How NOT to be Bored at a Conference

When I was in college, I spent two weekends each year (one in the Fall and one in the Spring) serving as a small group/recreation leader at a church youth retreat in Arkansas. “Serving” might be a strong word. We definitely had responsibilities, but often I was there to hang out with other college kids my age with whom I had attended these retreats. It was a chance to get together and laugh and dance and sing songs and, in between those things, lead some impressionable middle or high school students (who certainly thought we were very cool) in some icebreaker games and topical discussions about faith.

But mostly we were line dancing and flirting.

The fall retreat during my sophomore year was for middle school kids. In general, these retreats followed a similar format of gathering as a large group in the morning, after which we broke into smaller groups for discussion. Then lunch. Then an afternoon similar to the morning. I don’t remember what we did on Saturday morning (and in a second, you won’t care anyway) but Saturday afternoon was a “special” session in which the leaders had brought in a speaker.

I was a self-absorbed 19-year-old, so I have no memory of receiving any information about the topic ahead of time, nor do I know if this speaker and her area of expertise was revealed to the kids, parents, or churches that attended. My guess is NOT. Just know that it was the last time that I volunteered here or anywhere without having a clear understanding of the weekend’s theme and of what I would be expected to discuss with conferees related to that theme. 

I don’t remember what the lady’s name was nor where she was from nor where/how/when she established her particular expertise. Those details were quickly lost after she got up on stage and said, “Today, I’m here to talk with you all about SEX.”

To middle schoolers.

In 1992.

In the backwoods (literally) of Arkansas.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd...one that I barely heard over the sound my brain exploding. I was in full panic mode. I could not imagine a single scenario that didn’t involve the words “lawsuit”, “emotional damage”, “moral decay,” or “we’re going to have to sever this pastoral relationship.” Because pastors put this together…good and decent people who had shepherded me through my youth…and I was sure they weren’t getting out this with a job. 

But as I listened to her, I realized that hers was the only voice I heard. There was no snickering or inappropriate chatting. No uncomfortable wiggling and no one stomping off in an indignant huff. In fact, she had these kids engaged from the beginning. And once I realized they were ok…I realized I was ok too. 

So I learned some things. In addition to general statistics about teenage birth rates and sexually transmitted diseases, I discovered that some of the middle schoolers there had never discussed sex with their parents, that some didn’t know the correct anatomical names for parts of their bodies, and the most disturbing news that middle school-aged children were becoming sexually active.

And these were not kids from broken urban homes, these were 100% white kids from middle and upper class families.

For all they hadn’t been told, however, there was plenty that they did know. For 45 minutes, this woman led a frank discussion between herself and these 300-400 middle schoolers. She talked to them like they were people. She trusted them to ask questions about their bodies and emotions and she gave them honest answers. She told them the correct anatomical names for their body parts and then asked them to share a few euphemisms that they knew. There were some I hadn’t heard before --even in my oh-so sophisticated college environment.

It was astonishing to watch from the space inhabited between “no-longer-a-child” and “not-yet-an-adult.” It wasn’t just the maturity that the kids showed, but the relaxed (or so it seemed) attitude of the other adults there, some of whom were parents. It was in that moment that I had my first brief musing about the nature of pre-game breakdown there had been for the full-on adults in attendance. I assumed there had to be some because sex and kids and church are not often mentioned in the same sentence let alone brought together for a whole weekend. I was just putting all the remaining concerns out of my mind – and apparently tuning out whatever she was saying at that exact moment -- when it happened.

She reached into her bag and produced a bunch of bananas. And after setting them on the table…the one that would be the communion table during our last worship service of the weekend…she reached into the same bag and brought out

THE BOX OF CONDOMS.

That is the moment when my panic returned and I knew someone was going to lose their job. I knew who it was going to be too, because I saw his face change from the same mildly-embarrassed shade of pink that all the adults were sporting to a lovely OH-SHIT shade of ashy white. 

Despite what was going on in my head and among the adults, what was happening in the room was no different than it had been the whole afternoon. The kids kept it completely classy. She invited some volunteers – girls and boys – to put condoms on bananas. She used their clumsiness with this task (thank goodness they were clumsy) as a metaphor for the sense of physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual responsibility that they did not have yet as it all pertained to sexual activity. She laughed with them, she told them the truth, and they left feeling normal and healthy.

Which I know because I got to discuss it with them in our subsequent small group meeting. And which I will not relate here, but remember fondly. Suffice it to say it was a more honest conversation about sex than I had experienced with anyone in my peer group up to that point.

Fast forward about 18 months.

I was in Dallas at a conference for about 1000 college students. It was my first such event with panel discussions, breakout sessions, and a rubber chicken dinner which featured a keynote speaker. I felt so very grown-up (adulting before it was an actual thing) and SO VERY BORED. I chatted with my dinner companions for what I considered to be an appropriate length of time before picking up the program to see how long it was going to last. A welcome…an invocation…a few awards…and then an introduction of the keynote speaker whose name was vaguely familiar to me…blah, blah,blah. Then I closed the program and glanced at the back which featured a short bio for the keynote speaker.

And a picture.

It was her. The same woman who had turned a middle-school youth retreat into a scandal* 18 months earlier. The sex banana condom lady. And now she was talking to college kids so I was sure it was going to be epic.

But the only thing epic was the shock and disappointment I experienced over the behavior of my peers.

This audience was decidedly not mature and it was mostly disrespectful. There were several tables of “men” who were laughing and making audible, crude comments throughout her presentation. The only time I was able to tune them out was when two entire tables of “women” stood up, tossed their perfectly headbanded-hair over their shoulders, straightened their buttoned-up cardigans, and indignantly stalked out with their hands over their wounded and delicate hearts as if the very essence of their purity was in danger of tumbling from their breasts.

It was very theatrical. And forgotten about 2 seconds after they left because who they hell did they think they were kidding?

As for the speaker, I was once again impressed as she spoke with candor and class. Despite the fact that the room was clearly not composed of people who were mature enough to engage in a candid discussion about something that was absolutely relevant to them (though I’m sure they were completely comfortable engaging – feebly – in the specific activities of which she spoke), she still delivered her message with honesty and integrity and maintained her composure and her sense of humor.

And then the finale which, for those of us who remained (most of the hecklers had since trickled out and were now buying drinks at the hotel bar with their fake IDs), did not disappoint.

She asked for 3 volunteers, two women and one man. As they made their way to the front she spoke about the roles of responsibility, self-respect and self-awareness…which included being secure about your personal values and intentions but recognizing the roles that hormones and chemistry play in a still-developing brain. In short, she said that is was dangerous to rely solely upon one’s willpower when the potential hazards of college life included disease and pregnancy.

And, she said, in the event that someone might believe condoms to be unpleasant, inconvenient, and unreliable, she said that the first two excuses were selfish and lazy and the last one was inaccurate. To prove her point, she, along with her two female volunteers proceeded to effectively encase the entire skull of the male volunteer with a drugstore condom without so much as a tiny tear.

It was, indeed, epic.

I don’t know what made me think about these two related events this week, nor what compelled me to share them in this space. It may be just an overwhelming feeling that is permeating my everyday existence…a feeling that the people we expect to engage in mature discussion are NOT and those we think can’t handle it are desperate to be part of the conversation.

Or maybe I just wanted to practice my storytelling.

You never can tell.

*That pastor did lose his job. And I had very strong feelings about it which I won’t share here but let’s just say I never impressed with scapegoating.