Lately I have been applying the metaphor of Manannan's Cloak to the Sex Talk we give our kids.
I think we can all remember it. The little book with the pictures in it. Mom or Dad sitting awkwardly next to us on the bed. By the time this talk was necessary or prescribed it had been a long time since either of them had read us a bed time story. Now, here they were.
The pictures in the book my mom used, How Babies Are Made (please note the little eggs by the hen, sperm by the rooster), slightly hinted at claymation Davey and Goliath cartoons as they progressed through the sex act from chickens up the food chain to eventually show a man lying on top of a woman, with details of what's going on inside.
This was sex. "You do it with someone you love," came the lesson.
I didn't want to have the "sex talk" with my daughter. My mom was awesome when she read that little book to me, and she's still an amazing mom. I just know that the world my daughter is growing up in has pretty much blown the little hen and rooster into nuggets with all she's been exposed to through her iPhone connection to the whole f-ing world, literally.
So, I am on this other track. I'm giving my daughter The Love Talk. It takes a lot longer. It doesn't have just one book. Right now, I'd say we're about six months in. She is 12, and she pretty much leads the conversation.
I envision "The Love Talk" as this blue haze surrounding our home the way Manannan's Cloak surrounds our ancestral home of Isle of Man. Love is everything surrounding us, and we can talk