I grew up in a family where nudity was a fact of everyday life. Family members changed clothes, bathed, used the toilet, and walked between bathrooms and bedrooms with no concern about how much of their bodies were covered, unless non-family guests were present. Bathroom doors could be closed, but locking them was discouraged, because then no one else could use the bathroom, and sharing a bathroom was assumed to be acceptable. The idea of someone monopolizing the bathroom for half an hour or so would have been considered rude and inconsiderate. Even sharing a shower was sometimes done, especially after a day at the beach. We only had one bathtub-shower, and if everyone showered alone, it meant a wet, sandy wait for some. The tub-shower could hold two people easily, and as many as five if some were small children. These values were uncommon when I was a child (1950s – 1960s), but they are much less common now. In many families, children never see their opposite-sex parent or siblings nude after some magical age (which seems to be different for each family). Even same-sex siblings and parents don’t see each other nude in some families. The one exception is that some families allow older girls to bathe younger siblings of either sex or change their diapers. What happens when parents get old and require assistance with bathing and toilet functions? Will shame and “modesty” require these people to obtain care from a stranger rather than a family member? So how did my family come to hold and practice these values? Part of the answer might be that my parents were both medical professionals (doctor and nurse), and dealt with nudity all the time as part of their work. I don’t think that was the whole story, though; I’ve known medical people who were as inhibited about nudity as anyone else. The real key is that my mom was a country girl, who grew up in a house without plumbing, electricity, or central heat. They had an outhouse with 2 oval holes to sit on, and these holes were close together with no divider in between. Baths were taken in the kitchen, standing in a washtub (they didn’t have a bathtub), next to the coal stove (for warmth and hot water from the kettle). The idea of a closed-in room for bathing was unknown to them. My mom didn’t even own a swimsuit until she grew up and moved away; swimming in the country was always nude. And the funny thing is…it worked! Family members saw each other fully or partially nude all the time. Sexual morals were much tighter than now, and were enforced strictly. Everyone understood that. And it freed everyone to be nude when necessary. There are certainly more urgent issues that modern families need to deal with, but from my experience and observations, a family that accepts nudity as the good and natural state that it is shares more genuine closeness and trust than one that doesn’t. And these qualities are never trivial.
Please Don’t Make My Day
In January 2006 I received my first permit to carry a concealed handgun.
One month before, I had taken a class covering basic gun safety and handling, passed a written test on the material, and fired 50 rounds at a target under the watchful supervision of the instructor. The court and sheriff’s department had 45 days to conduct a background check on me. They also called me and asked several questions related to the information on the application form. I assume that part of the call’s purpose was to assess my mental competance and awareness of legal and safety issues. Finally, I got a postcard informing me that my permit was ready and waiting for me at the courthouse.
So… did this little card turn me into Dirty Harry, eagerly awaiting some “punk” to “make my day”?
Hardly.
I don’t like violence, whether in real life, video games, TV shows, or anywhere else. I’m a lover, not a fighter. But I’m also a realist, and as such I know that evil exists, and it takes some horrific forms. What this permit does is to relieve me from having to choose between protecting myself and my family, or violating the law.
In my old home state, I had to make this decision constantly; when closing my business at 2 A. M. and walking to my car through a dark parking lot; when entering a convenience store or gas station late at night; when going to a fast-food place in the “bad” part of a city. Gun permits were almost impossible to get, but crime was not impossible to find. My old home state assumed a “guilty until proven innocent” attitude about gun owners; if you carry a gun, you must be one of the “bad guys”, and the onus is on you to prove your “need” to carry a gun to their satisfaction.
My new home state recognizes that I’m one of the good guys, with a constitutional right to carry a gun for general protection of myself and those around me. It’s good to live in a state that recognizes and acknowledges my responsibility with a gun the way they acknowledge my responsibility with a car, a vote, or a profession. It’s good to pass law-enforcement officers, knowing they can now recognize me as one of the “good guys” rather than presume that I’m one of the “bad guys”. It’s good to set an example for my children of following and respecting the laws, rather than having to sneak around like a criminal in order to do the right thing. I look forward to more states easing their restrictions, enabling their “good guys” (and gals) to protect themselves within the law.
But I don’t want to use my gun, any more than I want to use the three fire extinguishers distributed throughout my house. I have experience using different types of extinguishers, and I know when to fight a fire, and when to get out. My hope is to never have the need. Fires do happen, however, and a young, small fire is much less dangerous than one which has grown by even a minute. Likewise, crimes happen, and a person may quickly find themselves and / or their family in danger of death or great bodily injury. For decades “crime experts” have advised: “Don’t resist, don’t fight, just give the criminal what they want, and you won’t get hurt”.
Really? Give the criminal what they want?
Your body?
Your kid?
Your life?
Increasingly, today’s sociopathic criminals aren’t content to take your wallet and leave you alone. That may not even be their primary objective. While “honor among thieves” has never existed, the prevalence of random, senseless violence today precludes any semblance of a social contract between criminal and victim. A crime expert I respect has said: “Don’t try appealing to a criminal’s better side – he may not have one”.
So I will continue to protect my family – legally if possible;
But to any would-be criminals, I ask “Please don’t make my day”
The Opossum And The Cat
The other evening I opened a door and found an opossum pulling trash out of a plastic trashbag on my outdoor deck. This had happened several times before, so i yelled in annoyance while it ran to the edge and tried to hide. I grabbed a baseball bat and pushed it off the deck, onto the ground (a 9-foot drop). An hour later it was back, scattering trash again.
This time I had my wife hold up the torn trashbag while I slipped a new trashbag over it, tied it shut, pitched it downstairs and locked it in the garage where critters couldn’t reach it. Problem solved.
Later on I asked myself: why didn’t I shoot the opossum? I live in the country, I could certainly hit it, and no one would know. Even if they did know, no one would care. So why didn’t I eliminate the source of the problem?
Because I respect life. Because the opossum was an annoyance, but not a hazard. Because without the trashbag, the opossum wouldn’t be there.
But sometimes the solution isn’t so easy, or so nice.
Several years before, we had a troop of outdoor cats. One day a new cat appeared at feeding time. It was larger than the others, looked mangy and sick, and did its best to chase the others away from the feeder. The next few days it became apparent that this new cat had no intention of getting along with our cats, or eating its fill and going elsewhere. Day and night the fights continued. Something had to be done.
So, I walked out towards the cat, aimed a 22 revolver, and fired 1 shot; the cat was dead.
As I slid it into a paper grocery bag, I noticed the many cuts in its ears and several small worms crawling around its anus. This cat had had a hard life. I’m sure it started life as a cute, fuzzy kitten, but its life ended as a parasite-ridden pest.
I was sad that it had to be done, but I didn’t regret it. I still don’t. I respected its life, but I respected the lives and well-being of my own cats even more. That’s my duty as a cat owner.
So if using deadly force to defend yourself or others from human attackers is just too difficult for you to figure out, remember the opossum and the cat.
When Nudity Is Natural
When nudity is natural…
Cleanliness (of both body and mind) is too.
You see more skin, but even more person within the skin.
No one cares about what celebrity is uncovering their body this week.
You don’t worry about your kids going to Victoria’s Secret or Abercrombie & Fitch.
Swimming is easy, and you don’t get chilled when you leave the water.
There’s one obvious way to feed a baby – or rather, two obvious ways.
Waste elimination isn’t a shameful secret, it’s just something everyone does.
Body shame makes no sense.
You honor the image of God.
A Word To Married Women – And Everyone Else
I’m sure you remember the day you met your husband.
You remember where you were, and what you were doing.
You probably remember the first thing he said to you, the first things you did together, and your first date.
You remember the first time you kissed, and the first time you made love. So does he.
You remember your wedding. Do you remember vowing to love and cherish him for the rest of your lives?
If so, why has making love with him become such a low priority?
You know he wants to; he may not ask, but you know. That touch. That look. The way he snuggles with you.
What happened? What is so important that there’s no “us” time anymore?
“It’s just not the same anymore”? It doesn’t have to be the same. All it has to be is loving.
With God’s help, it can be better than ever. Have you asked God for help? Has he?
Does he need to meet some needs which he hasn’t? Show him. Teach him. Lead him.
Above all, love him.
The Safest Place In The World
Recently I saw a TV ad for great invention: a stuffed animal that glows, and even projects light onto the ceiling to comfort a child who has difficulty with bedtime or falling asleep and remaining asleep. If the child is afraid of the dark, this invention would benefit them all the more.
But years ago, I discovered a better gadget: side rails for the bed, so kids can sleep in their parents bed and not roll off the edge. This allows the two parents to stay together in the middle, with kids on the sides.
Kids sleeping with their parents? Isn’t that a problem to be avoided at all costs? What about sex? What will the neighbors say? Isn’t that just too kinky?
My wife and I put our kids in bed with us once they got beyond the helpless-baby stage, and it simplified life a great deal. They would fall asleep immediately, and stay asleep almost all night. They didn’t cry, and they didn’t resist falling asleep because they were with their parents, not separated and alone in a dark room. Nighttime breastfeeding was especially easy, since mom and kid could both lie down comfortably and stay warm.
