My son, pay attention to my wisdom, listen well to my words of insight, that you may maintain discretion and your lips may preserve knowledge (Provebs 5:1-2).

I felt nervous and awkward just thinking about talking to my son about sex.  He was only seven years old, but the questions were already starting to come up, and the campaign of misinformation from the other boys at school had already begun.  Thus it was becoming clear that we needed to sit down for "The Talk," explaining how sex works, what it's all about.  But I didn't want to do it.  The parts and processes involved with our sexuality can feel intensely personal, as if just talking about the subject is equivalent to stripping off all my own clothing, piece by piece, until I'm sitting there completely naked in front of this little second-grader, wondering what any people passing by might think of the whole scenario.  Such a conversation can be pretty uncomfortable for fathers, and kids intuitively understand that when their Dad feels uncomfortable, then they should probably feel uncomfortable, too.  It's tricky stuff.  Consequently, it's easy to understand how many fathers feel that a boy is better served by just allowing him to figure things out on his own -- through school health classes, through conversations with other kids, and through personal experimentation.  It feels like this is the kind thing to do, the merciful thing to do, the fatherly thing to do.

But if I really step back and think about things from a principled standpoint, I realize that such rationalizations are a total cop-out.  Ignoring the issue is "the fatherly thing to do?!?"  Seriously?!?  We know better than that.

So in spite of my misgivings, I decided to take my son out for a drink, just the two of us, so we could have some frank, open discussion about love, sex, the human reproductive system, por nography, the physical changes associated with adolescence, mas turbation, marriage, and all other manner of topics related to "the Birds and the Bees."  We went to a cafe in our neighborhood, where I got a coffee and my son got a juice.  We shared a blueberry muffin between us, and then I summoned my courage and told my son that I wanted to talk with him about sex.

He didn't bat an eye when I mentioned the subject, but rather just leaned forward and said, "OK, what about it?"

Encouraged by his candor and openness, I asked him what he already knew about sex.  It turned out that it wasn't much.  So I just started to explain to him the differences in male and female anatomy.  It turned out to be much less awkward than I had imagined it might be.  He asked good questions, and I did my best to answer as honestly and as thoroughly as possible.  I tried to translate the concepts into terms that he could easily understand -- but I didn't want to dumb it down in any way, so I also tried to teach him all the various vocabulary associated with these concepts (both the anatomically-correct terminology, as well as the crude adolescent terminology).  The conversation went remarkably well.  At times, we even found ourselves laughing, like when my son responded to my explanation of what would happen to his body throughout puberty with a shocked expression and an exclamation of "What?!?  You grow hair down there?!?"  Believe it or not, it turned out to be a lovely time of connection between the two of us.  And it gave us a great rapport for continued conversations about sex and all associated phenomena.

I'm so glad that I overcame my fears, so that I could teach my son about sex.  It's the wise and appropriate thing to do.

The whole scenario fits well with the Proverbs' treatment of sexuality.  Much of the wisdom in the first several chapters of the Proverbs is framed as a dialogue between father and son.  In Proverbs 5:1, the wisdom-giver addresses the listener:  "My son, pay attention to my wisdom..." and then he goes on to speak openly about sex and temptation, and the pleasures and pains associated with each.  Having these types of conversations is the fatherly thing to do.  It may feel awkward and uncomfortable at first, but in the long run it really is the best.