The Joys of Naked as a Child, Then Lost.

The Joys of Naked, as a Child, then Lost.

I am often asked “Why Nekkid?”

To Me, in hind sight, the answer is simple. Freedom. I had this freedom as a child. That freedom was taken away at the age of twelve. But it is far more complex than just simply freedom from clothes. To me, Nekkid is more than “just not wearing clothes”. I am fully aware that most humans in America view nekkid as solely sexual. I do not understand, nor do I embrace this same view. I also am aware that most view any form of naked as Illegal. The Irony in this is: In most places, simply naked is not at all illegal. It becomes illegal when one makes it sexual, lewd, or obscene. Simply naked is none of these. Sadly, most choose to believe it is in fact all the above. Due to that common belief, anyone choosing to be simply naked, would risk arrest, being labeled some sort of sexual predator, or have labels attached to them that would forever damage that person. It is incredible how the innocent person is treated as a criminal in our society. The person who is completely legal in being naked, would be arrested, because even most police officers do not understand the laws. There could never be any charges filed, but that person would already be labeled, and the damage would be permanent.

What is Freedom?:
Freedom carries away many extremely heavy, and damaging things when it comes. I often hear people speak of “freedom” in terms of what life in The United States is. I have always been a U.S. Citizen, yet Freedom is something I did not have. This is a different kind of freedom. This freedom is not achieved through any kind of military, or laws, or treaties, declarations, or not even festive parades, or tying a yellow ribbon around an old oak tree. I believe that for there to be true freedom, we must embrace acceptance, do no harm to anyone (ourselves included), and not make something that is so simple, natural, and the way God made each and every one of us into something that it is not. Everybody wants to rally round the easy ones, and say they support freedom. But Do they Really Have Freedom?

As an adult, freedom is something I could not achieve. I had freedom as a child, so I knew what freedom was, and knew I needed to find it again. I was in the worst kind of prison, and could not find my way out. Freedom is not exactly free, but it is available for any who have the courage, strength, determination, and support to achieve it. I had None of these. (Or so I thought.) Also, far from simple was the path that led me to eventually re-gain my freedom. It is a path of the most complex obstacles one could imagine. Those obstacles include guilt, shame, humiliation, bullying, rejection, isolation, self-doubt, depression, fear, stigmas, and having to undo all the damage, and protective barriers I had built around my hideous body. (Or, more appropriately, what others had told me all my teenage, and adult life was a hideous body). Those obstacles also include helping those around you find acceptance, trust, understanding, and overcome their own fears, doubts, and all the heavy things they had built around their own reasons for not either wanting to see, or be seen nekkid. It involves showing by example, trust, and care. I had to learn to not only accept who I am, but also enjoy what I am. I had to learn that I was in charge of how I felt, and how I perceived myself. I had to learn that the human body was not grotesque, nor obscene. Far too long in life, I had allowed myself to fall victim to the people who bullied, teased, and made my life a living hell. I had learned how to hide who I am just to keep others happy. (Or more appropriately, to keep them from bullying me.) I had to learn that most of those who heaped the pain upon Me, were in fact the ones who were suffering the most. I had to learn that they were insecure, and scared. I had to learn that it was up to me take that away from them, and never give them that power again. If they could not have the power to harm me, then they were no longer in charge of me. Gaining my own freedom is The Absolute most difficult thing I have ever attempted in life. Gaining my own freedom was also the Most rewarding, positive thing I have ever done in my life! The only way to take that power and control away was to show them I accepted my body. This was my body. I was not ashamed. I am Human. This is how God made me. To NEVER be willing to hide, just to please them. I had to learn how to show the world I HAD MY FREEDOM.



THE FREEDOM I KNEW AS A CHILD:

At Home:

From what I have been told, living life nekkid was something I did long before I knew it was a choice! I am told that when I was a toddler, They could not keep me in my clothes. I Do have many memories of being nekkid as often as I could possibly get away with in much of my childhood. Mom always taught us that seeing naked people was no big deal. (That is, unless We were the ones naked) For reasons I never understood, we were taught “naked was fine”, “no big deal”, “they are just without clothes”…. Unless it was those of us who lived in our own home. This was, of course, not always true, so there was much confusion about the rules of nekkid. Some days we could play nekkid, and even our friends would be nekkid, and nobody cared. Some days, Mom and Dad would be naked, and nobody cared. Other days, it was forbidden. We would go to the neighborhood swimming pool, and when we got home, Mom would have us strip in the garage, so we did not drip in the house, but we were supposed to cover-up in a towel to go inside to get dressed (even though all of us, and our friends stripped naked together and changed into our swimsuits before going, and then stripped off our wet suits all together in the garage.) When it would rain, We delighted in getting to go out splashing in the puddles in our fancy yellow rubber raincoats, and rubber boots. Mom would have us wear only our underwear underneath, so our clothes would not be soaked. We would Run, and stomp all up and down the street, soaking ourselves, even inside our coats. As soon as we were at the playground, we knew we were out of Mom’s sight. That is when the total bliss would begin! We stripped off the raincoats, and underwear, keeping on only the boots, which were totally filled with sloshing water! We would laugh, and play, and run all around totally nekkid, soaked from the rain, and have not a care in the entire world. Of course, Every neighbor saw us, and Not a one of them cared that we were naked. (We lived in a great community, where everyone knew one another, and also kept an eye on each other’s kids.) I am sure that they did tell Mom, but nothing was ever said, so we just totally enjoyed the bliss. Anyone who ever tried to put on wet underwear knows how difficult that is. So, we would put our soaked underwear in the coat pocket (which was also filled with water!) and play, and stomp, and splash all the way back. We would arrive back home once we were totally exhausted, cold, and ready for a hot bath. Mom would always greet us in the garage, and we knew that was the place to strip, so we always did… hoping she would not notice we were not wearing our underwear. She would always have the hot bath ready. No matter who was there, which friends joined us, or even if there were other house-guests, This was one of those times naked was totally acceptable. We Stripped, and went through the house to the bath, and all climbed in the tub together. Yes, we all went through the kitchen, dining room, past the family room, and living room in full-naked view of any and all who were there, and nobody seemed to care. Dad never really had any hang-ups one way or another about naked. Sometimes he would be, and sometimes not. It was never a big deal to him. He never seemed to even blink if anyone else was, and He never seemed uncomfortable about it.

In Nature:

As kids, even though Mom had funny rules about nekkid in our own home, we often enjoyed naked freedom when we were in nature. The back yard also seemed to not have rules about nekkid. We were often found playing naked in the yard with assorted friends, and neighbors. Some of the greatest joys we found were when we could bury one another in our sandbox, or create a mud-hole to play-in. Camping seemed to remove all barriers that existed at home. Even the rivers, lakes, and beaches often naked was completely acceptable. Of course, we learned early in life that we had to go with the flow, of what would be permissible, depending on who we were with on any given day. But usually, nobody even blinked twice, or was surprised to see somebody nekkid. Adult, or kid, it did not seem to matter. I learned that nature took away most barriers, and restrictions that we were bound by at home.

At neighbors:

The same was true at most of our friend’s houses. Many of the families we were friends with would often be naked at random times. It was just considered a normal thing in the home, and considered normal among people who were friends. Nobody cared if you were a boy, or a girl, nor did it matter if the adult was a man or a woman. People saw one another naked. There was never anything inappropriate, or harmful. It was just simply life. It did always seem odd to me that seldom did any of the parents show nudity when the other parents were around, even though it was well-known nakedness occurred in the other homes. It almost seemed that for some reason adults were not allowed to be nekkid in another adult’s home. That was different in Grandma’s neighborhood.



