From the minute I got the email, I knew I was in for a rough night.
“Let’s talk about sex, baby” my son’s middle-aged white male teacher began, quoting Salt n Pepa.
You could not ask for a more obvious sign than that.
My son, who’s 12 and in year six, has a sensational teacher (let’s call him Mr XXX) whom, much like me, is in his 40s and tries to act young and cool to connect with the kids. He’s a massive over-sharer, talking openly with not only the class, but also the parents, about the minutiae of his life – again, just like me.
I could just imagine what I would say if I were to give a talk about the “sex-u-al intercourse”, as Kath Day-Knight pronounces it.
My presentation would be full of TMI, and I’d make a bunch of inappropriate (and hilarious) jokes. So I knew what this teacher’s sex ed class was going to be like.
Actual footage of how comfortable Mr XXX was going to be talking about sex…
It was going to be awkward AF.
And I wasn’t wrong. On the night, I laughed, I cried and I almost died.
Of embarrassment. Because, I promise you this: after that night, I will never be able to look this teacher in the eye again.
I’ll admit my heart sank when I saw the email. Partly because I thought, “shit, this kid is growing up”, and I just want to press pause on that darling angel with the cutest butt whom I’ve so adored being a mum to. And partly because, as I repeatedly moaned to my colleagues all week, I would, undoubtedly, struggle to control my laughter.
That’s one of the secrets of parenting they never tell you: when you become a mum, you will always be required to have a mature approach to even the most ridiculous things.