NJ Turnpike

A favorite pastime of mine is eavesdropping. Sometimes my busy-body bent has provided fodder for this blog.

Last weekend I overheard two parents discussing the challenging task of talking to their bairns about sex. Little did they know that the gentleman behind them at the deli counter was once a certified sex education instructor. Or, as my employer at the time, the diocese of Camden, called it "Becoming a Person Program."

During the 1976/77 & 77/78 school years, I taught elementary school at St. Rose of Lima in Newfield, NJ.  During my second year, New Jersey provided funding and books so Catholic schools could participate in the state's sex-ed program. Either I, or one of the nuns had to tackle this subject. The instruction fell on my shoulders.

I went to Trenton to receive my training and text books. I was told the books were appropriately edited. When I unloaded the books, I found out how. Those intended for the 7th and 8th graders contained a large gap. Some state minion had used a razor blade to excise the chapters on contraception and birth control. We must keep propagating and filling the Catholic coffers, so none of that now!

My "Becoming a Person" classes for the 5th grade focused on the male and female anatomy and the reproductive systems. 6th was conception and child birth. 7th and 8th were hygiene, responsibility and respect. Also for those not constrained by Catholic canons contraception.

I prepared my homeroom, 5th grade, for the first lesson. Having no graphic arts skill, I asked the only other lay teacher, who taught kindergarten, to draw a diagram of the uterus, fallopian tubes, etc. onto my blackboard. My classroom had the blackboard and my desk on the back wall. The desks faced me and behind them was the door to the hall. You will soon see the significance of this.

The aforementioned diagram has always reminded me of an interchange on the NJ Turnpike. I was only 22 at the time and my feet had not yet "taken root in the earth" to quote Bruce Springsteen. So before the young minds came into class, I started adding signs. "Lincoln Tunnel 2 miles", "Hazmat Depot Next Exit", "Slow Traffic Stay Right", etc.

As a typical teacher, I had a drawer full of confiscated toys. So I took a couple of matchbox cars to use as sperm representations. Using the appropriate car/traffic sounds, I described the spermatozoon's commute. I don't know if the class was instructive. Judging by the laughter, my truck driver impersonations, and sundry noises entertained those eager, young minds.

As one sperm was cutting of the other after passing on the right to enter the cervical canal, the class got very quiet. I knew what that meant. I turned from the blackboard to see the principal, Sister Augustine sternly standing mid-aisle. Entering the class to see what was causing the hilarity, she did not look kindly on my methodology.

As the year progressed, I had little difficulty with the lower two grades. The 7th and 8th graders were another story.  The onus with that group was containing their lewd wise-cracks. Refraining from laughing and exclaiming "Good One!" was my personal cross to bear.

That was my last year of teaching. I moved on by my own volition. Despite my off-beat style, I was well liked by the administration and the parents. My last "Becoming a Person" class  was with the 8th grade. I asked for questions. The one hand raised came from the chief class clown. I girded my loins as he stood up and asked, "So, Mr. Billings, what would be your advice concerning our future situations involving the opposite sex."

I looked at him, glanced around the room at those anxious, inquisitive faces and said, "Remember, it's all about chromosomes and genes. Keep your chromosomes in your jeans and you'll have nothing to worry about." As ever - BB

"...I was the cosmic kid in full costume dress. Well, my feet they finally took root in the earth but I got me a nice little place in the stars..." - Growing Up, Bruce Springsteen