The London Courthouse in London, Ont., on April 30.Nicole Osborne/The Canadian Press
Mother’s Day can be a minefield for many reasons. If you are fortunate enough to apply the word “celebrate” to this weekend, count your blessings.
Let me introduce a(nother) downer into Mom’s special day: a plea to have a difficult conversation. Not just because it’s your Hallmark holiday and you can do whatever you want, Mom. But because you need to have this talk as soon as possible. And chances are, you’ll have your kids’ attention at some point on Sunday.
Perhaps you’ve been following the London, Ont. trial of five young men, hockey players, charged with sexual assault in what testimony suggests was a night of celebration and partying that turned into something much darker. The court will rule on whether what happened to the young woman identified as E.M. in a London hotel room in June of 2018 was sexual assault under the law.
Whatever the jury decides, the incident was catastrophic: life-altering, defining. For all involved.
Perhaps this has caused something from your own youth to bubble up: a cataclysmic event that was swept under the carpet, because that’s what we did back in the birds-and-the-bees era of sexual education and awareness (and often still do).
Ask any woman: have you ever been in a situation where you were suddenly having sex and it wasn’t really what you wanted but you didn’t know what to do so you just went along with it and hoped it was over fast? And prayed you didn’t get pregnant or a sexually transmitted disease? (Maybe don’t actually ask any woman this, but you understand what I’m getting at.)
Perhaps this terrible hockey-adjacent story has you thinking: there but for the grace of God go my kids.
If your kids aren’t at that stage yet, they’re going to get there: young and emboldened by feelings of infallibility; old enough to drink in a bar but maybe not experienced – or sober – enough to make good decisions.
The danger we need to warn them about isn’t the lurking stranger with gunpoint threats. It’s the guy at the bar you were partying with, maybe even went home with. Your friend’s friend, the dude you recognized from school, the cute guy who sidled up to you on the dance floor a couple of hours (and multiple shots) ago. Maybe you sidled up to him. Maybe you slept with him once, but didn’t want to the next time.
We need to talk to our daughters about this. And our sons.
There has been much discussion about Adolescence, a TV series focusing on 13-year-old Jamie, who has loving (if flawed) parents, but becomes influenced by raging misogynists and other bad actors on the internet. The outcome is tragic – for a classmate and her loved ones. And for Jamie and his family.
Fast-forward a few years and what happens when a Jamie, raised on the manosphere and pornography, is old enough to go to clubs and drink and date?
If pop culture can offer an entree to these sensitive discussions, consider How to Have Sex. The Cannes award-winning film follows three British teenage girls to Crete, where they consume buckets (sometimes literally) of fancy-to-them drinks at boozy clubs where patrons may be invited to partake in sexual acts onstage, while the packed house cheers.
In a nighttime beach scene, a teen who has been drinking and has never had sex before – but has aspirations to do so on this vacation – is with one of the partying dudes from her hotel. He asks for her consent – “yes?” – but what does a “yes” mean in that moment?
“For me, consent has become too black and white in terms of: ‘She said yes’, so it’s fine,” director Molly Manning Walker told The Guardian. “That doesn’t always work – it’s not enough.”
While workshopping the script, the filmmaker reports, comments included: “He asked her, she says yes – she’s up for it” and “it’s not an assault, because she’s already slept with him – he can do what he wants." After a screening, one man said: “This film has taught me not to let my daughters go out dressed in short skirts.”
Sir, this is not a fashion issue.
A parent may be comforted that their daughter is vacationing (or going to a party) with her girlfriends. But friends get separated. And the friends are also young, inexperienced, drunk teenagers. Mom may call and text, as she does in this film, but what can she really do over SMS?
The time to talk is now. This may not be a topic anyone feels enthusiastic about broaching – on Mother’s Day or any day. But it is more important than any tissue-paper carnation, any construction-paper card, any fancy brunch you may be lucky enough to be gifted this weekend.