In addition to my considerable other quirks, I am a complete prude. I wish I could blame this on prudish parents but that would be a lie. Maybe I could attribute it to all the time I spent in a very conservative faith tradition but I've been able to let go of other ideas and yet I cannot seem to move past this one.
My parents had childhoods filled with shame and secrecy around sex and were determined to break that particular cycle. My father, the consummate realist, told me on numerous occasions that there was very little chance I'd be a virgin on my wedding day. To him it was biologically impossible. Before my first official date with a boy, my dad took my arm and rubbed his hand quickly across the top of it. He looked me in the eye and said, "Skin rubbing against skin gets hot. Watch yourself."
To be clear, there was no mention of birth control just a warning with the implied message that I had better not come home pregnant. Growing up I knew a couple of things to be absolute truth: first, if I ever came home drunk, I should not plan on coming home ever again and secondly, my parents had raised their kids and had no intention of raising mine. If I were to get pregnant, I'd be on my own. In a nutshell I was told that sexual intimacy was inevitable and yet life-alteringly risky. Being a prude had its advantages.
Alongside the messages of my father were the messages of my church. As a fervent participant in an abstinence-preaching youth group, I knew that I should "save myself" for my future husband. Loss of virginity outside of marriage was just about the worst thing to befall a young girl. I remember being told that if I permitted that to happen, I might one day be happily married but my relationship would never be as happy or as fulfilling as a marriage between two people who had waited until their wedding night. I didn't want a partially happy marriage. I wanted the best kind of happy marriage and I prayed for strength to remain holy and pure.
I dated boys all through high school and found myself in all the typical situations to have this purity commitment tested. As I kissed my boyfriend I was never tempted to go any further and was therefore convinced that my prayers were working. I wasn't tempted to have sex because I was so darn holy.
It wasn't until college that I figured out this lack of temptation was because I was kissing the wrong kind of person. This was a difficult discovery to make at an evangelical fundamentalist college where same gender relationships would not only get you kicked out of school but would also land you a spot in the fiery pit of eternal damnation. As Beth and I were beginning our relationship there was such shame and hiding that we would never dream discussing our burgeoning romance let alone any of the intimate details. And if fellow students at our school were having sex, they certainly weren't admitting it. It seems we had all participated in the same type of youth group.
After I graduated from college and was thrust into a workplace with a gaggle of 20-somethings who had a more prototypical college experience, I discovered that not only were my peers having sex, they were talking about it. While at the coffee machine each Monday morning, I was regaled with stories of one time hook-ups and middle of the night journeys home from a new friend's apartment. Despite my desperate attempts to shed my Puritan reputation, I was undeniably uncomfortable in these one-sided conversations. Besides this was the early 90's and while it seemed there were no boundaries around the number of sexual partners, no one was bragging about same gender sexual partners. My prudishness remained intact.
It was many years later that Beth and I decided to attend our first gay pride parade. We were "out" to a few friends but in no way were we participating in any sort of LGBT community. We were excited and a bit nervous at the thought of being surrounded by so many gay people. We thought perhaps we could possibly, maybe...hold hands in public for the first time.
It's tough to honestly describe the gay pride parade. Unfortunately the news coverage of the parade focuses on the flamboyant, the shocking, the outrageous. Even more unfortunate is that for some, the gay community is epitomized by those images. The parade is a mix of elected officials, political candidates, justice causes and local businesses. Throngs of people are decked out in rainbow gear and clearly celebrating their freedom of expression. And there is the flamboyant. There are drag queens with strategically placed feathers and ankle testing stilettos. There are cowboys wearing nothing but chaps and their pride in a lifetime spent at the gym. There are gold lame thongs and girls who clearly don't want any tan lines on the top portion of their bodies. Whether actual or simulated, there is a lot of sexual behavior. Arguably the behavior isn't appreciably different than Mardi Gras in New Orleans or a typical Tuesday on the strip in Las Vegas. It's a challenging situation for even the most liberal of us prudes.
After one such experience, Beth and I decided that we weren't "parade people" and have purposely avoided it ever since. Not only do I avoid it but I prudishly proclaim that I show my "pride" by being a good neighbor, coaching little league and volunteering at my kids' school. I live in my suburb and with a tiny bit of self-righteous pomposity declare that I'm just not "that" kind of gay.
As part of my Masters of Divinity program I am now interning at a Presbyterian church. This week my supervising pastor let me know that our church would be marching in the gay pride parade. Before I could utter my non-parade person protest, she explained that it didn't matter if we were comfortable or not because this wasn't about us. Most often when the LGBT community hears about churches, they think hate and condemnation. We will offer them something else. As part of the Coalition of Welcoming Churches, we will be at the head of the parade offering love and acceptance and just maybe, a tiny step toward healing.
