Slate.com asks (http://www.slate.com/id/2174401/nav/tap3/): Should Kids See Their Parents Naked?
Seeing your parents au naturel can be confusing for older kids [children over 3, that is] who are more curious about bodies and sexuality. A child might wonder why a parent’s genitals look different from his own; he might feel inferior by comparison, or jealous; and he might be a bit frightened of the size and hair. Too much exposure might also overstimulate a child, stirring up sexual excitement along with Oedipal anxiety.
How can American folk (or at least the American folk implied here by Michelle Tsai) justify their puritanical conservatism in psychology? I could explain to them that covering up a body can lead to all sorts of repressed notions of sexuality and the body. That being exposed to real bodies and figures from a young age alerts a human being to what their kind looks like. That the human body is incapable of overstimulating if you place it in its natural context.
I showered with a parent until I was eight or so. Not everyday, mind you, but on occasion. A plaque used to hang in my bathroom, placed by mother as she explained to me that showering with people was a way to conserve water, a natural resource. That the only time one locked a bathroom door was if you were doing something that needed extreme privacy. Otherwise, it was a room like a any other. My mom would come into my bathroom (while I was in it, doing whatever) to talk to me, get stuff from my closet (you accessed it through the bathroom), or replace something (“Mom, I need a towel! I need toilet paper! I need!”). It wasn’t a big deal. Being naked was never a big deal.
Unless my parents were shagging. In which case, doors were closed and locked.
See! Sex and sexytime was a private thing between two people. Being naked around members of your tribe was normal group behavior.
Maybe seeing my parents naked and knowing that they had sex inadvertantly triggered some kind of sexual revolution when I was six. But I certainly don’t remember it.
I know that I’m very relaxed about sex. I talk about it. It isn’t a big deal. I don’t mythologize it, attribute unecessary grand superlatives to the endeaver, and I certainly don’t think that telling children about it affects them in any negative way.
I’m going to be naked around my kids. They’ll be sixteen and doing some pre-calculus homework in the kitchen. I’ll stroll in at 11PM wearing just what the Lord gave me. I’ll scratch my belly and open the fridge, pulling out a bottle of orange juice. I will drink from this bottle directly, chugging for a good twenty seconds (that’s a lot of juice!). My kid will look at me, disgusted, and I will turn to this child and say, “What! Grandpa used to do it to me. Now it’s your turn to suffer. Deal with it. Love you. Goodnight.” I’ll mess with his hair for a second and then I’ll leave, ass jiggling behind me. My kid will sigh and try like hell to repress the memory. I’ll laugh maniacally from the hallway.
Best.Parent.Ever.
