They’d Never Believe Me Anyway

I don’t know if it’s this way at your house, but with two pre-teen girls, dinner table discussions at our house more frequently than not involve reproductive organs, sexuality and (these days) marriage equality discussions.

Take for example, this interaction between myself and my eleven year old:

A: Me and Friend X and Friend Y were wondering about how lesbians have sex.

Me: Do you mean since neither person has a penis?

A: Yeah.

Me: Well, there are lots of ways to be intimate that don’t involve a penis. They could use their hands and fingers. They could use their mouths…

A: You mean they kiss?

Me: Well, that and they use their mouths on one another’s vagina or breasts and other parts of the body that feel good when they’re touched.

A: Oh…(takes a few minutes to ponder).  How about gay men?

Me: Well, the same thing.  They can use their hands and mouths and anus.

A: What’s an anus?

Me: Their butts.

A: Oh.  (Another quiet moment.)

Me (imagining the phone calls I would get the next day):  You know how we’ve talked about that parents usually like to be the ones to teach their children about sex? This is probably one of those things that you should tell Friend X and Friend Y to talk to their parents about rather than explaining it yourself.

A: Yeah, good idea. They would never believe me anyway.

–Submitted by D.

Manners!

I don’t know if anyone else has noticed, but the world isn’t such a nice place and it seems to be less nice every day. Discourse in our country is conducted in escalating measures of power-plays, swears, and various stripes of violence. And I’m only just referring to queuing up at Ben and Jerry’s on Free Scoop Day. If an alleged peace-loving tree hugger will step on your toe for a free scoop of Chunky Monkey, there’s no telling how close the apocalypse is.

As a parent, I often stand at the front step with a copy of Emily Post in one hand and a nail-impaled two-by-four in the other and wonder how I’m going to prepare my little girl for this rude, rude world. I’ve done more than wonder, in fact.

As a lesbian and by extension, Indigo Girls fan I’ve also went to the doctor (who laughed at me), went to the mountain (which ignored me), I looked to the children (Mabel, my daughter and resident “Children Consultant” happened to be butt-dipping/finger-sniffing at the time and really could not be bothered) and drank from the fountain (which was plugged shut with a wad of gum).

Needless to say, the pursuit led me to the local park district catalogue. This is what I found:

Manners and More! Learn social etiquette. Class is designed to help young ladies develop their social skills and self confidence. The girls will learn table and restaurant manners along with how to write a thank you note, make introductions and good telephone etiquette. Additional manners covered will be how to stand,walk and sit in a ladylike manner in order to make a favorable first impression. They will also learn the importance of good grooming and nailcare. The class concludes with a lunch at the Olive Garden where the girls can practice their newly-learned dining skills.

Strangely enough, the park district offers no corresponding course for boys. From this, I’m left to infer that boys (and by extension, men) are expected to conduct their affairs unfettered by the niceties of decorum. If they want to flick the bird at the world, fine. And if that bird has never known the grooming grace of the nail salon, so?

Nice is for girls, apparently. While our country careens like a mutinous pirate ship toward the waterfall that awaits us at the end of the earth, our daughters should sit in a ladylike fashion as they compose thank you cards expressing gratitude to the captain for allowing them on the ship in the first place.

As Ghandi said to the personal affirmation poster companies, “Be the change you’d like to see in the world”.  I for one, I don’t want to be a party to a world in which little girls are held hostage at the Olive Gardens, manicured pinkies to the sky, unable to voice any objections they may have for fear of shattering that all-important first impression.

So, manners are for girls. I think I’ll be conducting my own golden gloves etiquette course.

–Submitted by Joan of Arkansas

From the Mouths of Babes

Picture this: he and I, sitting with Gander in the hammock. The weather is lovely, serene. He’s cuddly, something rare in an bouncy 8 year old. “Mom” he says, “I learned a new word today.”

“Really?” say I.

“Yes. Hooters!!!”

“Oh, goodness, what on earth does that mean?” I offer while glancing in an amused fashion at Gander.

“They’re BOOBS! And there is a whole restaurant about them! Alex said so in class!!!!”

While pondering the wisdom of continuing the conversation, and also wondering just how on earth Alex knows of this dining mecca, I say, “You mean breasts, honey.”

Always use the proper lingo.

“Do you think that sounds like a good place to go? I mean? Is it ok for a restaurant to just be about breasts?” I ask? Surely a teachable moment, this is.

“Yeah!” he says (naturally).

“Well, what if there was a restaurant that only had men waiters and they wore tight tight pants and it was called….Butt-ers? Would that be ok?

He breaks into gales of laughter. I don’t think it was the genius juxtaposition of my male to female sexism that got him going, nor was it an age old sense of male privilege at the very idea of men in hot pants.

I had said “Butt”.

“I’m gonna tell everyone we are opening a restaurant called “Butt-ers” he giggled and ran off.

My future with the Parents Association is tenuous at best.

The children are our future, and I think they want to go to Hooters.

–Submitted by Goose from Living In Outlaw Territory