ActivismAges 2-5Parenting Styles

De-Boobed

It’s hard to figure out what to expose your child to. My kid is a boy, and he’s almost 4. He has a ton of typical likes, such as dinosaurs and sports and mud and pissing me off. He also has other interests, such as reading and giving me more hugs in an hour than is humanly possible, and music.  As a single mom, I do my best to make sure that SB has a wide range of experiences. So when a kids’ musical opened up at the Veteran’s Memorial building a few blocks from our house, I made sure that we went.

This was SB’s second musical, and he was very excited. The show was to start at 3, and we walked over at 2:20. We got decent seats in the auditorium and patiently waited for the show to begin. My friend Lois’s daughters were in the show, so she was there, and we talked briefly. SB stood next to me and wiggled and jumped around and climbed on me and was a typical almost-4 year old. The auditorium filled up, and people began to pack into the seats. Soon, there were only one or two free seats left. There were lots of kids there.

After a while, SB was getting pretty antsy. He kept crawling up on me, hugging me and kissing me. It was sweet at first, and then it was obvious that he was just doing it to be annoying. I gently pushed him off. He crawled back up. The childless couple behind us made a snide comment. I pushed him off and told him to sit down. SB, howling with amusement, reached up and grabbed ahold of my bra strap. I peeled his fingers off of it. That’s when SB, a wicked smile on his face, reached up and flipped my entire boob out of my bra.

I don’t have polite boobs. They’re not tiny and perky and cute. It’s not like it flipped out, giggled, said “hi” and somersaulted back into my bra. Oh no. In slow-motion, it slithered out of the bra, bounced up and down a few times on my shirt, and apparently emitted a distress call that was only audible to male ears. Heads turned sharply. Fingers pointed. Someone chortled. My tit did a tapdance, and I’m pretty sure it slapped me a few times as I wrestled it back into the bra. I hurriedly pulled SB onto my lap, brandishing him against my chest, and looked up at the crowd. “We apprehended the escaped convict, guys,” I called out. “You’re free to roam the aisles again.” Just at that moment, the lights flickered on and off, signifying (a) that the show was to begin and (b) that my boob had left the building, so to speak.

I don’t really care who sees my boobs, to be honest. Probably half of you reading this have seen them. But it was still a bit embarrassing to see the reactions of the people in the theater. Still, I knew that I was moving in a month or so, and I would likely never run into any of the people again, so it wasn’t a big deal. I settled in to watch the musical, which I suppose wasn’t awful when you consider that the actors were mostly 12. SB enjoyed it, which was the important part. It was a short play, and within 25 minutes there was a short intermission.

At the intermission, I happened to look up at the wall. On either side of the stage were huge painting depicting some agricultural scene. On the right side, there were men building something. Boring, really. On the left side… well, the one picture looked like it had Jesus talking to someone. I looked closer. Yes, it was absolutely Jesus. I thought carefully for a minute. Yes, I was in Veteran’s Memorial. I turned on my phone and texted Super Atheist Boyfriend, asking him who owned VM. He replied that it was the government. I looked up again. Jesus. “Son of a bitch,” I thought.

The play continued, and we clapped and laughed and enjoyed ourselves. We walked out and talked to my friend and her family, and I donated some money to help make sure that the children’s summer musical program continued. But the whole time, I was thinking about that Jesus on the wall. When my boob flipped out of my bra, everyone noticed. People stopped talking and stared at the Glory of My Tit. But nobody noticed the incongruity of the huge religious sign on the wall in a government-owned place; or, likely, no one cared. Why is it that my supple flesh caused more of a reaction than the obvious ignorance of our rights as Americans?

Tomorrow, I will be figuring out exactly who owns the Veterans Memorial, and if it’s a government group, then I will be contacting the Freedom from Religion Foundation. Perhaps the majority of the people in this small town don’t know or don’t care that religion does not need to be a part of daily life, but others do. And if there is anything I can do to get that Jesus picture taken down, then I will be doing that.

And, yes, I will keep my boob in my bra while I’m doing it. Don’t get all excited.

(awesome featured image of boobs by some person named Pondspider on Flickr)

Edited because I don’t think.

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Tori Parker

Tori Parker

Tori is a high school English teacher from Ohio (insert cheerleader kick here)! She is emphatic! She is skeptical! She is nifty! Her boyfriend says that they can get a potbellied pig someday and name him Bacon. She has a little boy whose pseudonym is SC, although he has recently asked that his name be changed to Henry. When asked for a comment to add on this bio, he asked, "Why do we sound like a bad '70's cop show?" So there's that.

2 Comments

  1. December 28, 2013 at 11:58 am —

    If it helps, my daughter once inquired loudly whether I was wearing a bra. And undies. In the Anglistics Department of my college while I was waiting for an appointment.

  2. Silverfeather13
    December 31, 2013 at 2:18 pm —

    I made the mistake of drinking coffee while reading this and actually snorted it out of my nose I was laughing so hard! My boobs also are not polite… and your overall point is absolutely dead on right!

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