained that all the sperm are in training for a big race and that there is only one prize for the winner of this race: 'un superbe oeuf.' This is where things got a little complicated. This superb egg, we are told, is located inside of madame Dupont. The idea is further reinforced by a drawing with an arrow pointing towards madame Dupont's belly.
As I'm sure you've already guessed, Lucia, being a logical child, asked, "But if the sperm is in the daddy's body, and the egg is in the mommy's body, how does he get from one body into the other?""Well," I said, in neutral tones, "monsieur and madame Dupont have sex."
"What's sex?" asked my daughter.
My thoughts in the next few seconds went something like this:
When I taught high school biology and it was time to talk about Mendelian genetics I'd write in large letters across the blackboard, "PLANTS HAVE SEX." As the students trickled in and settled into their seats they'd react to this statement in various ways. First of all they'd laugh. They thought it was a joke. "Ms. Graff, you wilin'!" (I taught in Orange, NJ). I'd reassure them that the statement was true, and by the time the bell rang to signal the start of the block there'd be a lively debate under way as to whether or not plants have sex, and if so, how and why they would do such a thing. I thought about explaining sex to Lucia in terms of plant reproduction. Then I dismissed that idea as too abstract.
I tried to remember an example of animal mating that Lucia might have seen in a nature show at some point, something I could refer to as a contextual anchor. I thought there must have been something in the David Attenborough 'Mammals' series that our friend Joe gave us. But the image that kept popping into my head was some elephant footage I'd seen in my teens. Specifically, the thing that had stayed with me through all these years was the image of the spent bull's elephant-sized penis as it flopped heavily to the ground. I decided not to go with the Wild Kingdom approach. That stuff can really ruin things later on.
OK, so no plants. No wild animals. Just plain people sex. But which people? I didn't want to tell Lucia that sex was something that a mommy and a daddy do together because I didn't want to imply that sex is solely for the purpose of reproduction. I didn't want to say a husband and a wife do it because you don't have to be married to have sex. I didn't want to say a man and a woman because that's not a requirement either. I decided to go with the 'mommy and daddy' approach. This was a book about reproduction, after all, and I figured the rest could wait.
As all this whirlwind raced through my head I should mention that my dear husband Nick who, if you recall, brought Paulo into our lives in the first place, remained silent, offering nothing in the way of help but a goofy smile and the occasional giggle.
Nicholas Allan wasn't much help either. His cartoon illustration of monsieur and madame's sexual encounter consists of a lumpy blanket on a bedstead accented by some wiggly motion lines. The text reads (my translation from the French here): "That night, Mr. and Mrs. Dupont meet."
So here's what I came up with."Sex is when the mommy and the daddy touch those parts of their bodies together in a special way so that the sperm can go and find the egg."
Lucia was satisfied with this explanation which I think is a good indication that I gave her all the information she needs at the moment. If she'd questioned further I would have answered her questions as honestly and thoughtfully as I could. But in this area of parenting, as in so many others, I was driving completely without a map.
The closest either of my parents ever came to telling me about the birds and the bees was this: In 1982 when I was exactly Lucia's age my dad brought me to the movies to see a film called 'Quest For Fire.' At some point in the film there's a shot of two cave people doing it doggy-style. I turned to my dad and whispered, "Daddy, what are they doing?" He very matter-of-factly replied, "They're having sex." Maybe it was something in his tone, but I didn't pursue the matter any further. (note to my parents: Don't worry, guys. I figured it out.) Incidentally, I can't remember a single other scene from that movie. My parents could really have benefited from a book like 'Le Parcours de Paulo.' And I'm grateful that Lucia's first birds and bees discussion could happen with the aid of a cute little French cartoon sperm and with the loving attention and guidance of both her parents.
The next day Lucia started telling me a story and acting it out with some of her toys and dolls. She loves to make up long, epic adventure stories. I quickly realized, however, that this was to be a retelling of the sperm story from last night. She started off by introducing the sperm and his best friend who were both very fast and loved to race each other. They had to practice a lot because "once every minute a race was held, and the prize was an egg." Despite all efforts to keep a straight face, maybe I revealed something in my expression because she stopped and quickly corrected herself, "No, I mean, not every minute. Only once every year. They held this race once every year."
Posted 18th January 2008 by Holly
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