Work It: a blog for Working Moms

Parenting with brutal honesty: Talking about AIDS

by Marijean

It all started because we were listening to a Queen CD while painting the deck. The girl, very nearly 11- years-old, wanted to know what happened to the band.

"The lead singer, Freddy Mercury, died," I said.

"How did he die?" she asked.

"He had AIDS," I said. I could have left it there, but oh no, that's not my style at all. I am more and more, a TMI parent.

Thus began the "History of AIDS" conversation. As we painted, she asked questions and I narrated the history of a virus that appeared in my consciousness as early as 1981, when I was 11-years-old -- the very age she will be in just a few weeks. I told her how, in 1985 I did a report on AIDS for school, handing in a paper that explained the details of the transmission of the virus, to a nun in my very Catholic, all-girls' high school. I wonder still how I had the nerve, but then, as now, I was fascinated by the virus, it's impact both socially and medically.

The girl interjected with "that's very interesting," throughout the conversation. She even turned down the CD so she could focus on the topic more closely. That was a first. I learned that the history of AIDS carries so many great messages; about the importance of not discriminating against others (nod to Tom Hanks for Philadelphia), the importance of understanding and practicing safe sex, infectious diseases and the global impact, how fear motivates people in ways that are counterproductive and of course, the importance of getting to know someone thoroughly and over time before entering into a sexual relationship. "I'm waiting till I get married!" she said.

"Aren't there some diseases that are extinct, now? Couldn't that happen with AIDS?" she asked. I explained that yes, that could happen, if a cure or an immunization is found, but it would still take time and education, particularly in countries where healthcare and resources are so limited. We talked about the impact HIV has had on Africa, in particular, the difference between HIV positive patients and people who have full-blown AIDS and the impact the "cocktail" has had, good and bad as it helps patients live longer and with reduced symptoms, but reduced awareness of the danger of the virus, lowering its importance in the collective consciousness.

Because she's a kid, I told her about Ryan White and how he and his family helped Americans understand the virus, and protected the rights of those suffering from the disease and discrimination simultaneously. I told her about all his celebrity friends like Michael Jackson and Elton John. She wondered if they were more interested in becoming more famous by befriending a sick child. I told her I thought their hearts were in the right place, and that White and his family needed celebrity-level attention to get their message out. It  was that hard to make people understand.

So we painted away, sharing our thoughts and opinions about a virus that has had an impact on the world for nearly thirty years now, something even our children should know and understand.

Resources for AIDS and HIV education:

• AIDS Education and Training Centers
• AVERT
• Center for AIDS

The Prom Night Speech

by Marijean

There are several uncomfortable topics a parent must cover during the life of a child. It's all part of parenting, of course, but I'm sure some people do it better than others. Most of these topics fall under the headings of Sex, Drugs and What You're Going to Do with Your Life. As the parent of a seventeen-year-old boy, these are topics I try to hit pretty often. Except for the Sex one. That's the one I still have trouble with, you know, being a girl and all, I assume I'm somewhat unqualified to see these things from his perspective. But as a mom, I know I've got to have some guts from time to time and just Say. The. Words.

Since I'm so uncomfortable with the topic, I tend to rehearse in advance, the result of which are Speeches.

We're thick into prom season and the boy's secured a date. We have a few weeks to go yet, but I planned ahead, setting up an afternoon to go select a tux to rent. I figured it would provide an opportunity to discuss all the prom pitfalls to avoid.

In the car, I launched into the Speech I can only call, "Don't Have Sex on Prom Night." Mostly, it was a disaster, ending with some vague 1950's reference to girls who would "disappear" to have babies they would give up for adoption. What on earth was I blathering about I wondered, even as the words trickled from my mouth.

Mostly, I think I got there though, with themes related to not losing control of your mind and body, of not losing sight of your future, of having enough respect for your date to not let them lose control, either.

It seems futile at times, when you're talking to a teenager who truly believes he's indestructible, to lay this heavy load at their feet. But when he walks out the door with a fresh haircut, wearing a tux that will make him look like he's off to his wedding, corsage (that I ordered, by the way) in hand, I'll feel better knowing I managed to squeak out the warnings, that I stated my case and he knows exactly how I feel on the topic. From there, of course, it's up to him.

Are you there, God? It's me, the girl

By Marijean

Today, my 10-year-old precocious imp came home from school with a story. It seems Serena (not her real name), a fellow 10-year-old in her class got her period at school today. The girl, my daughter, came to the rescue.

In my zeal to arm my children with information, at times I think I've gone overboard. To the great fortune of her classmate, however, the girl determined from the spot on Serena's pants what was going on, pulled her aside at recess, peppered her with questions that would have made any physician proud, and ushered her to a teacher to explain her classmate's need. Off to the nurse and back in a jiffy, Serena felt better and delighted to have a mentor to guide her through the process.

That's my girl, mentor to the menstruating. It's hilarious to me that she's not crossed that threshold herself yet, but seems to know more about it than girls a year older than she. She reads all the coming of age material she can get, and is more confident than many grown women I know. Nothing phases her and of this I am extremely proud.

Growing up, the monthly visitor was something to be ashamed of, embarrassed about and hidden at all costs. I lived in dread of discovery, suffering my first panic attacks related to anxiety over having, and hiding, my period. When I had my daughter, I vowed that she would be well armed with information, prepared with products and ready to comfortably enter the big, bad world of womanhood without skipping a heartbeat.

So today, all smiles, my daughter came home from school to relate her story. You could tell she felt pretty good about her role in her friend's day. We should all have a friend like her.

Do you speak teenager?

By Marijean

When my son was very small, we were frequently tired at the same time. Since yawns are catching, we'd find ourselves "speaking yawn" and giggled over what we could sometimes not understand in a sentence delivered mid-yawn. "What's the matter," we'd say, when the other was perplexed by our sleepy speech, "don't you speak yawn?"

My son, now a driving teenager with a separate life and schedule from my own, has adopted the slack speech of a teen, unwilling to have others overhear and understand what he's really saying.

The other night, he called after band practice, which ended at 9 p.m. He wanted permission to grab ice cream with friends, promising to be home no later than 9:45 p.m. I agreed. It got to be 10 p.m. and he still had not arrived home. He called and delivered a story about long lines and another kid who needed a ride home. It turned out the kid lived much further away than he'd said, and it was taking much longer than planned to get home. He was calling from his friend's house, wisely not trying to call when he was on the road, in the dark.

He knew he was in trouble, despite keeping us in the loop regarding his whereabouts. It was a weeknight, late, and he's a new driver. Plus, statistics have warned us that male drivers do much worse when their passenger is another male. To that point, on his driving instructor's advice, we'd so far only allowed him to have female passengers.

Before he hung up, he said a word I've never heard before. "Ahluhoo." Once I realized that he was trying to tell me, "I love you," my heart warmed and I knew I'd just be glad to see him safe at home.