At Grandma’s:

As kids, at Grandma’s house, the rule was simple: If Mom was not there, we could play nekkid in the back yard, in the bedrooms, bathrooms, in the rec-room, Grampa’s workshop, the carport, even the front yard- on occasion, the laundry room, and at Grampa’s Bar. The only places we were not to be nekkid was in the kitchen, dining room, or Living room. (But even those were occasionally allowed.) Those were considered “the Formal” Rooms. Everyone who ever visited Gramma’s knew they might see a naked person. Even when she entertained in a formal manner, it was known that outside those formal settings, nekkid was acceptable, and even welcomed. The formal rooms looked over the yard, and nobody ever complained. So, we got A LOT of nekkid-freedom at Gramma’s house! Grandma was often nekkid in her room, or the pool area, but Grandpa never was. Even when Grampa and Gramma’s friends were naked, Grampa would not be. He never had a problem with anyone being naked, and was quite social around everyone, naked, or not, yet for whatever reason he had, He would Never be seen Naked, Except One time that I can remember. And that one time, we happened to both become Naked Smurfs! You can read about that summer, here: http://enterwithanopenmindorclosedeyes.blogspot.com/2012/05/summer-grampa-and-i-became-naked-smurfs.html . Grampa usually was not naked, unless showering, or changing. He never hid when he was doing these, but would not go about naked. The whole back yard was visible to the neighbors, but they were often naked, too, so nobody cared about anyone being seen nekkid. We often had friends over with us, or neighbors of Grandma’s would be over. Many of our friends would often go naked. Some of them did not care to be nekkid along with us, but they never complained that we were. There were occasions when a friend was not comfortable seeing others naked, and we would gladly wear our suits. I was naked as much as possible. Grandma, and Grandpa’s House was always comfortable, welcoming, and seldom judge-mental. There were no barriers. It did not matter if someone was young, or old, male, or female. At Grandma’s house, every single human was treated the same. Nobody even blinked, whether it was an infant, child, teenager, young adult, adult, or even an old person. It was Never seen as anything to be ashamed of, or in any way sexual. Nobody ever accused anybody of being inappropriate around children. The parents of our friends never once called us perverts, or thought of us as inappropriate. They also enjoyed the freedom their children were allowed to enjoy. There were photographs taken, and nobody ever once thought of it as child-pornography! Our society, as we knew it, was not hung-up on making nekkid into a bad thing. None of us were ever touched inappropriately, nor did we ever have anything sexual happen just from us being nekkid. We got soo much joy out of doing all the things we would do anyhow, but nekkid! Many times, it was fun to watch others discover this joy, freedom, and learn that naked was actually safe, free, and took away so many barriers in life. Also funny, and sometimes surprising was the eagerness of some to strip-off! (Often the ones you least expected, were the happiest nekkid.) It was also interesting to watch the surprise, and to some, the horror of them seeing Grandma, or any other “old” adult come out the back door, fully naked, and just walk to the pool, and go for a swim. Often, it was the adults who had the most hang-ups about seeing other people naked, or even to be seen nekkid by others, and it was always fun to watch them as they found out how easy it was to accept, and be accepted. It was always fun to see how they soon forgot they were naked. Even though Mom had her funny rules about it at home, and we were supposed to be nekkid at Grandma’s only when Mom was not there, often Mom would come over, and see us, and would just laugh.

Freedom taken Away at Age 12:

This freedom and joy continued until I was twelve. Most would guess that twelve is when I hit puberty, and it was because of that. I wish it were that simple. The Main event that changed for me when I was twelve was our sudden moving from California to Oregon, and the new environment that came with that move. My world got rocked, twisted, and turned completely upside down. Everything changed after that.
You can read more about "when My family moved out of state when I was at Summer Camp", Here: http://enterwithanopenmindorclosedeyes.blogspot.com/2011/09/surprise-your-family-moved-out-of-state.html
Or about suddenly finding myself in a new state, and new city in my blog titled "welcome to Portland, Oregon" : http://enterwithanopenmindorclosedeyes.blogspot.com/2011/09/to-portland-oregon.html
The Sudden move was life-altering, but there was more:

(Be forewarned: This paragraph contains a Very Disturbing event that happened to me)

Also, significant, and life-altering was an event that happened a few months before we moved: At twelve, another boy, a year older than me, attempted to sexually molest me. I say attempted, because I would not allow it. He and my brother were riding toward me in the alley. He stopped, and blocked me in a corner. My brother kept riding until he was halfway down the alley, then stopped to watch, grinning the whole time. The boy managed to get my pants down, and attempted many bad things that made me feel suddenly not good when naked. I understood right and wrong, and I knew better than to allow someone to do wrong in that manner to me. I resisted, and struggled with every ounce of my tiny body. I was a tiny kid, and this boy was big! I could not get him away from me, but I could resist his attempts, by keeping every muscle in my body tense, so he could not insert anything into me. He attempted everything you could imagine, and even tried to get me to do the same to him, but I would not have anything to do with any of that. I would not touch him, or willingly allow his touches. My head was spinning, and I could not form a clear thought to get away from him. At one point, I even had a rock in my hand, but he got that away from me. He had me on the ground, and did not care that he was hurting me, scraping on the gravel, and getting me dirty. He was a friend of my brother, and my brother watched as this happened in the alley a block from our house. Among the hundreds of things going through my mind was the one of “why does my brother hate me so much, and why is he always trying to have others hurt me?” The boy was frustrated, and threatened to beat me up if I did not allow him to do what he wished. I told him to go ahead and beat me up, because that was more acceptable than what he was hoping to do. I’d been in plenty of fights, already, and yes, I was scared, but knew that no matter what, eventually someone would come down this alley, and stop him. He threatened to steal my bike. He never beat me up, and then tried to make me smoke with him. I also refused to do this. He got frustrated, and shoved me to the ground, and rode off on his bike. He did not steal my bike when he left. My brother had gone by now. Not only did I feel dirty from this, I was also dirty, and scraped-up, humiliated, confused, scared, and hated my brother even more than I ever had. I pulled my pants up, and ran to our house with my bike, and told Dad what happened. My brother was not home. He told me to go shower. After the shower, He told me to never tell anyone about it. He took me out driving to find this boy. But I quickly learned he was not really trying to locate him. He also never said a word to my brother. That was The First thing that started to change my view about nekkid, and free. It was also the first time I was confused about “doing the right thing”. Why had Dad not done anything about this? He was the (retired) police officer! Why would he allow this? It was the first time I started to not trust other people.

I Learned early in life that naked was wonderful, and free… most of the time….. At age twelve, I learned it can be used for bad things.

My fear, and distrust of groups of boys:

As much as I loved Nekkid, I Would Never Be naked, or even be seen changing clothes in any area where there was a group of boys. (Even long before that boy tried to molest me) A couple of my own friends, yes, but a group, never! And If I had a choice, Never around My brother. This was especially troubling at Public Pools, Summer Camps, or even other camping trips, outdoor events, or road-trips with large groups. I would go to great effort to change inside a sleeping bag, or find a stall to change in (hoping nobody saw under the door, or through the cracks), always wear my swimsuit under my clothes, or even go as many days as possible without changing. I would find ways to get up extra early, so I could be changed before anyone else woke-up. Why, would it matter if there was a group of boys? I do know that something was done to me at a very early time in my life that made me very uncomfortable around many boys. All my life, I have sought the answer to this. My memory of most events in my life is incredibly vivid, and detailed. But this is something I do not have memory of. I have asked, and tried to understand. Maybe, the memories of what happened are best if I do not know. I do not know who did something to me, or what happened. I did often notice that there were certain people in my life that would never be seen naked, nor would they stick around when others were playing naked. I always found that strange. (This is different than those who would not be naked, but would still be accepting, and social with those who were.)

I learned early in life that Most Boys are extremely mean, cruel, hurtful, and not nice in any way. I found that a few were actually nice, and not mean, and those were the ones I was friends with. It is no surprise that I had more friends who were girls, than boys. And, ironically, the girls did not mind if I was naked, nor was I ever embarrassed to be seen naked by them. They were not mean. The girls accepted me, and enjoyed who I was, and allowed themselves to relax, play, and be free... the same as me. The last thing I was about to allow even more of was ridicule, vulnerability, and the chance to be caught, metaphorically speaking, ‘With My Pants Down’ around the boys who would be as mean as possible to me. I have always hated the way most boys behaved, and being naked around them just was not a comfortable thing.

