When I was 3 years old and Billy was 5; we had a conversation with our mother about sex. She told us about the birds and the bees. I was dumbfounded, but my 3-year-old mindset was on this leading question: “Mom, where do babies come from?” My mother picked me up and we walked across the floor to her preferred rocking chair and sat down. Then she began telling me about the conception of and the birth of babies. Babies come from the human ovum: My face was contorted into a mode of puzzlement; I didn’t know what a human ovum was, and so, my mother began using words that I could understand.
“Women, young and old, are endowed with ovaries. These ovaries are called eggs and during definitive time frames of pregnancies, women began ovulating which means that they are expecting a baby because the uterus has become dilated. . . Then my mother stop and called my brother: “Billy can you come here, please!”
Momentarily, my brother walked into the living room sleepy-eyed because he had stayed up later than normal. He approached our mother and me in a manner like he wasn’t interested in what our mother was saying. He squatted on the floor in front our rocker.
Our mother continued: “You see, Babies are born in the uterus, and when they grow to a certain size, the mother’s abdomen increases — expands. This expansion isn’t alarming; there is joy when mothers are about to give birth to their babies, and that joy is radiated from the mother’s countenance. Your father and I have been blessed in bringing into the world happy and healthy children, even though at times life seems to take an unhealthy circumstance.”
“Am I healthy, Mom?”
My mother didn’t say anything about my slurred speech or the inarticulate way of handling my words, yet she drew me closer to her bosom and gave me a big, bear hug. Then she continued our conversation.
It was 1958.
I remember it was cold outside; my mother, brother and I was sitting beside the potbelly stove with a crackling fire inside. Our father was at work and our oldest siblings were in school. I sat at rapt attention while Billy was on the floor still pretending like he wasn’t interested.
Our mother continued explaining to us the joy of intimacy:
“When your dad and I go to sleep at night, we come together in a form of embrace called sex. It is a special feeling that couples who are married share with one another; it’s called intimacy or being intimate.
“In-ti-ma-cy,” I stammered.
Again, our mother cleared my puzzlement. Billy do you understand what I’ve been telling your brother.
Billy nods his head.
“ . . . But ovaries to do not produce babies by themselves; fathers have a leading role in this symbiotic process. Then our mother motions toward Billy: “Billy, do you know what the symbiotic process is?”
Again, Billy nods his head.
“When sperm has been ejected from the penis, it passes into the uterus; and then, unites with the egg or ovary of the mother. The ovum has become fertilized; and it finds a resting place until it grows to full maturity . . . and when it does, the mother experiences contractions that are tell-tale signs that birth is about to happen. These contractions can become intense, causing the mother to become uncomfortable. This un comfortability is indication that the mother needs to be rushed to the hospital.
Then our mother stops talking and looks directly into our upturned eyes: “Roger, do you know where babies come from?” And to Billy she says, “Do you know where babies come from?”
Billy nods his head.
Then our mother eased me off her lap and stands up to continue her housewifery duties.
Then Billy carries me back and put me safely into my play-pen.