When I was in sixth grade I came home from an exciting day at school and told my parents about the orgasms we’d covered in the day’s science class. Flattered by their rapt attention, I yammered on and on about the big ones and the small ones, their growth and development and how they had varying responses to stimuli till finally my dad cut me off with a resounding, “What?”
I hated being second guessed so I said in my biggest attitudinal voice, “Orgasms.”
He looked at my mom and she looked at him and they looked and me and then they repeated this a couple of times until finally my dad (who is a scientist) said, “Don’t you mean organisms?”
This pissed me off even more because, clearly, what’s the difference, which is exactly what I said. “Whatever Daddy, what’s the difference?”
My dad looked tired. Trapped. He turned to the salsa, bread, chips and hot sauce snack combo he’d been preparing on the counter, picked it up and left the room.
On his way out he turned to my mother and said,
“I’m gonna let you take this one.”
After he’d exited, my mother looked me squarely in the face, paused, pursing her lips so I knew she meant business and said,
“An orgasm is a feeling that you get when you really love someone. Really love them.”
This totally grossed me out because who wants to talk to their mother about boys so I rolled my eyes, skulked out of the room, and joined my dad on the couch to watch America’s Most Wanted.