So this Sunday I will proudly march with my radically welcoming church. It seems like I can't very well proclaim my mantra: "What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and love kindness and to walk humbly with your God" (Micah 6:8) without actually walking into those situations that make me uncomfortable. I may be a prude but sometimes it is not about me.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Play Dates & Panic Attacks
Fine. I'll say it. I hate the whole concept of play dates. Oh sure, I could join in the chorus of parents longing for the way things used to be. Summers days were spent riding your bike until you found someone with whom you could play. The only kid on your block may have been two years younger and a nose-picking, close-talker but playing with him was better than admitting boredom to your chore-assigning mother.
I watch and read way too much news to be all that thrilled about my own kids trolling for playmates on their bikes. Beth reminds me that we live in a "safe" neighborhood but I continue to maintain that perverts stay away from the rough neighborhoods for fear of getting their butts kicked by a street smart 9-year-old. Instead they tool around tree-lined suburban neighborhoods with a basket full of candy looking for a kid willing to break the rules and have processed sugar before dinner.
Because I don't trust my children to say no to the basket full of candy, I succumb to scheduled play dates. The worst part is that the adults have to plan them and unfortunately, in this situation, I am the adult. Play dates prey on every single one of my social insecurities. I was a shy child and a socially awkward high schooler. Thanks to the magic of the Myers-Briggs Personality categorizer I now know the best term to describe me is introvert.
I am truly envious of people who can easily suggest a coffee date to a new friend without experiencing a deodorant-testing panic attack. It doesn't matter how long I've been friends with someone, I rarely [read: never] am the one to suggest a lunch date or movie.
For some reason God ordained that parents should teach their kids to feed themselves; avoid plaids and stripes in the same outfit and also how to ask someone for a social engagement. I can lecture about the principles of being a good friend. I think I am a decent enough friend to a few people. Unfortunately, I'm a complete no-show when it comes to suggesting a fun activity.
In an act of divine providence, my oldest child easily makes friends and is constantly scheming for a party or play date. My middle child had a slow start but with the help of sports and a preternatural aptitude for the monkey bars, he does pretty well on the playground. It was just last week that we realized our four-year-old daughter Emerson had never had nor been invited to a play date. I guess we assumed she was fine playing with her siblings or her dog.
This year Emerson attended a morning pre-school program at a different school than her siblings attend. We didn't know any of the other kids (and therefore any of the parents) in her class. Each day we heard of Emerson's school adventures with her friend Gigi. They ate snacks together and played at the same center. During parent-teacher conferences we heard that Emerson and Gigi's friendship was based on a mutual stubbornness. One day Gigi sat in Emerson's assigned seat and Emerson pushed her off and sat down. Gigi proceeded to push Emerson and take the seat back. Emerson returned the favor. The girls were inseparable after that.
As an end of the school year reward I rented a jump house for our backyard on the last day of school. The older kids were able to invite a few friends over for an afternoon of junk food and play. We decided to keep Emerson in daycare that afternoon but allow her to invite Gigi over that evening for their own yearend "party." Gigi's older brother and Bennett are both first graders at the same school and play on the same baseball team, so I had exchanged pleasantries with Gigi's mother. One day I finally screwed on my courage and asked Gigi's mom about the play date.
The plan was that Gigi and her mother would arrive at 4:30 and the play date would last as long as the girls got along. Emerson doesn't have an easy personality and I secretly wondered if they would make it 30 minutes without a full on fight. When Gigi arrived, the girls engaged in a long, liver-crushing hug. They shed their shoes and headed for the jump house. When they both made it inside and were able to keep their footing, there was another hug and then jumping alternating with giggling fits. Their 4-year-old attention spans limited time in the jump house to about 3 minutes before they were on the swing-set and then in the play house, back to the jump house, rinse and repeat. Gigi and Emerson fell into an easy rhythm and I got to sit back and observe how this play date thing worked with them. I learned some important principals about hanging out with a friend.
Three and a half hours later we realized the play date had been a success. My youngest child, the one with no experience at play dates and her best friend, Gigi showed me some important things about hanging out with a friend. Nope, a successful play date didn't cure my panic about social situations. Watching my daughter be absolutely delighted, made me realize that my risk was repaid with an enormous reward--kind of like when I've taken a risk with friends of my own. I may just put on a double layer of deodorant and ask someone to go get coffee with me.
