“Mom,” my son said to me one day, “When are you going to tell me about the birds and the Bee Gees?”
After I was done laughing, I felt a twinge of guilt about the fact that my son, who was decidedly a “tween” and moving ever-closer to puberty, was so in the dark about the birds and the bees that he confused the facts of life with a feathered-hair disco trio.

When it comes to sex education, most parents I know fall into one of four basic camps:
1. “I don’t want my kids to learn about sex until they have to figure it out—on their wedding night!”
2. “I want to teach my kids about sex myself, so they don’t learn it in the gutter!”
3. “I want the school to teach my kids about sex, so they don’t learn it in the gutter!”
and:
4. “What’s wrong with learning about sex in the gutter? “

But I’ve never quite settled on a philosophy of my own it. In fact, out of nervousness or awkwardness or just plain not knowing what to say, I’ve tried to just not think about it at all.

The part of me that doesn’t want my children to ever grow out of their children’s-sized clothes, let alone date or think about such adult matters, wants to shelter them from anything remotely sexual. And the part of me that wants them to know about sex, but cringes at the idea of having to tell them myself, gravitates toward #4. Hey, if learning about sex in the “gutter” was good enough for me…

But then I remember that my first real exposure to sexual information came from reading my older brother’s copy of Truly Tasteless Jokes at age 11—and then repeating the jokes, which I didn’t understand until much later, to everyone at school. One joke I recall involved Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and was utterly disgusting. I had no idea what it meant, but I got a thrill out of shocking the older kids at the bus stop.

And I was the same age one of my sons is now.

Knowing that my kid could be soon regaling his classmates with raunchy jokes he doesn’t really understand—or, worse yet, that his first exposure to sexual matters might be some other kid’s retelling of the Snow White joke (or worse) on the playground—has gotten me thinking harder about the whole issue. Have I been falling down on the job by not cluing in my son to the facts of life sooner?

We’ve never shied away from correctly labeling body parts in our house—even three-year-old Owen knows the correct names for his man parts—and my older kids have a basic understanding of how babies are made. But, to my knowledge, while my eldest has the basic idea of what has to happen for sperm and egg to join in the first place, he doesn’t really understand the rest of it…such as why anyone would want to do that in the first place.
And now that he’s so curious, how much information should I give?

Do I whip out charts and graphs and three-dimensional models, or take a slightly less functional approach and focus on feelings? Go into a lot of detail, or just enough to keep him from making embarrassing gaffes on the playground? Preach abstinence or pass out condoms?

I can’t pretend I’ve got all the answers right now, but I’m—reluctantly—ready to start thinking about it. After all, no matter how much we try to shelter our kids these days, we live in a sex-crazed culture where they’re going to learn about it somewhere: if not from us, then from MTV, YouTube or even the nightly news. When push comes to shove, I’d certainly rather have my kids come to me with their tough questions than ask their equally-uninformed friends or rely on what they see on TV.

So—gulp—think of me as I prepare myself for The Talk with my son, where I’ll give him the real lowdown on the Birds and the Bees.

The Bee Gees, on the other hand? We’ll get to them later.