7th grade: a new home, a new state, a new school, and a whole new level of mortal humiliation:

All my life, I have always been active, and actually enjoyed physical fitness, activities, being healthy, and learning about these things. At age 12, I started 7th grade. There was a class called P.E., which stood for “Physical Education”. It was mandatory, but I thought it was about learning more on a healthy lifestyle, and fitness. Imagine my horror when the very first day of being in a brand-new school, where I did not know a single other person, to find out the rest of what happens in P.E. All the boys have to go into a locker room without walls, doors, stalls, or anything else to find cover in, and change clothes. Everybody changes clothes at the same time, just inches from the other boys, and the teacher is standing there watching you change, too! Then after class, we all are marched back into the locker room, made to strip, and all take showers together in one big wide-open shower with a dozen shower-heads. The teacher (coach) stood right there, yelling at each of us, ordering us what to do, and making us stand right next to each other, and shower all together, with absolutely no walls, barriers, or even an inch of space between each other. Then you line-up, all together, cold, naked, wet, humiliated, and he hands you a “towel”. The towel they hand you is barely bigger than a washcloth, extremely thin, and smells like it has never been washed! And then you hurry to get dressed in your school-clothes so you can make it to your next class on time. The behavior of all the boys in the locker room was THE WORST I had ever been exposed to (Ha! Quite literally Exposed!!) I could not believe how horrible those people were! Even in front of the teacher, the inappropriate ways they would handle others, and themselves was the absolute most horrifying feeling ever. To all these boys, and even the teacher, this was considered normal. Nobody had ever taught these people to keep their hands to themselves. Then, in the next class, many of the same boys were in there. They were mean. It seems I was the only new kid. The rest in that class all knew one another. They talked about me. About how skinny I was. They talked about how I looked like a skeleton. About how my parts that designated me as ‘male’ looked compared to theirs. They talked about how I was not as developed as they were. They talked about how they had hair in places I did not. They talked about how scared I looked, and how freaked-out I was by their “normal” activities. Even the girls enjoyed their stories. This was going to be The Worst School! They were MEAN! That day, the school counselors got to know me. But the counselors did not see anything they thought was abnormal for junior high kids. They told me I was just new to this area, and would get used to it.

Walking home from school that first day, I learned that some of those mean boys that were in my P.E. class were also our neighbors. This meant that they were walking the same place I needed to walk. They took the opportunity to “establish” the pecking-order in the neighborhood. That day, I learned a new route home from school. It was easily a half-mile further to walk, but was well worth it. After I got home, I met some of the other neighbor kids. Oh, lucky me! All boys. Every house in the entire surrounding neighborhood All Boys…. And there was one girl. (I later learned there was another girl, too) All the boys were into football, basketball, fighting, wresting, and hunting. They all shot guns around the neighborhood on a regular basis. There were no fences around the yards. Everyone felt they could go through any yard any time they wanted. That meant there was absolutely no place I could escape to. There was absolutely no place I could call my own. There was no respect for personal boundaries. Inside the house, I had to deal with my brother. Outside, I had to deal with the neighbors, and at school, I had to deal with mean bullies.

Finding a safe hiding place:

All of a sudden, everybody I was around made me feel insecure, and want to curl-up, and hide. Hide my body, hide my spirit, hide my joy. Joy, fun, and freedom were not accepted in this place. My entire family suddenly was not accepting of naked anymore. Suddenly naked was shameful. I did not understand these sudden changes. It did not take long for me to withdraw from being social at all in this environment. I managed to create a tree-fort in a tiny little tree in our yard. This gave me a little place I could escape to. My Brother could not climb trees well, so he did not try. I built it solid enough, that I could block the opening from the inside, and none of the neighbors could get in easily. Oregon was not as good a place as California for staying outdoors for long periods of time. It rained a lot. On rare occasions, I could spend many hours, and even sometimes sleep in my tree-fort. That was a wonderful thing for me. I would get naked in my tree-fort. I had to keep it a secret because I was no longer in a safe environment. I was only safe inside my Tree-Fort. I also met the farmer, named Hank, who lived behind us. (My tree hung over his property). He was a nice guy. He would allow me to go anywhere on his property. He often started talking to me while I was in my tree. He gave me some boards to use, and many times I would help him with his farm. None of the neighbor boys were allowed on his property, and my brother had no interest in going there, so this became another safe place for me. We got to know each other, and he was very safe, and comfortable. He said he knew I was often naked in my tree, and I was welcome to be as naked as I felt comfortable in his property. His barns were wonderful, and he had many very large trees I could make a cozy-spot under. Often, when it was rainy, I would take my homework into one of his barns, be naked, and do my homework in a cozy, safe place. He had a large family that lived there, and I met most of them over time, but they seldom came out in the farm area. They used the yard near the house, mostly.

Secretly naked… or so I thought:

Hank knew my “hiding spots” and would often come and chat. The first few times, I would attempt to cover-up, but he always told me to relax. I soon realized he was the most comfortable, safe man I had ever been around, and I never tried to hide, or cover when he came around. He reminded me of my Grandpa. He never did anything unusual toward me, nor did he even seem to notice I was naked. I had found my safe place, and enjoyed every minute of my “secret” freedom. I say “secret” because I believed he was the only one who knew. It turned out that he informed his whole family, so none of them would accidentally make me uncomfortable. I had gotten so used to hearing him around, and not getting alarmed when I heard footsteps, that I was a bit surprised to look up and see his wife and daughter offering me some iced tea one summer day. I had been “hiding” under a tree reading for many hours, and they were concerned that I might not have enough liquid. I quickly tried to cover up, and his daughter started giggling, and shoving the glass of iced tea toward me, saying she had seen me naked every time I was out here, and she would not have come out if it was going to make me uncomfortable. I was a bit surprised! But I also could tell that her giggles were not making fun of me, but of a humored acceptance. I looked at her mom for reassurance that this was ok. She Smiled, and nodded her head. I was a bit baffled, but they managed to show they were sincere, and asked if they could join me. They sat down under the tree, and we just talked. They said I could stay naked, but they did not undress, which was fine with me! I had met hank’s wife before, and only heard that he had an “older daughter”. It turns out that she is in high school (I was in 7th grade). Neither one of them ever looked at my body as if it was a bad thing. While we talked, I was very aware of my vulnerability, and watched for the slightest sign that they might turn this against me somehow. I was extremely cautious how I went about life now. While we talked, there was not one single moment when either of these two ever made me uncomfortable. It was clear that the naked body was not something they saw as shameful. They explained how Hank had told them about me, and even told them where I liked to “hide”, so they could help me by not scaring me off. After sitting and talking a while, learning that they were just as safe and wonderful as Hank was, they asked if I wanted a tour of the house. I got my clothes on, and we went for a walk. It was a beautiful old farm-house. It even had a basement (which was full of all their home-grown stuff in glass jars they had canned themselves!), and a full-attic, with windows too! They showed me all the big rooms, and the little nooks. I was in love with the attic! We went back up there, and hank’s daughter showed me the window where she had her desk set-up. This was her own “hiding spot”. Then she explained that from her window, she could see the entire property, clear out to my tree-fort. No Wonder she had seen me nekkid every time I was out there! I sat in the chair, and looked out, then looked back at her. She just shrugged, and grinned. The grin, and the calm silence showed me two things that I would cherish forever. She accepted me, and even enjoyed that she could watch me out there. She had "secretly" watched me when I thought I was 'hiding' and naked. This was not a threat, or even bad. I was just a little boy, needing a safe place, and knew she did not see me in any other way. The smile she gave showed that she understood, and enjoyed my 'secret freedom'. I asked her how many others watched me. She told me that a few of her own friends also knew, and enjoyed seeing me find security, but that none of them ever had a problem with it. She told me I am safe there. She gave me a hug before we walked out. This, too, was wonderful! (I was not used to getting hugs, and to have someone who had just revealed she knew so much about me, and saw me often in my most vulnerable give me a loving, caring hug made a huge impact on me!) So, I Learned that I could indeed be nekkid, and safe in a mean world, as long as I kept it a “Secret”.

My Sister has Always been a safe person. She Never made me feel uncomfortable. She never minded if I was naked, and was the one person I never had to hide from. Right after moving to Oregon, She made sure she was Never seen naked anymore. Suddenly, she always hid, always went into a bathroom, and locked the door even just to change clothes. I also did not understand this sudden change in the one person who had shared as much of the joys of nekkid as I had. I tried to ask her about it, but it was suddenly an off-limits topic. Even when she suddenly changed, she still accepted me, no matter what. She Never made me uncomfortable about if she saw me nekkid. Often I was home alone, or it would just be me and my sister. I would often be naked for brief periods of time in the house, but Always nervous someone else would come home, so it was hardly freedom. I was always especially looking out for my brother, and made sure I would Never be naked around him. I got into the habit of making sure Nobody I knew would see me naked, with a few exceptions as I discovered a very few who were truly safe, but I mostly felt I needed to hide my nakedness.

