“Abstinence education works,” Hatch said in a statement LifeNews.com received. “My amendment restores a vital funding stream so that teens and parents have the option to participate in programs that have demonstrated success in reducing teen sexual activity and, consequently, teen pregnancies.”
“I laud the Senate Finance Committee for its strong bipartisan vote to ensure valuable programs such as these continue to help teach our children about healthy lifestyle choices,” he added.”The absence of an abstinence only education program has negative health consequences for our nation’s most vulnerable citizens,” he explained.
“Teenage pregnancy is a leading contributor to poverty, which in turn leads to poor health outcomes for mothers and children; sexually active teens are more likely to experience mental health issues such as depression or attempted suicide; and sexually active teens are more likely to suffer health consequences such as increased rates of infection with sexually transmitted diseases.”
via Senate Finance Committee Reinstates $50 Million in Abstinence Education Funding.
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My parents divorced when I was a young child and moved far away from each other. I lived with my mother who, in addition to being a single mom, turned to Christianity for comfort after the divorce. Growing up, not only was no one having sex in my house, no one was talking about it either. Even though I never remember my mother saying anything to me specifically about sex, I just knew I wasn’t supposed to be having it. We visited my father a few times a year and because of my resentment and his distance, our relationship was strained for much of my childhood. However, he tells me that at one point he and my step-mom gave me a copy of Where Did I Come From? (I was around seven). Apparently after I finished reading it, I asked if I could read it again the next night because I liked it so much. Although I don’t remember this specific incident, I do remember finding that book and re-reading it almost every time we visited. They also owned The Joy of Sex, which they clearly left out where it would be easily accessible. When I was in college, I told my dad that I was sexually active (I was asking to have a boy stay at his place). He had a momentary freak out and then immediately went into contraceptive counseling mode. Once he ascertained that I was using protection he said “Well…that’s fine then. We won’t walk around in our bathrobes if you won’t.” And that was that and has been ever since. My mother, on the other hand, kept up her abstinence-only policy. When a boyfriend was going to visit over Christmas break she told me the only thing I ever remember her telling me about sex. Ever. She said “He can stay here but you have to sleep in separate rooms because I don’t want your little sister thinking that I condone that sort of thing.” “That sort of thing.” My mother’s only acknowledgment in the 27 years of my life that I am a sexual being. Sadly, the little sister mentioned above bore the brunt of my mom’s obvious knowledge of my behavior and her guilt at not preventing it. She received lectures, incredibly restrictive curfews and an abstinence ring, handed to her one family Christmas partially for her and partially as a passive aggressive reproach to me. My sister lost her virginity her first weekend at college. I work now at a feminist sex toy store, spending my days writing and talking about sex. I suppose my mom wouldn’t condone “that sort of thing” either, but she doesn’t know about it. I don’t talk about it. I’m just following her example. I grew up in a very conservative religious family where the expectation was that we wouldn’t have sex until we were married. Period. End of story. It just wasn’t going to happen, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. So maybe sex education was considered unnecessary, or perhaps since it was her first experience having to give “The Talk,” my mom just got shy. Either way, I expected to get some kind of education about sex when I turned twelve, which seemed to be the age at which my friends’ parents gave their kids “The Talk.” It never came. That’s not to say that there was never any education attempt done, just that I missed it when it happened. When I was relatively young (maybe nine or ten, if I had to guess), my mom read me and my younger brother and sister a book. It was some kind of “A Doctor Talks to Kids” book, and I think that was my mom’s version of “The Talk.” It described how animals reproduced, but didn’t really address how humans did it. The way animals did it seemed crude and barbaric to me in my young age, so when my mom asked if we had any questions at the end of the book, I had just one. “So, that’s how animals do it. How do humans do it?” She hesitated, probably blushed, and said “It’s similar.” That was all that was ever said on the subject, at least to me. That’s not to say that I didn’t learn about it other ways. When I had questions, I googled it. Of course, I found more porn and how-tos than actual information, but those worked just as well for me. My parents tried to get me to read a book written by a church leader my senior year of high school, but I refused. I figured if they didn’t want to discuss it with me, I already knew enough about sex that I didn’t need the religious version. Essentially, too little, too late. I suppose I’m one of the lucky ones. I was never educated on contraception or sexually transmitted infections (STIs) until college. But I also never had sex until after college (I left that particular religion after college, too, so sex became “permissible” in my life). I never had problems with pregnancy or disease because of lack of education. When my mom suspected I was sexually active, she wanted to make sure I didn’t get pregnant before I was ready. I told her that my boyfriend and I currently weren’t doing anything that could get me pregnant, and that when we did, we would take precautions to make sure I didn’t. That was too much information for her about my sex life. Just last weekend, however, we opened up a little with each other. Although it wasn’t a full disclosure by any stretch of the imagination, on either of our parts, it was definitely a start. It started out very awkwardly, but by the end, we were both feeling a little more comfortable. I wished I had felt comfortable discussing sex when I had really needed information in my younger years. I am amazed by the controversy about sex education. So much research, as well as common sense, indicates that a comprehensive approach to sex ed is most effective. However, in Utah, where I live (and I know Utah is not unique in this sense), sex education in the schools requires written consent from the parents, and is only allowed to educate about abstinence before marriage and fidelity after marriage to prevent disease and (before marriage) pregnancy. Granted, I believe that parents, and not schools, should be responsible for the sexual education of their children, but too many are too shy, too closed-minded, or too uneducated about it themselves to do a credible job. And many parents, despite sex ed restrictions, feel that it is the school’s job to educate their children on sex. Sex is everywhere in our society, but it’s both so stigmatized and so glamorized that it’s easy to be confused. Open conversation is, in my opinion, the only way to teach the next generation about both the beauty and the consequences of sexual activity. I suspect too many people have experiences just like mine (or worse! – at least my mom read that book to us, and offered a second book), and a lack of information is probably more harmful than any discomfort or awkwardness the subject causes. |
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