An aspect of parenting we usually like to avoid is the birds and the bees. The beasts with two backs. The dirty deed. Dipping the wick — OK. No one says that, but that’s the point. Have you noticed how we have so many euphemisms for sex? That shows just how much we try to avoid the conversation, but it’s necessary in order to be healthy and safe.
Our hesitancy to do that is part of the reason Naomi Ardjomand-Kermani calls the U.S. a sex-phobic nation. Naomi, who uses they/them pronouns, is the linkage to care coordinator for the WellFlorida Council. Besides being the one we have to thank for the dental dams on campus — all hail Naomi — they are an HIV-prevention specialist and sex-education enthusiast.
If you’re not too sure what a dental dam is, they’re the one to talk to, and it shows why their work is so important. Ardjomand-Kermani is working to bring awareness on safe-sex practices for transgender and queer people, but in our society, it can be a little hard.
“As a society we are very, very conservative,” Ardjomand-Kermani said. “You know, every sex scene is rushed and all kinds of exciting and dramatic, but very rarely do you ever see people negotiate condom use or talk about birth control.”
If we don’t even discuss sex within traditional couples, it’s no wonder the dialogue is severely lacking for queer couples. A simple way to start peeling back the lid on
safe sex, no matter your parts or orientation, is by being open.
“If you look at the Netherlands, where having a bowl of condoms on your dining room table is something you’re used to,” they said, “their abortion rates are very, very low. Look at their STD rates, which are very, very low. Unwanted pregnancy rates? Also very low.”
I can’t even imagine being in a room with my parents and a condom, and that’s part of the problem. Another layer to that is when someone assumes your choice in partner is going to follow traditional rules, which is not my case nor the case for many others.
Add in the fact that not everyone experiences sexual attraction, and the end result is a dangerous lack of information. But when you’re talking about something like sex, it’s important to be prepared.
Darlena Cunha is an instructor in UF’s College of Journalism and Communications. When she’s not seriously trying to prepare her students for the real world, she’s trying to do the same for her identical twin daughters.
Now Cunha is worried about what her two daughters would do if their sex education entails just carrying an egg around for a day the way hers did.
“I don’t want my kids walking with a girl they met two weeks ago down an alley in a part of Boston they’ve never been, trying to get birth control pills,” Cunha said.
It’s a story about her first year in college that you’d have to ask her about.
The sad part is that for those who can’t have open conversations about sex with their parents because of their gender or orientation, this story sounds familiar.
Cunha’s children are still young, so she says it’s too early to prescribe orientation to them, especially because she’s not them. She admits it would be a relief if they went along a more traditional path, because then they won’t face discrimination on every level for their relationship choices.
“I hold out hope that in 10 years, when they’re making these kinds of life choices, society will catch up with our legislation, and our legislation will be even further along so that any orientation or self-definition my daughters choose will be recognized and supported, not just by me, but by our society at large,” Cunha said.
Imagine if your parents could say the same. Imagine if you could say the same. When we think about sexual health, we need to start thinking about everyone.
Brooke Henderson is a UF international studies and journalism sophomore. Her column appears on Mondays.
