The Lego Sex Talk: Traumatize Your Kids
By: Jack Polivka
Tags: Funny, Memoir, Nonfiction, Family, Humor

The Lego Sex Talk

I’ll never look at Legos the same

Photo by Rick Mason on Unsplash

In the spring of 5th grade, rumors of the sex talk swirled throughout classrooms and on the playground. At home, I was constructing an architectural wonder of the world in my room. That Christmas, I had received the Taj Mahal Lego set, the biggest set in the world (at the time, as my sister likes to remind me) containing a whopping 5,922 pieces. This set had a 14+ age rating, and I was attempting it at age 10. I guess you could say I was advanced.

I was pumped when I unwrapped it. Couldn’t tell ya what the Taj Mahal was in real life, but that didn’t matter! I had the biggest Lego set in the world. And more importantly, I had a bigger Lego set than ALL of my friends. Nobody could take that away from me.

After a little research for when my friends inevitably asked, I learned that it was built by emperor Shah Jahan as a tomb for his dead wife. I guess he wasn’t a big fan of the more popular, “dig a hole” method.

The behemoth of a Lego set. (Source)

My siblings and I loved Legos — but not as much as our dad. I remember we would go into the basement and he would already be down there, erecting buildings way above our skill level. A true master builder. He even developed his own techniques. Like the surprisingly effective “pull two flat pieces apart with your teeth.” Nearly all of us embraced the method eventually…except my sister who won’t even touch a cup that’s been used.

The cool thing about playing with Legos is that there’s not a reason to talk all that much. It’s easy to sit there and build for hours without saying anything besides “do you have a gray square?” or “I’m gonna go pee.” So even though we would spend hours together, my dad and I never really, well, talked. It’s not that I didn’t love my dad — he’s one of the most important people in my life — it’s that he was scary to talk to, even if when there wasn’t a problem. “How about we go get ice cream,” would come out more as a statement than a question, like Batman interrogating the Joker.

Unfortunately for my soul, 5th grade was THE sex grade.

Being the good Catholic boy I was, I felt guilty that my parents had spent so much money on me, so I decided I would let my dad help (we all knew that this gift was for him as much as it was for me). Although the satisfaction wouldn’t feel as good as completing the set myself, it was a small price paid to avoid eternal damnation.

Another thing about Catholic boys is that they avoid sex — the subject, the thought, and most definitely the action (not that a lot of 10-year-old boys are sexually active). Unfortunately for my soul, 5th grade was THE sex grade. You know, the grade where teachers do their best to explain sex to kids that would be content to keep kicking each other under their desks.

The school must have sent an email to prepare parents for their children’s transition into adulthood because the entire fall, my mom would call me over and ask, “Hey Jack, how are babies made?”

Unbeknownst to them, I had been educated already. I had friends whose older siblings enlightened them, as older siblings are prone to do. Not mine, they didn’t talk to me. But I knew how babies were made, don’t you worry. Some might’ve called me a sexual savant.

I lived in fear of my mother throughout the winter, never knowing when she would pop the question.

So when my mom would ask me that question, I had to hide the fact that I knew. After all, I couldn’t say the word “penis!” What if Jesus heard? So I joked with her. “Everybody knows a stork brings a baby, Mom.” Wink wink, nudge nudge.

She missed the hint and pressed on. “Tell me, how are babies made? I know you know!”

And so I would do my part and reply, “Of course I know! A huge bird brings them in a sack and drops them from hundreds of feet in the air onto the concrete porch. That’s why I was purple at birth!” I thought if I emphasized the ridiculousness of what I was saying, she would realize that I did, in fact, know how babies were made. Nope. Instead, she laughed and let me change the conversation.

I lived in fear of my mother throughout the winter, never knowing when she would pop the question. As for my dad, things were the same. We’d come home from school, grab a pack of peanut butter crackers, and head upstairs to the construction site. It was coming along quite nicely — being symmetrical, both of us would complete half and then like a well-oiled machine, we’d connect them together with a satisfying snap.

One moment we were sitting there working, just men being men, building with plastic blocks. The next moment, panic.

“What do you know about sex.”

I knew it was a question, but all I heard was Batman. Apparently, this conversation wasn’t going to follow the “when a man and a woman love each other very much…” story that pop culture taught me to expect. Nope, dad decided to take the direct approach.

“What do boys have that girls don’t.” I couldn’t help but laugh. He’s going to say “penis!” I was rolling on the floor, laughing from being uncomfortable, nervous, and scared. Then I realized I could make it as bad for him as it was for me.

Sure, I could tell him what I knew and be done with it, but no. I was going to make him go through the entire process. A game of chicken, if you will.

While I played dumb to my father’s questions, construction had come to a halt. Emperor Jahan was going to be furious.

First, he talked about the anatomy of boys and girls and I learned that sex, like building with Legos, was all about putting pieces in the right places. It continued on for hours: watching my father enact intercourse between a loving man and woman Minifigure, and hearing the importance of finding the right person to share the experience with.

When he finally finished, it was though nothing had happened. We resumed construction on the Taj Mahal as we had before. In silence.

I glanced at the clock. Only 30 minutes had passed.

We finished the set just a week later and showed it off to the rest of the family. They were impressed, unaware of the innocence lost building the 2nd wonder of the world.

I have not built another Lego set since the Taj Mahal. Maybe it’s because the prices continued to rise as I got older. Maybe it’s because after building the largest set in the world (at the time), I felt fulfilled. Maybe it’s because I outgrew them and transitioned into playing sports.

These are all reasons that are valid for abandoning my childhood joy. But above all, it’s because when I look at Legos, all I can think about is sex.