So, let me begin at the beginning. I grew up in a very conservative home with very conservative parents and attended a very conservative religious university. As a child I was not allowed to watch The Simpsons---too crass, or Captain Planet---too environmentalist-wacko. My parents opted me out of sex ed in elementary school, but didn't teach me themselves. I remember asking my dad what "well-endowed" meant, watching him become very awkward and gesture with cupping hands at his chest. I was highly embarrassed and learned at that tender age to not ask my parents about anything even remotely sex-adjacent again.
This didn't stop me from reading Jean Auel's Earth's Children series (which includes rape and sex scenes) in middle school, or from trying to understand my body; I just had fewer resources and many, many roadblocks.
I didn't reach menarche until I was fifteen and a half---rather late for a child. My mom had explained the basics to me when I was ten years old with a Childcraft encyclopedia, but that explanation left far more questions than answers and I didn't know how to ask questions. By the time I was fifteen and a half, there was no discussion of menstruation in my house---there was hardly any discussion about anything, ever---so I was left to reading information on and in tampon boxes as an entrance to womanhood.
I will mention here that tampon boxes could do a better job explaining how to use their products. I was playing water polo when I reached menarche, and thus needed to use tampons so I could play during my period. The first time I used one, I left the cardboard applicator inside myself overnight because the directions were too vague. I eventually figured it out, but it took me awhile and would have been much better for me if I could have just asked someone.
One of the things that drew me to Jim, early on, was that Jim never seems to be embarrassed to ask a question when he doesn't know the answer. I really admire frankness in others, and I aspire that kind of open transparency in my own life. I feel that if my child is bold enough to ask a question, I can be brave enough to answer it honestly.
So, now that you have some background, let me take you to my first semester freshman year (at my very conservative universtiy) early morning Anatomy and Physiology lab class. The light is barely coming in through the basement windows; the walls are tiled, the room echo-y; it is cold, and everyone is half-awake; except for my TA who exudes alertness and enthusiasm. He strides confidently into the middle of the lab; everyone (mostly female nursing students) sits on stools circling him.
"This is a penis," he says, cupping his hand and holding up a brown chunk of cadaver soaked in formaldehyde.
"Penis," he says louder.
"penis," we quietly repeat.
"I can't hear you," he cups his other hand, the one not containing shriveled cadaver junk, next to his ear and yells, "PENIS!"
"Penis," we say.
And I could not have loved it more.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMmmmmmmm," he wails.
At this point, I am rather baffled. One, my eyes are blinking, trying to lubricate themselves and get ready for sunshine; two, I feel like donating my uterus to science (again) because menstruation; and three, my brain can't register the words Rae is saying.
He and I would both rather have had ice cream.
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-get [this brand],
-definitely do not under any circumstances get [that brand],
-and if [this brand] is unavailable, just find one that says organic cotton.
Jim is adept at following instructions. He came home with organic tampons that worked just fine. Yay.
However, TSS was not the most interesting part of this box.
This was:
"Huh," he says, "...ghosts told me to stick herbs up there is their marketing strategy."
My humans-without-vaginas make me laugh.