I watch and read way too much news to be all that thrilled about my own kids trolling for playmates on their bikes. Beth reminds me that we live in a "safe" neighborhood but I continue to maintain that perverts stay away from the rough neighborhoods for fear of getting their butts kicked by a street smart 9-year-old. Instead they tool around tree-lined suburban neighborhoods with a basket full of candy looking for a kid willing to break the rules and have processed sugar before dinner.
Because I don't trust my children to say no to the basket full of candy, I succumb to scheduled play dates. The worst part is that the adults have to plan them and unfortunately, in this situation, I am the adult. Play dates prey on every single one of my social insecurities. I was a shy child and a socially awkward high schooler. Thanks to the magic of the Myers-Briggs Personality categorizer I now know the best term to describe me is introvert.
I am truly envious of people who can easily suggest a coffee date to a new friend without experiencing a deodorant-testing panic attack. It doesn't matter how long I've been friends with someone, I rarely [read: never] am the one to suggest a lunch date or movie.
For some reason God ordained that parents should teach their kids to feed themselves; avoid plaids and stripes in the same outfit and also how to ask someone for a social engagement. I can lecture about the principles of being a good friend. I think I am a decent enough friend to a few people. Unfortunately, I'm a complete no-show when it comes to suggesting a fun activity.
In an act of divine providence, my oldest child easily makes friends and is constantly scheming for a party or play date. My middle child had a slow start but with the help of sports and a preternatural aptitude for the monkey bars, he does pretty well on the playground. It was just last week that we realized our four-year-old daughter Emerson had never had nor been invited to a play date. I guess we assumed she was fine playing with her siblings or her dog.
This year Emerson attended a morning pre-school program at a different school than her siblings attend. We didn't know any of the other kids (and therefore any of the parents) in her class. Each day we heard of Emerson's school adventures with her friend Gigi. They ate snacks together and played at the same center. During parent-teacher conferences we heard that Emerson and Gigi's friendship was based on a mutual stubbornness. One day Gigi sat in Emerson's assigned seat and Emerson pushed her off and sat down. Gigi proceeded to push Emerson and take the seat back. Emerson returned the favor. The girls were inseparable after that.
As an end of the school year reward I rented a jump house for our backyard on the last day of school. The older kids were able to invite a few friends over for an afternoon of junk food and play. We decided to keep Emerson in daycare that afternoon but allow her to invite Gigi over that evening for their own yearend "party." Gigi's older brother and Bennett are both first graders at the same school and play on the same baseball team, so I had exchanged pleasantries with Gigi's mother. One day I finally screwed on my courage and asked Gigi's mom about the play date.
The plan was that Gigi and her mother would arrive at 4:30 and the play date would last as long as the girls got along. Emerson doesn't have an easy personality and I secretly wondered if they would make it 30 minutes without a full on fight. When Gigi arrived, the girls engaged in a long, liver-crushing hug. They shed their shoes and headed for the jump house. When they both made it inside and were able to keep their footing, there was another hug and then jumping alternating with giggling fits. Their 4-year-old attention spans limited time in the jump house to about 3 minutes before they were on the swing-set and then in the play house, back to the jump house, rinse and repeat. Gigi and Emerson fell into an easy rhythm and I got to sit back and observe how this play date thing worked with them. I learned some important principals about hanging out with a friend.
- Sometimes the best way to greet a friend is with an exuberant, big hug.
- Gigi struggled to get into the jump house by herself so Emerson always let her go first and then helped her friend with a push on the backside. Each time they both made it in, they celebrated with giggles and a hug.
- When Emerson fell, Gigi ran to her side and hugged her until the tears stopped.
- Emerson carefully selected fruits snacks as their "party" snack. It became an arduous task to keep Emerson from devouring her favorite treat before her friend arrived. Because of some digestion issues, Gigi can't have fruit snacks. My mostly inflexible daughter said, "That's okay, I'll eat Cheerios with Gigi."
- The girls were playing with a ride-on car and when Emerson tried to push Gigi somewhere she didn't want to go. Gigi said, "NO!" and put her feet down to stop the motion. Emerson stopped pushing. Gigi set boundaries and Emerson respected them.
- Gigi communicates with a combination of verbal and sign language. Emerson did her best to use both but wasn't very successful. Gigi was exceedingly patient.
Three and a half hours later we realized the play date had been a success. My youngest child, the one with no experience at play dates and her best friend, Gigi showed me some important things about hanging out with a friend. Nope, a successful play date didn't cure my panic about social situations. Watching my daughter be absolutely delighted, made me realize that my risk was repaid with an enormous reward--kind of like when I've taken a risk with friends of my own. I may just put on a double layer of deodorant and ask someone to go get coffee with me.
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