That is the pattern I followed for almost the next 24 years. I knew I needed to keep my nekkid mostly a secret. I was made to feel my body was something that should never be seen. That changed in 2004. See blog titled “My First Time (Publicly) Nekkid”:
http://enterwithanopenmindorclosedeyes.blogspot.com/2011/08/wearin-only-purple-toenail-polish-and.html
That blog is the start of my finding my long-lost freedom in life…



You might wonder why I am writing, and exposing myself to the world. (Yes, I am telling anyone who cares enough to read this some things I have NEVER told anyone EVER before. Some of this, I have discussed and tried to keep open with many of my family, friends, and others when the time was right, but much of it has either been quickly dismissed, or made people uncomfortable, so the discussions never continued.) I have felt an urging to write many of the stories that have shaped my life. I am using creative expression by way of writing for many reasons. The first reason is for my own benefit. Call it selfish, but I feel the need to write these events. To me, it is very therapeutic to start writing when the thoughts, and mood occur. And Second, is purely my love for helping others to find understanding, acceptance, and possibly hope in either their own daily struggles, or possibly in helping someone they know. Perhaps it will help someone to understand me just a little bit. Whether it helps directly, or indirectly, if it helps at all, That is why I Find joy in this! If my writings of my struggles, and overcoming life’s obstacles manages to give you, or another understanding, hope, help you understand simply naked, encourages another to be a little more kind to another or just gives you a good laugh, and you forget your own troubles for even a moment then it is worth it. Thank You for Reading! I Hope You Have A Wonderful, and SAFE Day!! JOn~=:-)

My Favorite Blanket Came out of Storage Last Night

My Favorite Blanket came out of storage last night.

Yesterday was Labor Day. To many people in The U.S., it marks the unofficial end of summer. The reason it is unofficial, is because that is usually the last long weekend they have while the weather is still good. Often schools begin again immediately following Labor Day (although lately many across the nation have begun in August). The Official end of summer is not actually until the Fall Equinox, September 21st. However, when Labor Day arrives, one notices dramatic changes in the season.

I am currently living in Las Vegas. Vegas is in The Mojave Desert, so it would come as no surprise that we see temperatures well-above 100 degrees all summer long. I moved here in February from Oregon, specifically to enjoy the warm climate. March, and April, the temps started to warm up enough that I could sleep with the windows wide open, but still needed a blanket. By the time June came around, I had long since packed-away all the blankets, and occasionally needed a sheet while sleeping. Once July came, we had daily temperatures that were never below 100 degrees, often mid-day saw 110-115. I Leave my windows wide open, and they face south, so my apartment would easily reach 110-115 by evening. Ahhhh, The most perfect climate for me! During the night, I would sleep with a fan in the window, and one at the foot of my bed. Never needing even a sheet, and I Loved it! By morning, the temperature outside had dropped to about 90 degrees, sometimes in the 80’s, but it not got “chilly”. (My body defines chilly as anything below 80 degrees.) This is just how my body is, I have no say-so in how I was made. I am comfortable at anything above 80, and chilly at anything below 80.

Irony: Yesterday was Labor Day. It was also the very first day in many months where the temperature did not reach 100. Vegas had clouds, and drizzle all day. Do ya suppose the Sun decided it was done with summer, and took a holiday?  The sunsets are now happening right around 7 and completely dark by 8. It was less than a month ago, I could watch the sunset around 9, and darkness did not come until 10. I have watched as the arc of the sun has gotten dramatically lower, and high-noon now casts a quite long shadow. The sunrises are not happening at 5 anymore. The first signs of daylight are not until 6.

With Temperatures below 100 yesterday, and a breeze last night, I pulled out my favorite blanket before bed. I knew it would get chilly by morning. It did. My apartment was close to 70 degrees when I woke at 5 this morning. Outside was 72 degrees with a cool breeze. I always make my coffee, and go enjoy the morning on my balcony. I love everything about being outside as much as possible. Watching the day come to life with a fresh cup of coffee, in my comfy chair on my balcony is a beautiful way to start the day. Even in the City of Las Vegas, one can find nature all around them if they look. I hear an owl every morning in a nearby tree. I see birds looking for breakfast, I see the stars fade, as the dawn breaks. I see the color f the sky turn from black, to grey, to light blue, to pinks, purples, and finally brilliant blue as the sun reports for work every morning.
I usually can come and enjoy my morning on the balcony without even a blanket. This morning, was a bit too chilly for me. For me, needing to grab a blanket is not a bad thing. But I do not grab just any blanket. I HAVE THE MOST WONDERFUL BLANKET ever created, and it is MY FAVORITE BLANKET! What makes this blanket so wonderful?

On my 37th birthday in 2005, I was living in the garage of my best-friend’s house. I had gotten pneumonia again. I was working too many hours, and running myself ragged. I came home from work, and the ONLY thing I wanted to do was crash-out, and sleep. My friend (Cara) texted me when she saw me pull in the driveway to ask me to come inside the house for a few minutes. I wanted to ignore the text, and just go crash-out. There are many people I can just ignore, and a rare few that I absolutely could not. Cara was one of those few I cherished, and would not ignore. I had to go see what she wanted. When I walked inside, she could see how horrible I felt. She hugged me, and told me to stand there a minute. Then she came out, and wrapped a blanket around me. She hugged me, held me, and said “Happy Birthday.” Even in my wishing I were dead sickness, I could see the love that was just wrapped around me!

This, I Knew was THE MOST WONDERFUL, LOVE-FILLED Birthday present I had ever received! This blanket was the first one I had ever had that was actually longer than I was. It was not a tiny little blanket. Nor was it a skimpy, almost worthless thing that someone just threw together fast. The colors matched my personality perfectly, the yarn was heavy, and the knitting was done perfectly! As I admired this wonderful work of craftsmanship (or craftswomanship), She explained how hard it was to create. It was no small little knitting project she could easily stuff under a cushion when I came in. It was twice as big as she was, and not a light-weight, easy, fast project. She had found a yarn that matched my personality perfectly. The color was variegated, starting at the darkest blue possible, going through the entire color-spectrum all the way to the lightest yellow possible.

This blanket was knit to have plenty of warmth, but with large enough holes in the pattern to for it to allow air both in and out. It created warmth, but never made me sweat. I could be warm, and still feel the fresh-air through it. One of my favorite things to do at night is to watch the stars wearing nothing at all. This is not always easy when it is cold outside. This blanket became my star-gazing wrap. I could still feel like I was nekkid, yet have warmth. I could feel the night-air, yet not be freezing parts off.

There were many things I left behind when I (literally) ran-away from life as I knew it in Oregon in August of 2005, But this blanket was not one of those things. While I am not trying to make light of that whole situation by just glossing-over it, I only mention it to show the reference and importance of this blanket, and what it represented. (Eventually, I will write in detail about that event).
When one is running away, there also is irony: Every night when I would find a secure place to sleep a few hours, what did I wrap myself in? Yup, even sleeping under the stars in a corn-field, I slept with only the wrapping of Cara’s blanket. It Helped. After I settled in Virginia, and was back in contact with Cara again, one of the first things she asked me was, “You didn’t get rid of the blanket, did you?” We both understood what this blanket was. I even took it into The Salvation Army Shelter. Even though I knew it was a risk, because nothing was safe in that place…. But I also believe there is more in this blanket than just yarn. As Cara put herself into this blanket, God also wove himself into every fiber. (No, I am not saying this blanket IS God, nor do I worship this blanket AS God). I Believe God has a hand in all things created with love.

Virginia has some of the most breath-taking thunderstorms I have seen. They often came through during a summer night. I always went outside to watch them, wrapped in only this blanket. I would sit on the hood of my car, leaning against the windshield, and using the cover of the carport to stay just out of the storm’s drenching. Even in summer, the storms blew cold. The wind, and rain were wild! In this blanket, I was kept warm, yet through the large holes, I could feel every bit of nature in it’s fury. The wind and rain would hit my skin, the blanket would be wet, but I never got cold. I had two wonderful neighbors there. Lucy was a 22-year old college girl. Sandy was a 42-year old lady who had never met a male she could trust. Often, they would come and join me on the hood of my car, and all three of us would wrap in this blanket. They each were so completely different in everything about their lives. Lucy loved to be naked, and loved the storms. Sandy would never go naked (except on Memorial Day.. You can read about that here: http://enterwithanopenmindorclosedeyes.blogspot.com/2012/06/get-naked-on-roof-for-memorial-day.html ) , and was scared to death of storms. All three of us fit perfectly. Sandy, the one who would never go naked, and even was not comfortable seeing naked until she met us, for some reason found comfort in the company of two who were not at all uncomfortable with it. She also found comfort and safety in a storm from two people who not only loved storms, but went out into them. I say it was the blanket ~Grin~ You decide.

