The Thief of Lost Time

Chapter 29: A Lesson in Sex and Deceit

My seventh-grade teacher, Mr. Robertson, separated the boys from the girls when we lined up to walk home for lunch. When the bell rang, he dismissed the girls. This was unusual, and we boys looked at each other, wondering what was up. As we filed out of the room, he handed each of us an envelope. "A signed permission slip is due by the end of the week."

Outside the school, we stood in a large group, the rules governing schoolyard cliques suspended. Several girls joined us, wondering if we were in trouble. We showed them the envelopes addressed to our parents. When a notice was sent home, the flap was tucked inside the envelope. These envelopes were sealed.

Dwayne, an older boy held back to repeat the seventh grade, said the letter was about sex. He reminded us that girls in our class had received a similar envelope two months earlier. "It's about the facts of life. Girls learned about their periods. What was he talking about? The only periods I knew about were at the end of sentences.

I hoped that Dwayne was correct. I'd learn something to fill in the blanks. When Dad was home from work, I'd ask him to sign my permission slip.

Back at school, the classroom buzzed with details from the letter. Some of the boys had asked their mothers to sign their letters at lunch, and these circulated around the class. The letter explained that a meeting for boys was scheduled to show a filmstrip about 'Human Sexuality.'

"I know all about it," Dwayne bragged. "I went to the meeting last year and don't need a refresher course." He acted much older than us, and I wondered if he'd been kept back before.

A local doctor was scheduled to lead the meeting. The school administration encouraged fathers to attend with their sons. I wondered what Steve Bushnell would do. His father had died two years ago. Surely his mother wouldn't come. Maybe an uncle would stand in for his dad. The meeting was the first Saturday in March, two weeks away.

***

I knew about erections and their inevitable habit of occurring at inopportune moments. In fact, they were a nuisance because, when I had one, I couldn't pee. I grew up with a sister, so the physical difference between boys and girls was no mystery. I also learned that certain things shouldn't be done around girls. Last year at the cabin my parents rented each summer, my sister and I were dressing after swimming. As a joke, I demonstrated holding up a towel with my erection. And it was a damp towel.

I learned too late that my sister could not keep a secret. She was convinced she'd go to Hell if she didn't tell Mom everything. That evening, Mom asked to speak with me. Alone. She wasn't angry but, as the disciplinarian, she made it clear that my behavior was unacceptable and should never happen again. Perhaps Dad hadn't yet heard about the incident, but even if he had, he always left the unpleasant discussions for Mom to handle.

At twelve, I was clueless about sex and what I'd overheard didn't make sense. Despite my 'A's in school, I never questioned why boys and girls were different. I was sure there was something I needed to know, but even if I'd been able to formulate a question, I didn't have the courage to ask it. Instead, I assumed the difference in anatomy was a quirk of Nature that adults no longer found relevant. The bits of information I overheard listening to older boys only confused me more.

During recess, if the playing fields were muddy, the older boys separated into cliques to discuss sports, girls, and sex. Those of us not in a clique due to age or low social standing made do talking with each other or with girls, playing marbles, or swinging two ropes for girls to skip double-dutch.

Whenever possible, I wormed my way into the outer circle of a clique and picked up some whispers about sex before I was discovered and kicked out. But hearing information piecemeal only created more confusion. Once, I heard Dwayne recite a poem: