Tag Archives: family

Gender and Sexuality, Introspection, Memories, Religion, Sexuality

Growing up evangelical and my family’s approach to discussing sexuality: A personal reflection

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[Content Note: Sexuality, evangelical approaches to (not) teaching kids about sexuality, brief mention of exploring my own body as a young child]

Twitter user @TheVictoryTori tweeted a great question earlier today:

[tweet 1118517593839755266]

I offered my own experiences in a thread and got into a short conversation with Tori.  I want to rehash and expand upon those thoughts here, because this is an area I struggle with to really recall and understand just what I was taught and how.

My parents were not against sex education.  They didn’t really believe in abstinence-only education. Sure, they wanted and expected my siblings and I to remain celibate until we got married. But they didn’t think that keeping us from learning about how sex and condoms work was the way to ensure that happened.

My family — and my church, for that matter — were also not deeply into the purity culture. We didn’t get inundated with books about the importance of remaining celibate until marriage. I don’t recall hearing many lectures about how having sex  would make us used up tissues, previously chewed chewing gum, glasses of water that had been spit into, or any of the other harmful metaphors other evangelical kids have been stewed in while growing up. (One of my junior/senior high Sunday school teachers may have invoked one of those metaphors once upon a time, but that’s it.)

Instead, the messaging I received was more subtle and often even unspoken. It created a sense that sex and all things sexual simply were not talked about and a sense of discomfort was left over the entire topic.

To give a concrete example, I bring up a memory from…early elementary school age (I think? Maybe a little younger?) My parents, my sister, and I were all in the living room, watching television. I was sitting on the floor cross-legged with my hands in my lap. At one point (I don’t remember why I originally did it), I ran the edge of my thumb along the head of my penis through my pajama bottoms. It felt pleasant, so I did it again. I repeated this several times, enjoying the sensation each time. After a couple minutes, my mother noticed and said sternly, “Jarred.  Stop that.”

My sister, having no idea what was going on, asked what I had done?  My mother simply said, “Don’t worry about it.”  And that was the end of the conversation.  There was no follow-up conversation after the fact.

In hindsight, I suppose (and hope) the message my mother meant to get across was that touching myself there in the middle of the living room in front of everyone wasn’t appropriate, and I should really do that sort of thing in private. (Indeed, I’ve met many parents since who do a great job of affirming their children’s desire to explore their own bodies while gently reminding them that it’s a thing best done in private.”)  But to a young boy in the early-to-mid single digits, my take-away was more like “touching myself there is bad.”

I’ll also note that my parents never really talked about this part of my body.  Other than how to make sure I got it cleaned well. So my understanding of my own penis that I got from my parents could really be summarized as (1) it’s where my pee comes out, (2) I need to make sure it’s clean, and (3) I shouldn’t touch it (except to clean it, of course).  So I think this left me feeling like that part of my body was “dirty.”

Then in fifth grade, we watched a health video that talked about puberty and sexual reproduction. I learned about how men’s bodies produce sperm which fertilize the eggs that women produce, which then becomes a baby, which the woman then gives birth to nine months later. (I don’t think the film really got into fetal development or the various stages therein. But hey, it was just supposed to be a video to give us a basic understanding of how our own bodies work and reproduction.) When I went home, I mentioned to my mother (I think) that we had watched the video, and she nodded and said an off-handed remark that if I had any questions, I could ask her.  I never asked her anything. That was partly because I had no questions and partly because the way she said it made it seem like it would be an uncomfortable and awkward conversation that she really didn’t want to have anyway.

We ended up watching the same video in sixth grade as well.  This time, as I mentioned on Twitter, I noticed something I hadn’t the previous year. The video explained (and demonstrated with crude animated drawings) just how the sperm managed to get from the man’s body into the woman’s body. (My brain at the time: “He sticks his [penis] where?!?!”) I found the revelation shocking, disturbing, and maybe somewhat traumatizing (given my understanding of my own penis as I discussed above, who can blame me?). Of course, a number of classmates noticed my shock and discomfort, and they found it amusing and took a few (mercifully brief) seconds to tease me about it.

I  never did talk to anyone about my reaction or my feelings. Again, I didn’t feel comfortable talking to my parents, given the general “we don’t talk about this” vibe I always got in the rare instances the topic had come up.