This Blanket has traveled across The United States twice. It has moved to new homes along with me dozens of times. It has held me close, kept me warm, and reminded me there is love. There is not a single time I use it, or even see it, that does not make me smile.

The photo at the top of this page was taken at 5:30 this morning. The first chilly morning. This is Wonderful! Coffee, Early morning Chill, and THE MOST WONDERFUL BLANKET EVER CREATED!

Thank You, Cara! I Love You, and always feel your loving, caring, hands in every stitch against my body.

"Welcome to Portland, Oregon"

“Welcome to Portland, Oregon”

That is the announcement the pilot just made. I was 12, and I just arrived in my new home.

Yesterday, I was a carefree kid at summer camp in California, about to return to where I thought my home was, which was Modesto, Ca. A Lot happened while I was away at camp. Today, I landed at Portland, Oregon, my New home.
Yup! My World just got interesting. My family moved out of state while I was at summer camp!

(See the blog http://enterwithanopenmindorclosedeyes.blogspot.com/2011/09/surprise-your-family-moved-out-of-state.html )

The events that led to my family moving to Oregon were not a surprise. What was surprising was that it actually happened, and suddenly, too! We had come to believe it would not.

My Dad designed and built the 9-1-1 emergency system which is used nation-wide now. Many of you do not remember when 9-1-1 did not exist for emergency calls. Prior to dialing 9-1-1, there was a list of phone numbers posted by the phone for each emergency agency. There was a separate number for police, for fire, and for ambulance. Each system had their own dispatch center, instead of what we now know as an all-in-one center. The individual agencies would contact the other agencies to attempt to coordinate needed services. As you can imagine, this was not efficient, and often left plenty of room for error.

In the 1970’s, using his background, and education in communications, phone companies, computers, military, and emergency services, my Dad helped develop a universal system for a one-call emergency dispatch system. This is what the 9-1-1 system is. A Person calls one number, and that dispatch center handles all dispatches for all emergency services needed. He was well-known, respected, and in high demand as communities across America started adapting the new 9-1-1 centers. He often traveled to train and assist others in getting their systems started, and learn the details. Often many communities would send their people to where he was already building a system. They would learn, and take those skills back home to their own community to implement. The system was expanding rapidly. My dad was always busy, always traveling, and in extreme high demand. To us, that was just normal. That was his job, and where he was dedicated.

We understood how he needed to travel, and how important this was. At the time, we lived in San Jose, California. This was our community, our home, our lives. As you can imagine, once an area is up and running with the new system, he would have worked himself right out of a job. He had to keep expanding to newer areas. For a while, he was able to just keep working outward from where we lived in San Jose. In 1978 there was no longer anything local for him, so we had to move. We moved 90-miles away to a new town, called Modesto, California. It was the middle of the school year when we moved. (At the time, I was convinced that the REAL Reason we moved was because Mom did not approve of my new “Girlfriend”. I was 10, and in the fifth-grade. Jenny was a redhead, and she had recently taught me how to pop my knuckles. Mom did not like this idea at all! Shortly after this, is when we moved.)
Moving to Modesto was the first time since the age of two that we had moved. So, this was a new experience for us kids. It was still close-enough to our old home, friends, and community in the San Jose area. We were still able to stay connected to what was familiar, and where we had our roots. We often drove the 90-miles to stay involved.
Dad’s work and travel continued while we lived in Modesto. After two years there, he was completely out of work in that region. People in Portland, Oregon were needing his skills, and made him an offer to move up there. He loaded up a few things in his van, and off he went by himself. Mom and Dad told us we all were moving to Portland, but for now it was just him.

They listed our house for sale, and often Mom would fly-up to help Dad look for a house in Portland. We packed much of our house, and just kept living in Modesto. Dad got a small apartment. After school was out, Dad came back down with his van, and took another load. This time, my brother, Jeff, also went up with him. So, now dad and Jeff were living in Portland. My sister (Jodi), my Mom, and I stayed in Modesto, along with the dog, and cat, too! Mom had stopped going to Portland to look for housing, and left it up to Dad. Meanwhile, it seemed our house was not going to sell. They insisted we would live like this until the house sold. Jodi and I were not unhappy about this, because it was peaceful. For many years, it had seemed Mom and Dad were heading for divorce. Jeff was a holy-terror, and this was the first time in years it was peaceful at home.

We packed as much of the house as we could, while still leaving enough out to live in it. After many more months, Dad had not yet found a house in Portland, and our California home was not selling, either. Mom finally got a new realtor with the hopes of actually selling before the upcoming school-year started again. She wanted to get us moved, and start fresh at the new school at the beginning, not in the middle.

Once mid-August came around, it looked as though we were not going to move. Mom and Dad would stay separated. Jeff would stay in Portland with Dad, and the rest of us would not move. Jodi and I got registered at the schools in Modesto, thinking we were going to stay. Then it was time for my already scheduled summer camp. Mom drove me to San Jose so I could catch the camp-bus at the YMCA we belonged to. I went off to camp, and expected that next week when I returned, Mom would pick me up, and then it would only be another week until school started.

I was completely unaware of what was happening the week I was at camp. (I was at camp. That meant no worries.) Once the camp bus returned to The Y, Mom was not there. Instead, I was picked-up by my Grandma. She took me to her house without any word of what was happening. She was calm, smiling, and that gave me all the reassurance that nothing was wrong. It was not uncommon to spend time at Grandma’s. I just thought Mom would meet me there. No worries, right? That night at dinner, Grandpa gave me an envelope with a one-way ticket to Portland. Once I had looked at the ticket, Grandma had on her best smile, and said “Surprise! Your family moved out of state while you were at summer camp!” This was not good. My mind was going a million directions. (I already posted the full details of what happened in this blog: http://enterwithanopenmindorclosedeyes.blogspot.com/2011/09/surprise-your-family-moved-out-of-state.html )So, how did all this suddenly turn upside-down for me? What Happened?

My Dad and Jeff were out driving, looking for housing. They stopped at a garage sale, where they noticed a sign stating the house was for sale. (it was a small “for sale” sign stapled to the house.) My dad joking said he would buy the house. Turns out the joke was on him! The house was already vacant because the owners had to move to Texas. It was left for the neighbors to take care-of. They decided to use the empty garage for a garage sale. They got Dad in touch with the owner, and the sale was almost immediate, because they needed to get it sold.
At the same time that Dad was buying this house, our new realtor in California found a buyer for our house. That new buyer wanted to get in right away, so made Mom an offer she could not refuse. So, while Dad was buying a house without even talking to Mom about it, Mom was selling our house with ever talking to him about it! They flew Jeff back down to Modesto to help with all the last-minute stuff. They hired a moving company to come load all our stuff into a big moving truck, and drive it to our new home in Portland. They arranged to have Grandma and Grandpa get me on a plane to Portland.

So I went from camp, to Grandma’s, then put on a plane from San Jose to Portland. On the way to the airport, Grandma informed me that Dad would be meeting me at the Portland airport. Mom, Jeff, Jodi, the cat, and a large dog were driving to Portland. While in the plane, I often looked at all the tiny cars below to see if I could spot Mom’s little yellow car. I really could not imagine that any of them in the car were happy right now. All of them, plus their luggage were crammed into Mom’s 1976 Datsun F-10 hatchback. Those are tiny little cars, and that seems like a long drive, especially with My brother, and the pets in there. That, at least, made me glad I was flying. But at that moment, it was about the only happy thing I knew. My world had just been twisted, and turned in way too many ways to be happy about. I did not get to say goodbye to anyone in Modesto, or even know if all my stuff was packed, and being moved. I went to camp without a care in the world. The only thing I knew was that I had now had a new home.

