The Birds, the Bees, the Questions

Friday, March 26, 2004

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

The Birds, the Bees, the Questions—Oh Jeez!

By J’AMY PACHECO

Parenting presents many challenges. Since the day my now-eight-year-old daughter prematurely rocketed into the world, her father and I have faced more challenges than a redneck juror.

Reality television show contestants have nothing on parents. People who eat bugs, fight Amazon creatures or jump into water while bound and gagged don’t impress me. All that is nothing compared to dealing with children.

This became apparent to me a few days ago. I was seated on the couch, watching television, while my daughter played “Zoo Tycoon” on her computer.

Zoo Tycoon is a game that is currently the rage with her second-grade crowd. The game allows players to create, from the ground up, fabulous zoos, complete with lions, killer whales and dinosaurs. In order to profit, the player must keep the animals happy, giving them food, improving their environment or otherwise providing specific kinds of care when suggested by the game.

My little one sat about 10 feet away from me, with her back to me. Out of the blue, she asked, “Mom, how do animals mate?”

Had I been eating or drinking, I’m certain I would have been able to avoid responding—because I would have immediately choked to death. I nearly gagged on the question itself.

She didn’t turn around to ask, so I did the first thing that came to mind: I pretended to be asleep. I closed my eyes, dropped my head to one side and continued to breathe—although that was hard.

Eventually, she turned around to see why I didn’t answer. She tentatively whispered “Mommy?” a few times, then headed for the kitchen, where her unsuspecting father stood eating cantaloupe.

I heard her repeat the question, “How do animals mate?” His parental superiority was immediately apparent—his well-thought out answer was, “What???” She asked again.

Overhearing their exchange, I could hardly contain my laughter and keep up my fake slumber. He suggested she ask her mother.

“But she’s asleep,” my daughter complained as I silently congratulated myself.

Only one thing could save him, and I honestly expected my husband to outsmart me and feign sudden death.

Instead, he carefully asked why she wanted to know.

“The game says my lion needs a mate,” she explained.

“Oh,” he said, relief obvious in his voice. “It means he needs to get married.” She accepted the answer, and ran off to plan a wedding.

Phew.

That episode ended quickly and easily, but I know the question will be asked again. When and where remains a mystery, but I know the question will be posed again—most likely when I least expect it.

Of all the responsibilities that come with parenting, I think presentation of “The Talk” has got to be the most frightening. When, I wonder, is the right time to address the issue of…er…a lion needing a mate?

I remember well the way I learned the facts of life. My mother checked a book out of the library for my older-and-wiser sister, and apparently decided to have me look at it for good measure. I returned home from school one day to find it lying on my bed.

But that was in the late 1960s, when things were presented in a kinder and gentler way, and people didn’t expose their breasts on television during half-time shows.

Today, question-prompting images are everywhere. For example, my daughter begs to be allowed to watch the family show “Little House on the Prairie” while she eats her breakfast. Although the program airs on a channel owned by the family-friendly Hallmark, the program’s commercial breaks are littered with commercials for libido-related products.

I stopped listening to my favorite Oldies radio station when its commercial breaks were filled with advertisements for lingerie shops and male hormone products. I don’t even let my daughter read the comics section in our local newspaper until I’ve ripped out the adult-oriented column “Annie’s Mailbox,” which runs near “Peanuts” and “Dennis the Menace.” And prime time network television? We don’t even go there.

With all that’s out there, I know the question will soon resurface as surely as I know Michael Jackson will continue making headlines.

Before it does, hopefully I’ll be able to figure out what to say. Meanwhile, well, I’m feeling reaaaalllly tired…