Every morning in our house, the news is on. It started as a way for me to claim an hour of the day for programming other than Nickelodeon, but it grew into an amazing opportunity to educate my kids on the ways of the world. We might discuss politics over oatmeal, or public policy over scrambled eggs. A few weeks ago it was campus response to rape over cereal. "What is 'sexual assault?'" My 9-year old asked. In an instant my own past nightmares flashed before my eyes. "Sexual assault is when someone forces someone else to have sex when they don't want to or can't say no," I explained. "It's a horrible thing. It's one of the worst forms of disrespect. It's awful." "Oh, okay," my son said as my husband shot me the 'why can't we just watch Tom & Jerry' look. "Can I have more Raisin Bran?"
Am I doing something wrong? My husband, a sweet, respectful, mellow guy, is of the mind that ignorance is bliss. Protect the kids from the evil in the universe, he thinks. It will catch up with them soon enough. I disagree. Ignorance blooms into apathy, which can explode into chaos. Is having a discussion with grade-schoolers about violent sex crimes awkward and uncomfortable? Absolutely. Is it valuable? Definitely, I think.
I can't possibly know if the parents of my assailants (mothers mostly, as fathers were conspicuously absent) talked about boundaries and respect with their sons. I can't possibly know if these young men's mothers ever emphasized that when a girl says no, they need to stop. Maybe those mothers themselves never learned the power of their own voices. I can't possibly know the exact circumstances that turned little boys into rapists. I only know what it felt like to be held down and overpowered by them.
So yes, my boys are young. In an ideal world, they'd be too young to have to acknowledge the overwhelming confusion of sexuality. The world we live in introduces sex at a far earlier age than most of us parents are comfortable with. I want to be ahead of the curve. I want my boys to understand unequivocally that no matter how wildly their hormones may be racing, they have control of themselves. Even if a girl goes along with things for hours, the moment she changes her mind, the situation grinds to a halt. I want my boys to consider how they'd like their sister to be treated. My sons adore their sister; I shudder to think what they would do to someone who sought to dominate her. I want my boys to remember that they are superior to no woman, equal to all women. Their will, their desires, will be contingent upon the clear consent of their partners.
You see, I've lived the life of the disregarded female. I've been the girl for whom "No" meant nothing. I've been the one pleading for release, I've been the one shut up and overcome. I know the psyche-crushing consequences of sexual assault. I expect better of my sons than I received from the poisoned boys in my past. I expect better because I've taught them better, earlier than I wanted to, but as early as was necessary.
Not only do I owe it to my sons to teach them early and firmly about sexual boundaries, I owe it to my daughter. My sweet, kind, quiet, unassuming little girl. My daughter is the type of child who is much, much happier on the sidelines, unnoticed, left alone. The kind of introverted child prime to be taken advantage of. But she knows better. She has been taught right out of the cradle that her body, her whole being, is precious and supremely HERS. She has power far exceeding what her meek demeanor betrays, and she knows it. She won't even shake hands with people in church on Sunday, and that's okay. It's her choice. No means no, and she believes that.
Raising children is hard for hundreds of reasons. This isn't one anyone tells you about when you're big as a house and taking birthing classes. But it's vital. We owe it to our sons - and to our daughters - to teach them about respect, self-control, and equality. If we don't, we need to be ready to face the consequences.
