Apparently I caused my mother varying degrees of exasperation (and embarrassment, I’m sure) when I was a small child because I refused to keep my clothes on. According to her, I could be counted on to take my clothes off and start streaking at any given moment. After my night-time bath it was nearly impossible to get me into my pajamas. And once my jammies came off the next morning, it was rather difficult to talk me into getting dressed.
Hunh.
Fast forward to today…
‘Naked’ is the new black. 😀
Why the hell should I wear clothes? Especially inside my own four walls? The answer: I shouldn’t!
Also… Exhibitionist, much?
Affirmative! 😉
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So I had a delightful conversation with me Mum over the weekend. Besides recounting various embarrassing (to her ~ not to me) anecdotes about my early onset of independence, she (unknowingly) snapped a few ethereal puzzle pieces into place for me. My proclivity for abandoning clothing was just one of the interlocking grooves that went ‘click’.
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I’ve often wondered why I am so different from my siblings. I’ve mentioned this before, but I tend to find myself listening to/looking at/thinking about my fellow spawn and shaking my head in bewilderment. Why am I the only one who __________? (Fill in the blank with any activity that has naturally negative consequences, and you will get the picture.) Perhaps the stork delivered me to the wrong people? Did the postman do more than ring twice? It baffles me.
Except after talking to She Who Made Me…
Maybe it doesn’t baffle me, after all.
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The age-old argument (no, not the one about which one came – heh – first) about nature versus nurture is definitely at work here. Regardless of what you believe in regards to birth order, birth month, birth sign, birth year, etc.: The simple fact of the matter is that, in some ways, we are who we are. The circumstances of our birth influence who we are. And we are that way from the beginning. Regardless of parenting (of lack thereof), hereditary traits, social strictures, and other post-birth poppycock.
Things that make you go hmmm…
For example: According to Mumsy, when I was a baby (newborn), I refused to be swaddled. I would pitch a fit of Biblical proportions and scream down the walls, kicking and fighting until I got out of the cocoon. I wanted to move. To be active. To be FREE. To do my own thing, even while I was sleeping. My youngest sister, on the other hand, wanted to be wrapped up tight and held. All the time. Cried for mom if she wasn’t near by.
To this day, I am independent. Can’t stand to be tied down. Literally (bondage is for OTHER people), emotionally (my heart has a mind of its own, and I adore my husband for not trying to rein it in), professionally (I’m definitely an entrepreneur), or in any other way. I’m not remotely interested in being coddled (being cherished is something else entirely), and when I feel cooped up I cope by busting out in some way, shape, or form. (And woe be to he who tries to stop me!)
Little sis, on the other hand, is extremely dependent on my parents. She’s a boomerang child. (She’s spent the majority of her adult life under my parents’ roof.) She still lives in the same town where she was raised and shows no interest in ever leaving. When she does separate herself from the ‘rents (if you consider ten miles to be a separation), she gets into all kinds of trouble. Amendment: Trouble. (Yeah, that kind.) And when trouble strikes, she still cries to mom.
I stopped judging a long time ago. At this point, I’m just trying to understand.
And ~ after a particularly enlightening conversation with Mom ~ I think I do.
Finally.
Because despite the fact that we exited the same woman’s birth canal and should ~ considering the similarities in our raisin’ (nurture) ~ be a lot alike, the simple fact of the matter is that being alike is not what nature intended.
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And speaking of nature…
I’ll be back to my natural state (nekkid!) soon. (Wanton Wednesday is tomorrow, after all.) My ‘A-Ha!’ moment is officially over. 😉
I grew up in a household that was totally prudish about nudity. Something about it was totally wrong to my parents. They were embarrassed and ashamed by any display of sexuality. Though I will say they were affectionate which made us feel like that was probably okay.
So the moment I was out of the house and the parents were at work, I went out in the woods and threw off all the clothes at any opportunity I could. I always totally loved my naked body and the feeling of the sun and the air gave me independence and freedom from my family.
I joined a nudist park and went there every weekend and holiday that I could. I played volleyball. I found I was totally comfortable in my own skin around other people. It was awesome.
So what you say is true; my mother was always very proud of my independence from the very first. I explored and questioned everything. Unfortunately my father didn’t like explorers and most of all he hated people questioning his orders. The role of children was to blindly obey, or be soundly beaten.
That was okay with me. When I was a toddler my mother said I would stand next to things I was told never to touch, and you could see the temptation overhwhelm me and I would pick the thing up and study it until someone noticed and took it away from me. She said I would hold out my hand for it to be smacked. The punishment was just the cost of doing business.
I still have no respect for the rules, as you can probably tell. I write my own. I think I have a good moral code. It’s just totally different from society’s norms.
So I wish we could have met as children. I think you would have inspired me to rebel in nakedness also.
I wouldn’t say you have ‘no respect’ for the rules. Rules are, after all, only boundaries. And you ~ better than any of my friends, I think ~ have immense respect for other people’s boundaries, even if you don’t contain *yourself* in the same manner. You have your own code by which you live; so do I. And you most definitely respect *my* rules, as clearly outlined on my home page. 🙂
I think our parents were of the same mind regarding nudity. I don’t particularly find the naked body to be sexual (we were born in our skin…nothing sexy about the birthing process), but I think they did. And sex is sinful (rolling my eyes), after all. Maybe it’s a generational thing…? Mine definitely freaked out over shows of skin. My biological father, especially. My mom’s second husband was the polar opposite though. He didn’t care if any of us wore clothes (it was a bit strange to go from one extreme to the other), but heaven forbid should we question his (*snort*) authority.
So…
Since I was unable to inspire you to rebel in nakedness when we were children, perhaps I could do so now? How about a little show of skin? 😉
you’re a free spirit – that’s all there is to it 🙂 never stop
Thanks, Kyle. 🙂
I often tell my husband I never want to stop, but he says, “Good grief, woman! You are insatiable!”
Hmm. That’s just what my wife says to me. Except she doesn’t call me woman, well not all the time.
Hmmm… What does she call you?
It depends on what we are doing and what role we are playing LOL!
Insert what? Where?
Tab A. Slot B.
All that business about clever titles was just a euphemism. 😉