“Welcome to Portland, Oregon.”
Dad greeted me at the gate with a hand-shake and a big smile. (There was no hugging in our family… a handshake was all ya got.) We went to his van, and I asked for a map of Portland. I wanted to know all I could about my sudden new home. He told me our new address, and that was all I needed. It was south of Portland, so my first impression of Portland streets was upside-down. (maps are printed with north at the top, and I wanted to see the streets in the same direction we were traveling.) That day, I literally got a full-understanding of how Portland was laid-out. I love maps, and always look around at the surroundings. When we were about five miles from our new home, we stopped at a store. He pointed across the valley to the hill. That was where our home was. I could see the details on the map, plus in the land ahead of me, and had a great understanding of my new community layout. I got to tell him when, and where to turn. (He already knew where he was going, but this was good for me.) We went to our new house, and he already had a key, so we went in and scoped it all out. It was two-story, but from the street, it looked like one-story. I had never seen a house like this before. It was built in the hill, so the top-floor was actually at ground-level. That was the main floor of the house. It had the garage, living room, kitchen, dining room, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and lots of windows with the most wonderful view ever! We could even see Mt. Hood, and Mt. St. Helens! This was 1980, and it had just had the big eruption on May 18th of this year. Today, my first-ever view of it, there was a plume of steam-cloud. Awesome!! The house had a deck that wrapped around most of the backside, and overlooked the entire yard. Weird. We entered this house on the ground level, and this deck was high off the ground. Then we explored the downstairs of the house. It was a kind-of mystery-place to me. We entered on the ground-level, but went downstairs, and discovered more windows with views. Funny, the downstairs was underground, yet it was not. I still had to discover the way the hill was cut around the house. There were two bedrooms, one bathroom, a huge utility-room, a Really Giant all-purpose room, a furnace room, and a hidden place under the stairs! We went out the sliding-door to explore the back yard. It was Huge!

Then Dad explained that we won’t be moving-in until the moving-van arrives in a few more days. He told me Mom, Jeff, Jodi, and the animals were taking the slow-drive, and stopping along the way, so they could relax some, and we all would not all be crammed into his tiny apartment. He took me to see his work, and meet his coworkers, then to his apartment. I got to relax at his apartment for a couple of days. He worked. Then Mom, Jeff, Jodi, and The Pets all arrived. Our moving van got delayed, and for some reason we could not go into our new house, yet. So ALL of us, plus the pets had to cram into Dad’s tiny apartment. That was a horrible two days. When our moving-van was finally going to arrive the next day, we loaded everything up in Dad’s van to go to our new home. It took a couple of trips. We stayed the night in our new home.

The morning our Movers were going to arrive, We walked down the hill to Elmer’s for breakfast. Then as we walked back up the hill, we met the movers, and they backed-down our culdesac street to be set to unload. NOW I Was Getting Excited! Finally. We watched anxiously as each item was unloaded. It was tedious. There was an inventory check-list. Every single item was stickered with a number, and we had to check-off each item as it came off. That became my job, partly because I had not gotten to see everything get loaded, and because I would not let a single thing get past me without verifying the number, and checking it off the list. I Kept every single sticker. I watched eagerly as each item was unloaded. I Knew what I had left behind, and I watched, and looked for every single item that was supposed to be in our new home, too. It was chaotic, as the movers were directed by Mom and Dad for where each item went in the house. I was amazed at how they had built crates out of wood around many of our items. Yay! Free wood for me! I could build a fort!! As more and more items came off the truck, I watched. I kept track. So far, it seemed that in fact everything did make it to Oregon. This was good for me to be able to see. Of course, many of my own things were boxed, and I had no idea, yet, about those. I decided that I was gathering too many stickers to hold onto, so I dedcided that the freezer in the garage was an ideal place to line them up. It did not take long before that freezer was totally covered on all sides with neon-orange Allied-moving numbers. This amused me, but at the same time I already know the chore I had created, because I would eventually have to remove every one of those.

After the moving van left, we walked down the hill, to register for our new school, which was starting the very next day. I was starting 7th grade. Jeff was starting 8th grade. We were going to be at the same junior high, and I was already hating that idea. Jodi was lucky. She was starting the 6th grade, at the school behind the junior high. She at least was starting where she would be welcomed before going on to junior high. I was starting junior high where four other schools came into. This meant that not only would I be a new kid, but everyone else would already have their groups from the school they had just come from, and I would be excluded from all of those. This sucked. A new home, new school, new people, new neighbors, all so sudden! School started only one day after we got here, and I did not know a thing about my world.

After registering for school, I went home to start unpacking. Life was about to get turned upside-down in a real big way!

Welcome to Portland, Oregon.

(This move turned-out to be one of many that would become a pattern in my life. This move set into motion what would be so many life-altering changes. Some of the changes have been positive, but not all of them. I strive to find positive in life, but often struggle to do so. It has not been uncommon from this point forward to make some disastrous decisions in my life choices. It also has not been uncommon since this event to just suddenly up-and-move. To leave life as I knew it behind, to start all-over again. At this point, I was only twelve, and this was my third time moving. By the age of forty, I had moved 42 times. I am now 43, and I have not counted recently how many times I have moved, but it is a Lot. Too Many. I will post more as time moves on.)

 Some may ask why I am even posting these at all. I write, and post them mostly for my own benefit. I have felt an urging to use creative expressionism to write-out some of my life-events. ( I often see people that are shocked by writings left behind by a someone who has died. I chuckle, and think Those writings are not that shocking compared to some of my own thoughts. With this on my mind, I created my blog. If anyone reads, and gets anything out of my writings, then that is why. If anyone understands what makes me tick just a little better, or finds something that could help themselves,or someone they care about, then that is why. Many of my life-events I have attempted to seek answers, and understanding from my own family. Perhaps some of my own family will see something that helps either myself, or helps them. Even if nobody ever reads any of my writings, At least I am getting them written, and available for those who may at some point decide to see what they are all about.

I hope you have a Safe, And Wonderful Day! JOn ~=:-)

No, You can't touch it....

No, You Can't Touch It..., a photo by JOn's ~=:-) view on Flickr.

Oh! The Freedom to be a Child! This is one of those that always makes me laugh! Yet, it is so true, too! It is just natural to be curious about those humans we encounter that do not look the same as us. I LOVE This cartoon, because it shows that both the boy, and the girl have never seen one of the opposite sex. It shows the girl is curious about what that thing is. It shows the boy wonders how she broke hers off. The beauty of being a child, is that this joy, wonder, and curiosity is completely acceptable, and not looked upon as shameful, weird, or wrong. Children are free to do what comes naturally. Children explore curiosities. They touch. They look. They ask questions. They learn. They play. They enjoy. Having frequent exposure, in a safe environment, to people that do not look exactly the same as you helps encourage acceptance and understanding. Many children do not have siblings, or playmates of the opposite sex. They often go through most of their childhood never having had the experience of seeing, touching, or knowing that there IS anything different than how they were made. Often, there are families that will never allow their children to ever see someone of the opposite sex, whether another sibling, playmate, cousin, or even their own parents. They hide the body with the idea that somehow it is wrong, harmful, and somehow sexual. Sometimes, when they do finally see what the opposite sex looks like, they are horrified, traumatised, or even made to feel dirty for their curiosities. They want to know, but are forbidden to look, touch, learn. Often, those children will resort to other ways of seeing what another looks like, or feels like. Those methods are usually done with shame, or riddled with guilt, and sometimes end up getting the curious one into trouble. Sometimes, once they finally do get to see, or touch, it has been forbidden for so long, that they then are obsessed with wanting even more, and go about getting it in a dangerous, harmful way.

To a child, their curiosities, and need for learning is not in any way sexual. They have no idea about that, yet. Too often many adults sexualise something that should be simple, and free. Childhood should be a free, growing, learning, exploring environment. Teach them, encourage them, inform them. Let them be children, and grow up to be fine adults. They will have plenty of time for shame, guilt, and self-imposed barriers once they become an adult. Let Children play.

This same curiosity, needing, and wanting to know carries further than just toddlers seeing toddlers. I often hear of girls who say they have Never seen a grown man naked, their own father included. Or boys who have Never seen a grown woman, thier own mother included. Then for whatever reason, they suddenly do, and they are absolutely horrified, freaked-out, feel awkward, dirty, ashamed, embarrassed. I always ask how this is even possible. A parent's main role is to teach, and educate their child in all manners pertaining to life. Part of that role is to educate them on all things that could harm that child. Teaching right from wrong, with appropriate, informed learning, and teaching boundaries to gain understanding of how much is the right amount, or when something is or is not appropraite. Teaching what is just normal everyday life, verses what is intended as harmful. Teaching how to not be suddenly shocked, especially by something that should never be shocking, and the parent knows will eventually come up. As a parent, would you rather hide things from your child, only to have them resort to other methods of learning, or would you rather teach your child to make responsible, informed decisions?  Would you rather have absolutely no idea what and where your child is learning about life (often leading to a child Never looking to a parent for guidance), or would you like to be connected, and have some control over keeping things open in a trusting, life-long openness. No child has ever been harmed by learning what the human body looks like, when it is done in a safe, responsible manner. Children are harmed all the time by learning these things through shock, embarrassment, or even through unsafe manners.