And that “we don’t talk about that” vibe and what I had internalized about my own genitals kept with me. It affected how I felt about myself when I discovered masturbation as a teen, given the intense sense of guilt that I was doing something wrong, but knowing it felt way too good to ever stop. It also meant that anything I learned about non penis-in-vagina sexual activity came from classmates rather than my family (and my school’s sex education department sure wasn’t going to cover it!).

So that’s what my own experiences growing up and learning about/discovering my sexuality. As I said, it wasn’t so much any explicit messaging that was a problem for me, but the unintended messages I took away combined with a lack of feeling like I could truly talk about these things.

In closing, I hope this post wasn’t too personal or explicit for anyone.


Memories, Randomness

Christmas musings

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I’m not a big fan of Clay Aiken’s rendition of this song, but my selection of YouTube videos was severely limited.  I first ran into “Merry Christmas with Love” back in the ninth grade (that’s be the 1988-1989 school year, for those of you who might be wondering) when our chorus teacher announced it as one of the songs we would be singing it as part of our Christmas concert.  I was deeply touched and moved by the central story and message of the song.[1]

In a small, not-exactly-the-same sort of way, I can also understand the sentiment on a personal level.  Since my mother began working at a hospital several years ago, Christmas has often been a bit strange in our home, and Christmas day itself often doesn’t seem like Christmas day.  Take this year as a good example of what I’m talking about.  My mother has to head to work at around 1pm.  Because of this, my parents and I celebrated our Christmas yesterday, exchanging gifts and having our big dinner.  As such, this morning feels like most other days, with my mother getting ready for work and me thinking about my impending drive back to Rochester after lunch.  When I used to live at home, such years were even odder, as my father and I would look at each other after Mom left for work and wonder “what do we do with the rest of our day.”

I can only imagine how much stranger it is for those people who don’t have loved ones around them at all during this season.  It must be difficult.  I actually admire some friends who discovered that a mutual friend had no Christmas plans and invited him to their house.  We should all have that sense of compassion for others.

So, dear readers, may you have a Merry Christmas.  If you find yourself surrounded by loved ones, hold them a little closer in appreciation.  And if you find yourself alone, drop me a line.  It’s not much, but at least you’ll know someone cares enough to talk.

Note:
[1]  This is actually why  don’t like Aiken’s rendition of it.  I felt he tried to “dress it up” way too much with his vocal talent.  Yeah, he’s a pretty good singer, but sometimes, the song itself is more important than how amazingly one can belt it out.  When the latter starts to detract from the former, there’s a problem.

Family, Memories, Pets

Tribute to a Dog

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tas-2008-12-24-resized.JPGThis week, my sister and her family had a bit of a scare.  They’re fifteen year old beagle mix, Tasslehoff Burrfoot (Tas for short), had a bit of a medical scare.  They took her to the vet, expecting the worst.  Fortunately, the vet gave Tas a happy diagnosis and a promising prognosis.  So everyone’s relieved to know that we have at least a little longer to enjoy her company, at least when she’s not too busy sleeping.

When Stephanie first gave everyone the initial news, I began to think about what I wanted to say about Tas.  I wanted to give her something of a tribute like I did with Saddle when I heard he had passed.  So having thought about it, I’ve decided that even though it looks like Tas is going to be with us for a while longer, I figured I’d go ahead and offer my tribute anyway.  After all, why wait until a loved one is gone before expressing how much we love and value them?

For those who may be wondering, Tas’s comes from a character in the Dragonlance Chronicals by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman.  My brother-in-law, Bill, was a huge fan of the whole Dragonlance series at the time he and Stephanie took Tas into their homes as a little puppy.  Bill decided the name fit Tas as she was always friendly and high-spirited.  And of course, the day that Tas was sleeping on Bill’s lap and he suddenly realized she had somehow managed to snake her front paw into the pocket of his jeans just cinched the whole deal.

When I thik of Tas, I most often think of her younger years, before she started facing the health issues of getting older.  I remember the highly energetic pup who loved to be chased through Bill and Stephanie’s apartment in Rome, NY.  I still laugh when I think of how she would run up the couch at an angle, shift her body just enough to push off the wall behind the couch with her legs — I always joked that her legs were longer than the average beagle’s legs so they could fit the springs inside them — and run back down the couch on a new trajectory.  I also remember the day that I had to stop in total amazement as I watched her leap from a total stopped position over the back of the couch (it had been moved so it was in the middle of the room rather than against a wall) and landed on the seat cushion.  I never understood how such a small dog could clear that height from a velocity of zero.

