The tranquility of our peaceful domicile was shattered recently when a torrent of exasperations erupted like a volcano from somewhere within our home.
“Seanny! Get out of here!”
Ah, young master Shamus, five years old, is in the bathroom and can’t take care of business with his kid brother looking on. Still sitting in the reading chair in the living room, I put the book down I was reading and called out to Sean (almost three), to stop badgering his big brother. To leave him alone. To, for goodness sakes, give him some privacy.
For once Sean obeyed his old man and walked out of the lavatory wearing a look of dejection, not comprehending this new set of boundaries with his brother.
It’s interesting that Shamus, the lad who, up until about five working days ago, enjoyed gallivanting around the house, au naturel, developed a sense of modesty. It was like some internal button or toggle switch was magically turned on. presto, magic-o: Hide your stuff!
What was the catalyst here?
I know it happens to almost all of us, but what changes do we experience as a child that turn us from happy children of no shame, sweet little cherubs, into shy individuals who shout out objections with Tourettes-like volume? Had Shamus been older and known the existence of cuss words, I am positive the smackin’ frackin’s would have been projected in Sean’s direction. As it was, only the frantic volume of his words revealed his true displeasure.
I reckon we can no longer call Mr. Shamus R, “Mr. Nakedy-Nake.” Our little boy-o is growing up. and of course, since he’s already reading I’ll soon have to stop writing about him. Damn, those too-smart-for-their-parents’-own-good kindergartners!
At least we still have Sean to count on for comedic episodes of undress to look forward to and laugh about. Fortunately, for me he can’t read yet, so that means I still have a few columns left to write.
Sean still has no shame and is up and willing to bathe with anyone: brother, mother, father. It doesn’t matter, in Sean’s world baths are great. The kid’s a fish and wouldn’t mind taking a bath three, four times a day, if only his mother would let him. He’ll be three on St. Patrick’s day, so he’s still naive, still sweet and still walks into the bathroom while others are bathing or whatever. It’s natural, I guess. We could lock the door, but that would be too much of an effort.
Recently, well actually, in the same five-working day time span that Shamus gained modesty, Sean learned something new. Upon walking in on his mother drying off from a bath, he noticed she was missing something. Unabashedly he asked and wanted to know where hers was. Unfortunately for the lad’s mother, most of the episodes involving gender awareness involve her and not yours truly.
She told him the truth and he didn’t believe it. I don’t know if he believes it yet — that Mommy is different from him, his brother and father.
Ah, youth . . .
If I think back to those thrilling days of yesteryear, during my own youth, I do remember a shower or two with my dad. I was about Sean’s age. However, I can never remember — and thus it must have never happened — seeing Mom in any state of undress. (If it ever did happen, I have mentally blocked it out of my consciousness . . . No . . . It never happened. I only showered with Dad. End of story. Forget I ever brought it up).
I don’t recall asking any questions either — but that was the 1960s, and kids didn’t ask questions. It’s 2003 now and as a society we have made progress.
Haven’t we?
Questions for Don can be e-mailed to: dontrushmedon@aol.com