This shouldn’t be surprising. With all other mammals that I know of, the young sleep with one or both parents. Conserving body heat is one reason, and an important one for most creatures. Security is another reason, especially for humans. The kid wakes up and looks around. There’s Mom. There’s Dad. Everyone is asleep, so everything must be OK.
The child feels that they are in the safest place in the world – and they are.
Sex for the parents isn’t a problem. Kids fall asleep quickly in the parent’s bed, and sleep very soundly.
Some single parents and their kids find it especially comforting to sleep together. Any feelings of loss and isolation can be lessened somewhat, and the arrangement emphasizes what the family has, rather than what it’s missing.
The only problem we found was, since kids and parents go to bed at the same time, either the kids bedtime will be later than usual, or the parents will be in bed earlier than usual. This wasn’t a problem in earlier times (when a scarcity of light caused people to retire earlier), but it still works pretty well for pre-schoolers or homeschoolers who don’t have early-morning schedules, or for parents who do.
When one of my kids developed diabetes as a small child, we found an additional benefit of him sleeping with us. His blood sugar would sometimes fall too low during the night, bringing on convulsions and the risk of death. Because he was in bed with us, we knew right away if this happened, and could administer prompt treatment. As he grew larger and heavier, this risk diminished, and his ability to sense it and counteract it himself increased.
Some might think this is a new-age hippie innovation, but the opposite is true.
People hundreds of years ago didn’t have separate bedrooms for their kids; in fact, most “houses” didn’t have separate rooms at all. Most people also didn’t have a bed to themselves; several people in each bed required fewer beds, and kept people warmer. The younger children slept in the parents bed, with the parents.
If you doubt this, check out Luke 11:7 in the Bible (KJV):
“And he from within shall answer and say, Trouble me not: the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot rise and give thee.”
So everything old is new again – only now it’s called “attachment parenting”!
How long should this last?
Have their own beds ready for your kids to use when they want to, and emphasize the transition to “their” bed when they feel ready. Four and six are ages of growing independence, but also ages of increasing awareness of the world around them, which sometimes intensifies fears. Eight or nine has the exuberance without the fears.
Of course, kids grow, and a parent’s ultimate desire is for them to grow into well-functioning independent adults.
To this end, most parents tacitly assume that the methods of their parents, friends, and society are correct.
Many people have long ago lost contact with their animal instincts, and too many consider this an advancement of civilization, and a beneficial result of Christianity…
But it isn’t.
Like Job, they haven’t stopped to consider Who equipped animals and humans with this hard-wired knowledge which serves us very well when we use it in accordance with God’s commandments.
Children grow up and go their own way in life, but the ones who carry the emotional security of their parental home – and parental bed – with them have a solid foundation on which to build their own emotional security.
Combined with a loving Father Who never leaves them, what more do they need?
So Near, Yet So Far
Every time I go to a nudist venue, it’s like travelling to another world, one where the superficial is gone and only the profound is present. A world where what you see is real, with no hiding or pretending.
In our everyday world, we all know what people look like, we know that what we see is not the real person, we know that we are all expected to pretend. When others ask “How are you?”, any answer other than “Fine! How are you?” elicits surprise, and often annoyance.
But without the social fig leaves, our real inner selves can show through, not uncontrollably and helplessly, but with clarity and confidence. In some mysterious way, acknowledging reality sets one’s feet on a healthy path – kind of like psychotherapy. And since we’re among friends instead of predators, the healthy path is affirming, not frightening.
When it’s time to leave, the clothes come out and get pulled on awkwardly, like a suit of armor. Everyone’s thinking “Do I really need to wear this? Why?” Reluctantly, we hide behind the shields of acceptability. On the way home, we stop to eat. The teenage girl behind the fast-food counter giggles because my wife isn’t wearing a bra, the same way little kids giggle in the pool changing room when I remove my swimsuit and dry off. We don’t mind their giggles, we just wish they knew about the world of honest, profound reality in which we really live.
Primal Scenes
My dad snored very loudly and very consistently in his late 50s. My mom frequently had trouble sleeping because of it. I had twin beds in my bedroom and the other bed was empty, so she would often move over to the empty bed during the night to get some sleep. This worked well for her, and I had no problem with it.
However, I did have an unexpected problem some mornings: waking up to my parents having sex in the twin bed next to me.
I didn’t mind that they were having sex. Not at all. I was glad they weren’t fighting (which they did far too often).
However, my dad had this odd habit of whispering almost constantly during sex, and that made it difficult for me to sleep.
