Hitched in Home Room

By Jodie Morse

It's sixth period at Sacramento's Natomas High School, and love is in the air. Teacher Janet Mann arrives bearing a white veil, a garter and carnations from the grocery store down the street. Then she asks the class to pair off, boy-girl, and proceeds. "Do you promise to be truthful and honest to your partner...until the course ends on June 10?" The couples say "I do" and swap plastic rings. Then Mann instructs the giggling newlyweds, "You may now not kiss the bride."

Is this school? Teachers have long indoctrinated students in practical subjects like home ec, but the idea of giving 16- and 17-year-olds a primer on matrimony is relatively new. Many middle and high schools in more than 40 states have taken the plunge into marriage education in the past four years, according to Diane Sollee, director of the Coalition for Marriage, Family and Couples Education. This year Florida went a step further, mandating marriage ed as a high school graduation requirement. Arizona, Utah and South Dakota are considering similar legislation.

With half of all marriages ending in divorce, many children no longer have healthy relationships at home to serve as models. Spurred on by research showing that couples who master certain skills--like conflict resolution and active listening--are less likely to split up, advocates of marriage classes contend that giving teens these tools early could eventually curb the divorce rate. Or at least dissuade sweethearts from marrying rashly. Ranging from a few weeks to a semester, the courses attract both singles and dating couples. Says author Barbara Dafoe Whitehead, co-director of Rutgers University's National Marriage Project: "In a consumer society where people have the facts about models of cars or refrigerators, it's only fair to give them the facts about marriage."

Just how--or whether--those facts should be packaged for the classroom is up for debate. In Mann's class, part of the Connections curriculum, teen brides and grooms do everything from write vows to plan a honeymoon (sans the sex). The Partners course, developed by the American Bar Association, focuses more on the contractual elements of marriage. Students research custody statutes; a divorce lawyer assists with class. A textbook used in more than 1,000 schools is The Art of Loving Well, which features Shakespeare and D.H. Lawrence on marriage.

Some educators bristle at bringing such touchy-feely topics into an already overcrowded curriculum. "I know of no evidence that marriage courses lead to better marriages," says Brookings Institution senior fellow Diane Ravitch. "But I do know of a great deal of evidence that schools are doing a poor job teaching math, science, history, literature and foreign languages." Then there's the question of whether kids who watch Dawson's Creek and get free condoms at school are thinking in the long term. Says University of Washington marriage expert John Gottman: "They should be learning about dating and how to even talk to the opposite sex." Some psychologists have another worry: that marriage ed puts conforming pressure on teens who may be questioning their sexual orientation.

Though it's too soon to tell whether students will take their Marriage 101 lessons with them to the altar, advocates maintain the courses are already helping teens relate better to their parents and peers. In a five-year Boston University study, students who took The Art of Loving Well course were less likely to rush into sex. Scott Gardner, a South Dakota State University assistant professor evaluating marriage ed in that state's schools, found that after a semester-long course, students were more likely to reason out arguments than resort to aggression.

At minimum, marriage classes introduce kids to the nitty-gritty problems that can arise in close relationships. "We didn't agree at all," says Lupita Hernandez, 18, who went down the virtual aisle with Bryan Medina this month at California's Half Moon Bay High School. "He wanted to go to Las Vegas on our honeymoon, and I wanted to go to a beach in Mexico like Cancun. I got really frustrated."

The frustrations can get worse. Natomas' Natalie Miles, 16, and Robi Quick, 17, initially coasted through domestic life--a starter home in Sacramento, a vacation in nearby Monterey--until Mann informed them they were going to have a baby. Robi's $38,000 accountant's salary wouldn't provide for a family of three, and the couple started arguing about Natalie's going back to work. "He just stopped talking to me and started acting like he was the boss," says Natalie. "It was all coming down on me at once," pleads Robi. "I thought, man, this is going to lead to a divorce." It didn't, but class ended a few days later.

--With reporting by Laird Harrison/Sacramento and Rachele Kanigel/Half Moon Bay

With reporting by Laird Harrison/Sacramento and Rachele Kanigel/Half Moon Bay