The old saying goes that absolute power corrupts absolutely.  History presents inarguable proof of the truthfulness of this adage through the ages.  But when coupled with another old truism - knowledge is power - the paradigm shifts and a wholly unexpected demographic rises to the forefront.

Children.

The yelling, the running, the shouting, the pouting, the roughhousing... all ploys to test the boundaries of their power.  What person craves knowledge more than a child?  How come the sky is blue?  How do I get mom to buy me that candy bar?  What happens to (insert object here) if I burn it?  How do I make armpit farts?  And in all these attempts, children find themselves thwarted by dreaded answers such as "none of your business," "you'll find out when you're older," and of course, "go ask your mother."

But then it happens.  The change.  The blossoming.  The chrysalis stage between childhood and adulthood when pre-pubescence becomes simply pubescence.  Suddenly the questions change from external to internal and we find ourselves segregated from the opposite gender for something scandalously called "sex education."

How can we not titter?  How can we not guffaw?  The very word has been denied to us all our lives.  The knowledge of its inner workings has been discovered in only the most clandestine of ways - through careless parents' overheard conversations or innuendo-laden television programs.  And now we are being led into a room to learn about the birds and the bees.  A projector, a slide show, perhaps a laughably bad instructional video gives the basics upon which imagination can extrapolate the rest.  It's so scientific that it's nauseating.  It's so taboo that it's glorious.  It's knowledge of the human sexual animal and they're handing it to us like Halloween candy.

It's like manna from heaven.  "Eat up, kids," says the P.E. teacher who (to our utter shock) apparently seems to actually know something.  "Eat as much as you want."  It's like water springing forth from the barren rock.  "Drink up, kids," says the principal.  "Drink your fill."  A few shy hands test the air.  Knowledge skewered and served on a silver platter.  This could be a trap.  But soon, hands fill the air and teachers are forced to cut swathes through a jungle of questions.  "Where do babies come from?"  "What exactly is a 'uterus' anyway?"  "Can a girl really get pregnant from a toilet seat?'"  Concepts are tested.  Possibilities are probed.  Pictures are presented, diagrams are drawn, models are made.  It's disgusting and wonderful and enough to get us drunk on both our own adolescent immaturity and impending self-actualization.

It's the knowledge we've been waiting for.  It's the power we've been denied.  Grammar is forgotten.  Algebra comes and goes.  But one day of sex education stays with us a lifetime.