His snoring kept my mom awake during the night, and his whispering kept me awake in the morning!
I tried to lie there quietly and not disturb them. They weren’t fighting, right? This was a good thing, but it did try my patience.
Fortunately, they didn’t do it often. Maybe our home life would have been better if they had.
It’s very comforting to know that my parents enjoyed sex with each other.
The Little Engine That Did
Out behind the Virginia Science Museum in Richmond sits a steam locomotive.
Not a spectacular exhibit with placards and audio recordings, just a small engine with its cab and ladders boarded up to prevent climbing and entry, with signs admonishing people to keep off the structure. The thick steel of its cylinder heads has rusted through in spots, many rivet heads on the boiler have rusted off, and the confusing complex of pipes, valves, unions and cleanout plugs surrounding the firebox raises the question of how something so intricate could actually run and stay running.
A small sign at the front tells of its specifications and history.
Its technical specifications were interesting to me (but of course, I’m a geek); it operated at a boiler pressure of 245 psi, developing 70,000 pounds of pulling force.
The really interesting part was its history; it hauled coal trains through West Virginia on the Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad during 1943 and 1944.
That time and that place…
My mom lived in West Virginia from the late 1930s until 1945. She was in her early 30s then.
She described West Virginia as having the best people – and the worst weather – on earth.
She also described shoveling coal into the house’s basement furnace on days that never warmed up to zero.
She had 3 small children and an alcoholic, philandering, abusive husband.
For the United States, 1943 was the hardest year of World War 2.
Our soldiers battled the Japanese on one island after another in the Pacific.
Our country didn’t have enough copper to make pennies, so the 1943 pennies were made of steel.
How did the people of our nation survive this adversity?
They had a solid foundation of right and wrong, and a solemn regard for doing what was necessary.
They were tough people, driving tough engines, during tough times.
I have a genuine respect and admiration for their toughness.
Both my mom and the engine did their jobs and pulled their loads, despite the adversity.
May they rest – and rust – in peace.
The (nude) Way We Were #2
We often think of earlier times as being prudish and modern times as being free and tolerant, but…this is not necessarily true.
What we are prudish about and what we accept varies greatly at different times and places.
In “The (nude) Way We Were #1”, I described the once-common practice of male high-school students swimming nude at school, and several other situations of group nudity which were common in American society in the early and mid-20th century. These have seemingly been forgotten by older people, and remain largely unknown to most people born after 1980.
This nude swimming in schools was not necessarily a secret ritual seen only by the males participating in it. In many places, especially in the midwest states, swim meets featured totally-nude male participants, while family, friends, coaches, and other swimmers of both sexes attended and watched. Reporters from the school yearbook and local newspapers also attended, and often published photos of the nude male swimmers, sometimes standing beside their female counterparts (who wore swimsuits). This double standard seems shocking today, but in earlier times the society saw no problem with male swimmers being nude (which had been a common sight in every river for generations) along with female swimmers wearing suits to “protect their modesty”.
This practice died out in the late 1960s and early 1970s, after having been comfortably accommodated for several generations.
Historic archives – nude male swimming
So how was it acceptable for male athletes to be totally nude in the presence of female athletes, spectators from the general public, and photographers for newspapers and school yearbooks?
One factor was the more-rural nature of America. While urbanization had been increasing since the 19th century, much of the twentieth-century United States remained rural, with the concomitant values of family solidarity, personal responsibility, religious faith, and pragmatic nudity. The latter often found expression in sharing outhouses, beds, an open washtub in the kitchen for bathing, and nude swimming in creeks. While large-population beach-cities had required men to wear swimsuits for several years (often with tops until the mid-1930s), small midwestern towns retained their rural values much longer.
In both cities and small towns, living quarters were smaller and families were larger than now. One bathroom in a house or apartment was considered standard. With a large family, this meant either long, inconvenient waits to use the toilet or bathtub, or sharing the bathroom with others. Either way, bedrooms were usually shared, and the modern notion of “privacy” was rare.
Sexual morals were also much stricter and followed traditional lines. Occasional nudity was a fact of life, and did not have the constant association with illicit sex which today’s free-flowing pornography encourages. While some people have always let their sexual behavior run wild, pregnancy outside of marriage was considered deeply shameful and a pitfall to be avoided.
Perhaps some of our modern controversies can be untangled by examining what practices worked smoothly a couple of generations ago, and what values made these practices possible. To be sure, there were problems in society then also, but many of those have largely been worked out. I’m not advocating a return to the “good old days”, but sometimes we all need to look back at the path that brought us here.
So, where do we go from here?
Clover 