(A foot note on this: I am aware that many will quickly misinterpret this, and make it into something it is not. To clarify, simply let me say: I am not saying a parent should be showing him/ herself to a child to be seen, or touched. I am referring ro just simply living your life without totally hiding what your body looks like. Children are observant, and always learning. Your child walks in while you are dressing, showering, or even using the toilet. You go to a campground, lake, beach, or river. You need to change clothes for the activity. You often get dirty, and need to wash-up, and change clothes. Do you hide, or do you just take care of daily life, and teach in a positive, caring, open manner? These are normal daily activities, in which if handled in an open manner, the child will not be shocked, nor gather an idea it is shameful. Just relax, and be the teacher the child needs. Sure, there will be some awkward times, and especially awkward questions. if you never experienced those, you are not raising children. How you handle those awkward moments will determine how your child moves forward in life. They look up to their parents, and trust their parents. Build on that. If you yell, or suddenly hide, you have just taught the child that they need to look elsewhere for their curiosities.)

I heard a funny story that related well to this:

There was a clothing-optional community where naked was never looked at as anything other than normal life. The people who raised their families there did so just like any other community, with the only difference being they were used to seeing humans naked. The kids all had friends that were not raised in the community, but often visited, just like any friend would visit any house. One night, they had a Teens-Dance. All the teenage boys and girls invited all their friends. It was a clothing-optional event. Which meant they could wear as much clothing, or as little as they felt comfortable with. There were plenty of teenaged boys and girls, many in no clothes, some in partial clothes. The parents chaperoned, just like any other teen dance. There was no sexual mischeif, or any awkward, shameful feelings. They were simply kids enjoying the social company, and dance. During the evening, a man climbed over the fence, and positioned himself outside a large window of the community hall where the dance was. He stripped, and started to show himself in a sexual manner through the window to some of the teenage girls. In most communities, those girls would have been totally horrified, and freaked-out. Can you guess how these girls handled it? They all went outside, while completely naked, tackled, and held the man on the ground. This all happened before any of the chaperones had any time to even know what was happening. They called the police, and the man was hauled off to jail. The girls went back and enjoyed their dance, instead of needing therapy because they saw a naked human. That man that went to jail had been taught that naked was supposed to be shocking, or sexual. He failed to grasp how simple, and relaxing naked was meant to be. Imagine his surprise to be the one shocked, and caught off-guard by something so innocent. You can bet that while he was injail, he learned a lot more about naked than he ever hoped! Imagine how he would have turned out if only he had been taught that naked was no big deal?

Education, information, and understanding are all important keys to making responsible choices.

Hopefully, you also see the humor, and irony in this cartoon. have a Wonderful, safe, and happy day! JOn~=:-)  

"I Went to a Nude-beach, and Saw ~GASP!~ I Saw My Grandma!

Naked Chicks. Not Always As Hot as You Think., a photo by JOn's ~=:-) view on Flickr.

I went to a nude-beach and saw ~GASP!!~
I Saw My Grandma!
I always get a kick out of statements such as this. For some odd reason people have the impression that Nude beaches are nothing but sexy, hot, super-models frolicking in the surf, sun, and sand. This is what happens when people shelter themselves from the real world. TV, magazines, and Movies tend to make people believe the only time people are naked is when they are somehow unrealistic.

Humans have a way of ignoring what is real-life, and come to believe the media portrays an ideal portrait. For some reason everyone associates a clothing-optional beach as a place where no imperfect bodies could exist. Yet, they seem to think their own imperfect body is the exception. They screw up the courage to finally venture down to one, with high hopes.

Then the horror of reality hits them hard. They are horrified to see people there, fully naked, and not hiding a thing. They see people from every walk of life, and people they never in their wildest imagination could have imagined naked. All around, all they see is ~Gasp! Their own Grandma!! …. Or at least a human that bears a very similar resemblance. This is an image that for some reason most have until faced with it full-on, tried to deny exists. What is that resemblance? It is the image of a real woman. A woman who has given birth to many children, and has the stretch marks, and extra curves to show for it. They see a woman whose breasts have nourished many hungry babies, and are not firm, high, and perky. They hang unevenly, have stretch marks, and even the nipples are oddly-shaped. They see a woman who has plenty of curves, yet those curves are not where they had hoped to see them. They see the region where those babies came out of, and are horrified that this area is no longer pleasing to view. They see a woman who has long-since given-up the vanity of shaving, having long, sparse, even wild, gray hair in regions they never imagined they would see. They see reality. They are horrified.

I use the example above, only because that is the most vivid example, and most true, realistic, picture I can portray, that most in our world can identify with. Of Course, there are men who no longer look like the male-models, but you hear more often from people who had expected to see women of super-model status.
I learned long, long ago, that all humans are beautiful. To me, these humans one sees at a clothing-optional place ARE Indeed Beautiful, and I would never wince, flinch, or feel horrified to have seen them. Perhaps I was fortunate to have grown-up around people who cherish humans for who they are, not how they appear. That is a key reason I started to frequent clothing-optional beaches. The people who are there, are just like you and me. They are not there to judge another, or to go and gawk at unrealistic bodies. Most of the time, the people at a nude beach would not even care if anyone else there was clothed, or fully naked. The whole purpose of these places is freedom. Freedom from social stigmas, from being judged, from somebody saying inappropriate things about your body. Clothing-optional beaches are not about sex, or how much you can see of another human’s body. They are simply about being able to relax, without being gawked-at, sized-up, or having to worry about how a bathing suit fits. There are plenty of regular beaches where that sort of activity is not only common, but encouraged. At a clothing-optional beach, you will see a greater mix, and variety of humans who do not fit the pre-determined social scene at regular beaches. People who visit clothing-optional beaches may not feel comfortable where people think appearance is the most important quality on a beach. Or have what some in our society would call abnormalities visible on their body.
It would not be uncommon to see a man covered head to toe in warts. Yet, he is welcome here. On a regular beach, people would freak-out, and run him off. It is not uncommon to see an amputee, a breast-cancer-survivor (with one, or both breasts removed), or someone with scars from some sort of massive burns. These people would be stared-at endlessly on a regular beach. It would not be uncommon to see an extremely skinny person, whose bones you could easily see, or an extremely obese person who is just as happy, and free as you could imagine. Heck, even with your own low esteem, and how you view your own self… You would be accepted, and welcome, even feel comfortable on a clothing-optional beach. They accepted me, didn’t they?

In addition to the most-common “horror” of seeing “your grandma naked”, I often hear some other, rather funny remarks from people who finally got the courage to visit a nude beach. Many often exclaim, “There are children! I can’t be naked in front of child! Isn’t that illegal??” It takes a while to teach some people that simply naked is not illegal, and unless you have sexual intentions, there is nothing harmful to a child about nudity. You can simply point-out that the children are more comfortable than the person who is freaking-out. If it was illegal, or in any way harmful, children would not be there. Often, to illustrate this point, we simply just point to The Sheriff, who happens to regularly patrol the beaches. At that point the newbie will often cover themselves up, because they somehow feel they are doing something illegal. It takes a while to explain to most that simply naked is in no way illegal. For it to be illegal, it must also be lewd, and/or obscene. Simply naked is neither of those.

Some other things that people are amazed at, and often quite interested in are the elaborate artwork that often adorns a human body. These artworks can be in the form of tattoos, purposeful scarring, piercings, body hair (you’d have to see it to understand), unique scarves, wraps, or other accessories. The piercings are, by far, the most elaborate, and often mind-boggling. “How did they get THAT pierced?” What is that chain attached to?” and other humorous inquiries. It is also humorous to watch as people discover that at a nude beach, there is not just one type of person that belongs there. You will see people of every race, ethnicity, religion (you might be surprised how many religions encourage nudity), political, of every class (poor all the way to rich), of every age (newborns all the way to 100-year-old), of every work environment (laborers, and blue collar, mixing with white collar workers…there is no division between management, and laborors), every sexual-orientation (you name it, it gathers here… and nobody feels threatened, or vulnerable), all types of body hair (the furry person to the completely bare person, and every variation in between…and even that is not limited to any specific gender).

