A Sex Note: Would You Want One?

The other night, on my pillow, I found a short tender letter written by my 17 year old daughter. In the letter, she got straight to the point and told me her and her boyfriend of nearly a year had had sex for the first time. She assured me they were responsible and safe. She said they hadn’t really planned for it to happen, but it just kinda’ happened. She said they were being responsible, and she just wanted me to know. I think they were both virgins (but it’s hard to be certain). I cried after I read the letter – first, because of her loss of innocence (She’s grown up too fast!), second, because she was choosing to keep me informed of her most intimate secrets (Holy smokes! I thought she semi-hated me most days!), and, third, because I worried I might be responsible for nudging along the process (!). Just the week before, I told her she needed to get out more and have some fun while she was young. She doesn’t go out much. She’s never in trouble. She plays the flute. Her grades are incredible. And I have been getting her birth control for the last three years – not because she’s been sexually active but because she has awful heavy periods (a curse that runs in the family).  I suggested them to make her less miserable. Did I give her a green light? Should I throw up a stop sign now?

During a phone call, I told my older sister about this endearing letter. Maybe I was bragging a little, fluffing up the idea that my daughter and I have a relationship which consists of some near-to freaky trust and honesty. Of course, for all I know I suppose my daughter could’ve had sex with her boyfriend months ago. When I was a horny teenybopper, either I told my mother absolutely nothing or I lied impulsively, sometimes even when I didn't need to. Given the note, however, I think it's safe to call the bottom line more important (i.e., The wonder of the fact that she told me anything at all.).

Maybe I wanted some big sisterly advice on what to do now. My sister is five years older than me, and seeing as we grew up with a working single mother, my sister did a lot to mother me herself. She’s survived one hardass life; she’s in a better place now than she’s ever been – finally divorced from an dumbass and affording her rent. But she still works 40+ hours a week as a temp when she deserves the rank of an admin. She’s a good mother of four, including two exhaustively moody teenage daughters, and has recently become a grandmother.

I told my sister, “My daughter told me her and her boyfriend had sex.”

My sister responded, “And she felt compelled to dump that information on you?”

I laughed off her response. She wasn’t meaning to be funny, in fact, she was feeling kinda' end-of-the-day sleepy/grouchy. Still, her response made me think. We parents of teenagers are ever-haunted by these concupiscent heebie jeebies. It's hard to watch our big-eyed babies become creatures of curves and angles driven by lust. I was a teenage mother, so I fear I may have overcorrected. I bring up the myths and truths of sex, the responsibilities of birthing people, maintaining self-confidence and control amidst gender stereotypes, etc., at least once a week or more, and I've been doing this since my daughter first budded boobies (age 9?). I've always believed the sex talk sure as hell doesn’t end with the Birds and Bees speech or with the official display of whatever illustrated version of the “Tell Me About My Body” book otherwise hiding on the shelf.

So I ask fellow parents, would you want a little informative letter on your pillow? Would you pry for it? Would you hide from it? How much could you bare to know and what would you do with that information if you got it dumped on you?