When I was nine, I thought I was an expert at sex. Thanks to the well-thumbed pages of our Dorling Kindersley encyclopaedias, I had just discovered the secret of life: the recipe for a new human being. Men produced sperm, women produced eggs and when these two ingredients came together, a shiny new being would result. Bingo!
Unfortunately, my encyclopaedia didn’t explain how this lucky sperm and egg came to meet each other, and so I developed my own theory. When a married couple were fast asleep in bed, a sperm from the man would swim across the treacherous terrain of the bed before finding its way up the woman’s vagina to embrace the egg. A quest of Odyssean proportions.
Thankfully my knowledge of sex has improved in the meantime, despite the presence of one of the most nefarious of all childhood experiences – a Catholic sex education. Perhaps the most striking aspect of sex education in Ireland is the homeopathic ethos which underpins it: the less time spent on the topic, the more potent the deterrent effect. Clearly my tutorials on exorcism methods and the fruits of the Holy Spirit were of greater necessity to my future wellbeing as an adult than learning how to put on a condom.
On a serious note, the dearth and poor quality of sex education in Ireland have profound implications for our society. Despite having greatly emancipated ourselves from the claws of the Church, the imprint of its suffocating corset remains on our skin. Sex is still taught as an issue of contagion, of disease, and in the case of HIV, of death. Facts are skewed to avoid the mention of pleasure. For example, even though wet dreams are relatively rare occurrences and that many or even most males never experience them, boys still learn in school that they represent the essential rite of passage into male puberty.