This spring, my son’s school held an informative session on puberty. He came home with a booklet, watched a video, and learned about the life-altering changes he is about to experience. Meanwhile, I found myself sitting in the dimly lit auditorium, surrounded by other parents and nervous tweens, and was hit with a wave of nostalgia from my own puberty years.
Ah, the joys of a Tuesday night, right?
Do you remember those middle school sexual education classes? The boys would chuckle, throw spitballs, and doodle comically inaccurate renditions of anatomy to mask their embarrassment. Meanwhile, we girls were busy scribbling hearts with our initials and those of our crushes. What could be more romantic than studying exaggerated cartoon anatomy on an overhead projector?
However, the film we watched was nothing like what I expected. There was no nudity—at least nothing resembling real bodies—just a series of cheerful cartoon blobs. No confirmation of the wild rumors we heard from older siblings about how everything worked. Instead, we were treated to clips of girls frolicking in fields and boys shooting hoops (definitely no stereotypes here), while the narrator droned on about “your magnificent, changing body.”
Absolutely not awkward.
The materials we received back in the ’80s either sugarcoated or completely misrepresented puberty and sex. We were lulled into thinking that this whole process would be simple and pleasant, thanks to animated sperm and eggs dressed in wedding attire colliding to create a baby. Suddenly, the thought of a candid chat with our parents about sex seemed preferable.
After the film, there was an anticipated question-and-answer segment where we awkwardly giggled and refrained from asking anything at all. Thankfully, our teacher would collect questions anonymously on tiny slips of paper, which were occasionally embarrassing. “Can I bleed to death when I get my period?” we laughed, even though we were unsure if that was possible. Our older sisters had spun tales of similar horrors happening to friends of friends.
Once puberty was covered, our brave teacher turned to the topic of sex. We leaned in, pretending to be bored while trying to absorb every juicy detail. Occasionally, there would be a video—animated figures that vaguely resembled our parents engaging in what looked like a clumsy and uncomfortable embrace. “Can you say penis? Can you say vagina?” our teacher would prompt, as if it were crucial for us to become comfortable with these terms.
When menstruation came up, we girls were likened to caterpillars, destined to transform into butterflies—i.e., get our periods. We already knew from tampon commercials that this transition would be both swift and spectacular. As one friend after another transformed into these “wonderful” bleeding butterflies, we all secretly wished to experience this magical change ourselves.
If only we had known.
Along with our monthly visits from Aunt Flo, we also faced unexpected changes, like hair sprouting in unusual places. This was typically illustrated in films with animated characters discovering random pubic hairs in the mirror. And underarm hair? Didn’t that only happen to boys?
Yet, all that excess hair would be worth it for breasts—though when they first appeared, they were merely uncomfortable, swollen bumps. Disappointment doesn’t quite capture it. Still, we bought bras with little bows, determined not to be deterred.
Ah, puberty. A confusing, awkward, yet somehow beautiful time. Now, as I reflect on those experiences while sitting next to my embarrassed son during his school’s informative session, I can’t help but smile at how life comes full circle.
These discussions have become so much less awkward for me. I can confidently say “penis” and “vagina” without breaking a sweat. We’ve made it through, and I know our kids will too. For more on navigating these topics, you might find this post on our site about home insemination helpful, as well as this resource on fertility treatments.
In summary, reflecting on puberty can elicit both laughter and discomfort. It’s a rite of passage that connects generations, reminding us that while the specifics may change, the feelings and awkwardness remain the same.