In defense of clothed people

I was perusing BlogHer the other day and came upon Rita Arens's post about parental approaches to being naked around their kids. I'm always surprised at how Rita finds topics that even childless people appreciate. I started a comment and realized it was evolving into a post. I didn't know I had such feelings about this topic!

There was a spectrum of response by the commenters, from "I don't feel comfortable being naked, period, let alone in front of the kids", to "clothing optional" households. The following is my comment, adapted into a novella.

My husband and I had very different backgrounds growing up, and we both know the chasm in opinion could have an effect on our offspring. He likes to call my perspective "Midwestern." I don't remember exactly how old I was before it wasn't convenient anymore for Mom to just plop me in the bathtub with her (when you think about it, it's actually much easier to get kids clean that way) or when I was no longer allowed to go into the bathroom when Dad was in the shower, but at some point the walls came down.

The last time I saw my siblings (other than my twin sister) naked was, oh, maybe when I was ~~seven~~ nine. I noticed my older sister getting these mini-boobs and felt maybe I wasn't supposed to witness her trajectory into double D's. My "baby" 32-year-old brother, now over 6 feet tall and 250 pounds, is still in my mind this hairless little thing that we girls used to fight each other for the privilege of helping him bathe (we used to swaddle him in a towel so he couldn't move and then dress him; like the ultimate doll). I couldn't handle seeing him differently.

At some point my Dad got all weird about things. Everyone female and over 12 had to wear a bra. No free-bouncing or nipping out. He didn't say that, exactly. He would just look at you with disdain and say, "Hey, how about putting on some proper clothes." I thought it was a Roman Catholic thing. My mom began changing in her bedroom, instead of in whatever room we were in so that she could watch over us. Her weirdness was around movies. She rented the deceptively family un-friendly film, "Excalibur" and nearly fainted during the scene when Igrayne was being ravaged by Uther Pendragon.

We knew the drill when we saw naked people onscreen and covered our eyes when she screamed "no looking!" My sister, Julie, accidentally uncovered her eyes, thinking the scene was over and got smacked in the back of the head. This, by the way, was a temporary phase of rigidity. When I was a teenager she found a porno in my room once (long story, I really was holding it for someone) and said she'd seen it before. We watched a few when I was a young adult, more to laugh at the dialogue and plot lines than anything else. I think that was her way of later asserting her own more liberal views around nudity, which were silenced by my father's more totalitarian approach. Her way of saying, "People do these things, and they live afterwards."

My husband, on the other hand, was born and raised near the beach. In pictures I've seen of him as a toddler he's always naked, like the Coppertone kid but with no tan lines. Free, like a little Tarzan. And in his opinion, as he was meant to be.

Whenever we visit his parents in Southern California, we have a sunset ritual of sitting in the jacuzzi and talking. H-band tells me that his family used to sit naked, until one day, when he was an adolescent,his mother entered the jacuzzi in a swimsuit and declared that from that point on everyone would do the same.

H-band tells the story as if it was an unnecessary gesture, but I think it was. It made sense to me to bring up kids to feel comfortable with their bodies, but at some point they need to conform with societal norms. I felt grateful for my future mother-in-law's pronoucement. She paved the way for me and my sister in law to feel comfortable under her roof.

"Are you ashamed of your body?" H-band says to me, when I do such things as wear bras under clothes that might fit better without them. I appreciate his appreciation for the body au naturel, but I'm also annoyed by this question. Why does having a different comfort level with nudity have to equate to being ashamed? I'm tired and don't even want to defend myself. This is a dynamic I find with a number of my more, say, "liberal" friends. Not wanting to join everyone sans underwear while hot-tubbing or swimming makes me somehow "unable to let-go." I explain that I have more moles than a leopard has spots and cannot sit around naked for health reasons, but really I just don't want to be naked. I prefer how I look with clothes. So sue me.

I'm so heartened to read these comments from perfectly normal women who don't want to cook dinner naked (I exaggerate here, my husband wouldn't want me to be exposed to splattering oil), or be naked by default. I do wonder, if I had been born in Southern California, or not been exposed to a Roman Catholic values system, or been raised by wolves, would I have a different take on things? I'm sure I would.

Still, I like wearing clothes.

Comments

Apart from the fact that I've always thought you look pretty spectacular in clothes....I do miss those days quite long ago when little naked butts would run laughing carefree...pigtails flying...

Are your cheeks pink yet?....on your face? ~Mom xo

Posted by: Joy | February 01, 2009 at 08:29 AM