Beyond the blush: Teaching children the language of their bodies

In the average South African household, we have no problem teaching a toddler the word for their elbow, their chin, or their pinky finger. 

We don’t tell children their fingers are "feely-wheelies" or their toes are "wiggly-pigs." We give them the gift of accurate language because we know that to navigate the world, you need to be able to name the world.

Yet, when the anatomy shifts a few inches lower, our vocabulary suddenly dissolves into a murky soup of metaphors, euphemisms, and floral imagery.

For decades, parents have relied on "pet names" for genitals. A penis becomes a "machine gun," a "wiener," or a "front-tail." A vulva is whispered about as a "flower," a "cookie," or simply "down there." 

These terms might feel like they preserve a sense of childhood innocence, but they inadvertently plant the first seeds of a much more destructive crop: shame.

The Language of Shame

When we refuse to use the words penis, testicles, vulva, and vagina, we send a silent but powerful message to our children: This part of you is so unspeakable, so shameful, that it doesn’t deserve a real name.

By cloaking anatomy in metaphor, we create a hierarchy of body parts. 

Fingers are "good" because they have names; genitals are "bad" or "dirty" because they are shrouded in linguistic mystery. This creates a barrier of silence that becomes increasingly dangerous as children grow into their teenage years. 

If a child doesn't have the vocabulary to describe their body, they lack the tools to report medical discomfort, understand their own development, or, most critically, communicate clearly in instances of boundary-crossing or abuse.

The High Stakes: A South African Crisis

This isn't just a matter of semantics; it is a matter of public health. In South Africa, the consequences of "the big silence" are written in the statistics of our clinics and schools.

When we treat sex and anatomy as a taboo topic, we leave our children to be educated by the internet, locker-room myths, and peer pressure. The result is a disconnect between physical reality and personal responsibility.

According to recent data from Statistics South Africa and the Department of Health, the numbers are staggering:

• In the 2022/2023 financial year, South Africa recorded over 150 000 pregnancies among girls and young women aged 10 to 19. Take your time, read that again!
• Perhaps most distressing is the rise in "early learner" pregnancies. Nationally, more than 3 000 deliveries were recorded for girls under the age of 14 in a single year, and I doubt that one rapist has been taken to court. Because that is what it is: rape!

These aren't just numbers; they are lives interrupted before they have truly begun. When a 13-year-old becomes a mother, the cycle of poverty and limited education often tightens its grip.

Breaking the Silence

Normalization starts at the changing table, not the high school dance. 

Talking openly and honestly about sex isn't "encouraging" it; it is equipping our children with a biological map and a moral compass.

If we want our children to respect their bodies and the bodies of others, we must start by respecting the anatomy enough to call it what it is. A vulva is not a flower; it is a part of a human being. A penis is not a weapon; it is part of a person’s identity and future health.

By stripping away the "feely-wheelies" and the "machine guns", we strip away the shame. 

We replace it with clarity, safety, and a foundation of trust that might just save a life. It’s time we stopped blushing and started talking. Our children’s futures depend on it.