The other great thing about Tas was that as Bill and Stephanie began to have kids, she proved to be one of the best family dogs I’ve ever seen.  She was quite protective and nurturing of each as the kids when they were born, often expressing distress if the adults around allowed one of them to cry or fuss for to long.  (To Tas, thirty seconds often seemed to qualify as too long.)  And then there was the day my sister and I watched as Tas managed to retrieve her paw from my then-infant nephew’s death-grip simply by licking his hand until he let go.

The years have worn on Tas.  She’s not quite as energetic as she used to be, though the last time I saw her I still saw the occasional glimmer of that old fire in her eyes.  She’s taken more to sleeping and her days of flying around the house or chasing rabbits in the yard are mostly to a close.  But she’s still a sweet old girl and everyone who has known her can attest that she’s probably one of the best furry family members anyone could ever ask for.  And I’m thankful we all have a little more time to spend with her.

Family, Gender and Sexuality, Memories, Personal Development

Coming out confession

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Logo designed by artist Keith Harring

Image via Wikipedia

Originally posted to Multiply on 6 February 2008.

I’ve spent the last couple of days thinking about my story about coming out to my parents. I feel like there was so much that I left out. Of course, when I shared them during the panel discussion, I naturally had to keep my comments short, and this meant an extremely abbreviated story. So I shared what I felt were the most relevant points at the time.

However, now that I have more time to spend, I feel it’s important to share a bit more. After all, when I talked about how much time it’s taken my parents to work through everything, I felt like I was attributing it to them. That’s not entirely accurate. In retrospect, I made my own share of mistakes which has probably prolonged the reconciliation process.

The most immediate example is the fact that I came out to my parents well before I was ready. After all, I had only come to accept my sexuality a scant two months before I told my parents. So in reality, I was still emotionally processing everything myself.

Mind you, I don’t regret my choice to come out so quickly, mainly because it was the right choice at the time. The week before I had that fateful conversation with my mother, I had made another poor choice, the choice to tell another person about my sexual orientation. Telling that particular person was a horrible error in judgment on my part, and I can only say that I did so in a moment of emotional weakness.

The problem was, I knew that this particular person sometimes wasn’t the best at keeping secrets, and I was concerned that news of my revelation could get back to my parents. When I realized this, I decided that if my parents were going to find out, I wanted it to come from me. So I I made my decision to make sure that’s exactly what happened.

I made what I still believe was the moral choice. However, the moral choice meant trying to deal with my parents’ reactions to my sexuality while still trying to go through the emotional healing and self-acceptance process myself. That was a high price to pay, and I probably wasn’t always as understanding and patient with my parents as a result.

Another choice I made — and I’m not sure whether this one was ultimately a mistake or not — is that I backed off once I told my mother. Because of her reaction, I let the whole topic drop for a long time. I didn’t deny my sexuality, but I didn’t bring it up either. I didn’t correct my mother a year later when I moved back home and she told me that I wasn’t allowed to have “overnight guests of the female persuasion.” (Actually, I snickered to myself, thinking that wouldn’t be a difficult rule to keep.) In effect, I did allow my parents to linger in their denial and otherwise ignore the whole matter.

Was that a mistake? I don’t really know. In some ways, I wonder if I might have sped up the process if I had pushed the issue a bit more at crucial moments. But then, I also think that maybe they really did need that time.

Then there was an incident that I’m almost positive I made a mistake. It was back during the first few months when I was dating Mike. I had met him and taken a picture of him. One day, I printed out a picture of him because I was going to visit friends and wanted to show them what he looked like. My mother saw the picture and asked who he was. I told her he was a friend and left it a that.

I think she knew I wasn’t being completely honest with my answer. In fact, even back then, I had the impression she was looking for the real answer. But I chose not to tell her he was my boyfriend. I was afraid to admit it. I was afraid she’d once again go into a tense and brooding silence as a result. And I didn’t want to deal with that at the time.

In retrospect, I think she was trying to bridge that gulf of silence that had developed between us when she asked about Mike. Instead of responding with honesty, I chose to reward her efforts by maintaining the wall between us. I have to ask myself what percentage of responsibility for the time it’s taken us to be more open since then lies on my shoulders because of that choices. And I wonder what other ways I’ve shut my parents out without realizing it.

It’s something I’ve been working on recently. That’s partly due to my friend, Amy, who did a reading for me while we were at the Naturist Retreat this past August. She told me that I needed to share all of my life with my mother. And as Amy predicted, Mom’s been fairly open to it.