Indecent Exposure: Can we spare our kids?

The first time my kids saw “Dancing with the Stars” my son, age 5 at the time, said, “Mom, why is that lady dancing in her underwear?”

On Monday night we watched a bit of the program again – OK, I was curious about all the hype regarding Kate Gosselin – and my daughter, age 8, asked another underwear question. “Wow, how does she even wear underwear with that dress mom?”

I wondered the same thing. For the next minute we were transfixed watching this dancer move as we tried to determine the answer. The entire right side of her was bare from her heel to her underarm, only a couple, thin rhinestone strings secured the dress across her hip. My daughter leaned closer to the TV, squinting to see more clearly, “Is she even wearing underwear?” she asked with a hint of concern for the woman who was performing a lot of really high kicks.

The producers of that show are masters of costume illusions. The audience is left to feel, at any given time, there is the real possibility a dress might fall off one of the beautiful women dancing across the stage. A most popular move is to just rip their dress right off, only to reveal a tinier outfit underneath.

I’m torn about this show. The professional dancers are amazing both physically and artistically. But the costumes are over-the-top risqué and the presentation of women is so highly sexualized, I don’t see the value of encouraging these ideals for my boys or my girl.

Not that you can really get away from it anymore. The entertainment industry is completely consistent in the way it treats women and girls. We are to be perfectly shaped, tanned, young and scantily dressed at all times. Our value is not in our brains or our heart but in how much we appeal sexually to men.

This characterization pervades so much of our culture and even touches our own arts scene I’m sad to say. At a recent local dance production, I was dismayed by the costume selections for the young girls. A majority of the numbers featured teen or pre-teen dancers in low-cut, spaghetti strapped dresses revealing a stage full of young girl’s cleavage and mid-rifts.

Many of the costumes were decorated with feathers and other embellishments in key areas. Some were translucent teddies that could have been purchased off the rack at Victoria’s Secret.

The show itself was top notch – the music was fun and modern, the choreography was creative and the quality of the dancers was fantastic. But intentionally or unintentionally, the costumes were distracting and created a sexual overtone for the show that was unnecessary and unfortunate. How was the audience of dads, brothers and grandpas to watch the show respectfully and appreciate it for the quality of the dance?

I’m not suggesting we cover our girls from head to toe and make them ashamed of their bodies. But, as the parents and adults who are influencing our young men and women, we need to push back hard against the cultural forces that exploit their sexuality and seek to elevate it to a position of prominence.

We need to draw boundaries for our kids – boundaries that protect their innocence, youth and budding sexuality. Boundaries that allow them to grow up gradually and gain confidence not only in their beautiful bodies but in the beauty, potential and value of their whole self.

Key to longevity comes in a cup

I am blessed to be friends with a neat woman named Alma. I don’t see her often but appreciate any time I have to be with her. Alma is always armed with a huge hug, kind words and a greeting that warms you like a Snuggie.

With her shoes on, Alma tops out at about five feet. Her tiny frame is all heart and spirit. At 86 years old, she still cooks, shops, drives, quilts, volunteers and cares for herself independently. During my last encounter with Alma I asked her to share her secret to longevity. “You know Alma. What gets you out of bed in the morning?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s easy,” she responded in a flash. I waited eagerly for her words, expecting nuggets of deep wisdom and inspiration.

“Coffee,” she stated emphatically. “Coffee is what gets me up every morning.”

This might be my favorite no-nonsense response of all time.

I thought a lot about Alma during the last six weeks for one simple reason. I gave up coffee for Lent.

My kids suggested this awful idea a year ago, when the last Lenten season was over. I nearly choked on a perfect cup of mocha when they said it.

“No way. I would never do that!” But as soon as the words left my mouth I knew it was destined to be my next Lenten sacrifice. Darn kids.

You’re probably drinking a cup of coffee right now, so take a sip and enjoy while I describe my coffee fast. The novelty of the sacrifice helped me survive the first few days of nagging headaches. Then I discovered home-brewed Chai tea – a bit too sweet and utterly void of coffee’s richness, but it provided some comfort for a few weeks.

About half-way through Lent I marched bravely into Starbucks one morning to stare temptation in the face. The smell alone made my legs wobble. I felt like Ferdinand, the bull who prefers to sit under a tree and smell flowers rather than fight like a respectable bull.

I wanted to sit in Starbucks and spend the day smelling the fresh ground coffee, but I feared the baristas’ stares might break my resolve. So I dashed out the door with a green tea latte – a terrible concoction that tastes like warm, seaweed flavored milk with too much sugar -- and cursed the wasted $5.

As my fast progressed, I not only missed the taste of coffee, but the routine of having it every morning. I missed the pleasure of sharing it with my husband and girlfriends. I missed the way it can substitute for sleep on occasions when this delicious commodity is in short supply.

And I really missed the heavenly combination of strong coffee, rich cream, and anything home-baked with butter and sugar.

I’m not exactly suspicious of people who don’t like coffee, not yet anyway, but I do have to fight the urge to feel sorry for them. What’s not to like? Coffee is the perfect vice – a no calorie, energy-boosting, entirely legal, socially acceptable drug that comes readily available in a cup and is endorsed by happy, healthy, long-living grandmas.

My fast proved I can live without coffee, but I’d really rather not. Forty days was enough for me. I’m not about to ignore Alma’s simple secret to longevity again anytime soon.