Once the illusion of clothing is removed, it is easy to notice one common trait we all share: WE ARE ALL HUMAN. It is surprisingly easy to relax once one realizes they are AMONG HUMANS.
Thinking of visiting a nude beach? I have one simple suggestion that will make it easier for you to know what to expect. Look around your neighborhood, your grocery store, your bank, post office, work place, the gas station, your kid’s school, the hospital, and even the nursing home. What you see here, in everyday life, is what you will see at the nude beach. Now, with that in mind, go, relax, enjoy!

Who knows, you might finally meet your neighbor! Heck, you might even see your Grandma!

No Boys Allowed

No Boys Allowed.



No Boys Allowed

This may seem like a strange thing for a guy to post. But I am strange, and like none other, so I think it is very fitting. This is the poster that hangs in my bathroom. I feel that a bathroom should be kept clean, and if you keep your bathroom clean enough, even the most discerning women will not feel uncomfortable using your facilities. This poster sums it up pretty well. Two young ladies, using side-by-side urinals, and leaning in for a kiss.

Just because I was born with a penis, do not assume I am in any way like most males

Most guys make a mess all over the toilet. I find this totally unacceptable, disgusting, and there is no reason for it. In fact, that is THE reason I say a man's toilet should always be spotless. You come equipped with a device which allows you to aim at the appropriate region you wish to hit. Most toilets have a fairly large target area. Aim and Control. It is not a difficult concept. If by the rare chance, you happen to leave a drop on the rim of the bowl, simply wipe it off with a square of toilet paper. This may be a new concept, and perhaps nobody has cared enough to inform you of this... but you might have noticed, there is a handy roll hanging right next to the toilet. It is there for you to use. One square is all you need.

I learned when I was a little boy, that the purpose of the penis was to eliminate urine from your body. I also learned that the toilet was the primary socially acceptable place to take care of this. (I would much prefer to use a tree outside, but the neighbors complained) The next step was learning how to aim to keep it in the toilet. A few times missing, and having to clean up the mess was all it took to learn proper aim.

Most males claim to be superior in things related to intelligence, aim, trajectory, force, and calculating how to hit their target. Whether they are in sports, driving, military, construction, emergency services, etc. Males generally think they are better at aiming, and hitting their intended target. Hmmm, could this be the reason more women are becoming firefighters, and joining the military? Because in those fields, Proper Aim is a Critical Skill! Could it be that because men cannot hit a simple, fixed, and even fairly large target in the bathroom, they are being replaced in the field? Hehe. (I gotta give credit where credit is due on that last thought. Yup! leave it to my own Mom to come up with that gem!) 

You might wonder when I adapted this view. To me, it was not an option. Aim accurately, and there was never any mess to clean up. Make a mess, and instead of getting to go play, you then had to clean up your mess. I chose to eliminate the mess entirely. My brother was evil and mean to me all my life. He would make a mess in the bathroom, and I was always disgusted to have to use the same toilet he made so gross. When Mom or Dad would ask who made the mess, he would always blame me, and then I had to clean up after him. It did not take many times for me to wise-up. I would make sure Mom went in and looked as soon as I had finished, but not tell him she had done so. Then she would go in after he was finished, and come out and ask who made the mess, and he would automatically tell her it was me, not him. Then she would nail him for lying to her. It did not take long for her to see how he was trying to always blame me. Mom got in the habit of  checking after each of us had used it, and knew I was spotless.

I have always had female friends, and roommates. There has Never been a single one who found a messy toilet from me. Sadly, their own boyfriends would leave it a mess, and could not grasp the concept. There have been many times in my life where I have actually banned some men from using my bathroom. I should not have to go in with bleach, and gloves after a guest in my home uses the toilet. They are a guest in my home. That means they must respect my home, and not trash it. I have had the occasional male roommate, and I have actually seen a few that do know how to aim. They are rare. Some of the male roommates I have had, I just had to find a way to survive living where the toilet was not clean. I always celebrated when it was time for them to move out.

I often hear men say to their boys "If you shake it more than twice, you are playing with it." What The Hell?? Why would anyone shake it when they were done?? Do they not understand the concept of a hose, filled with liquid, shaken about wildly makes splatter? Why would they want to shake it all over the entire bathroom, their pants, their shoes, and anything else in the region?? Ok, guys, it really is simple: Aim. Then, simply squeeze, Do Not Shake. Not a single drop goes anywhere but in the bowl. 

When I was married, she had two boys. A three year old, and a four year old. Prior to me entering their life, nobody cared enough to teach them how to use the toilet. All they knew was drop their pants, and let it go. I did not have the option to ban them from using the toilet, since they lived in the same house. It took me less than a week to train them how to aim, and never make a mess. How did I train them so easily? Simple. They made a mess, they had to clean it up. They hated having to clean it up. They were eager to learn the right way. The Clean way.

Many men who read this will feel offended. Too bad. I cannot help that you never cared enough to learn how to use the tool you were given.

Ask youself this: is my bathroom clean enough that two young ladies would feel comfortable, and even romantic while using it?

Public restrooms are the worst! Why are there always puddles on the floor in front of the toilet??

Why should I have to stand in a puddle because you cannot hit the target?

Stand closer, guys, it must be shorter than you think!



“Surprise! Your Family Moved Out of State While You Were at Summer Camp!”

I was 12. That was the phrase that would become the beginning of my world turned completely upside-down! Life was about to get difficult.


Summer Camp was always a Big Event in my life. I always came home with wonderful stories, memories, and new friends. But in the summer of 1980, the events that happened at home, while I was away at camp took away whatever joys, thrills, memories, and stories I might otherwise have carried forward from camp.

I do not recall Any of the details of that camp. I do not remember the place, the adventures, or even the friends I got to spend what would turn out to be the very last time I got to spend with them.

What I do recall is that when the camp bus returned us to The YMCA in Cupertino, California, There was nobody there to pick me up. This was not normal. Someone was always there to greet me when I got back. Even when Dad was on the same bus, as a camp-counselor, Mom always was there to greet us when we returned. And when he was not at camp with me, He, or Mom, or often Both would be there when the bus returned. I had been going to that same YMCA for my whole life. My whole family was known, and part of this tight-knit community. So, this time, when nobody was there to greet me, even the other parents, staff, and fellow campers were left wondering what had happened. We used to live just a few miles from The Y, but two years before this, we had moved to Modesto, which was 90 miles away. Because of this, none of the community was aware of what was always happening in our family any more.

This was long before cell-phones, so waiting was about all one could do. I waited, and watched as the other kids got happily greeted, told their stories, said their goodbyes, and left. I waited, and wondered. Nobody was terribly concerned, or worried. We were just waiting, and wondering.

After what seemed like forever, My Grandma showed up. She was dressed in her country-club best, and it would appear she had just left an important event. The country club was her Glamour Court. She was dressed immaculately, wearing pearls, heels, and a smile that said she was in charge, but everything was OK. It was clear that This was not a hurried decision for her to come and get me, but that she needed to finish her other business before coming here. As she approached, My mind went a million different directions.

-She was smiling, and walking confidently. That meant everything was OK.

-She is the one who was scheduled to pick me up, but I did not know why.

-Where is Mom?

-She is always on time, so her country club event must have run long.

All this was in just the few seconds it took her to walk to me. She also was well-known at The Y, so we all knew this was OK. She was all business, and never offered more than was needed in mixed company. She greeted me, and asked some about camp, then asked if I was ready to go. She never said a thing about what was happening that would keep anyone else from picking me up.

I knew the roads well, and could tell we were heading to her house. That made me really happy! I Always Loved going to Grandma, and Grandpa’s house! I convinced myself that for some reason Mom was there, too, and they thought it would be fun to have Gramma come and get me, then bring me back to enjoy the night there. That made sense to me. It was not unusual to spend time at Gramma’s. Mom’s car was not in the driveway, but Gramma never once looked as something was wrong, so I was ok with that. I just went and did what I always did at Gramma’s. At that age, and most of my childhood, Grandma and Grandpa’s house was ALWAYS safe, fun, and very relaxing.

I drank a Coke. Gramma always bought cans of Coke when she knew we were coming over. This was a treat, because at home, we had to split one can between three of us. Here, we got our own full can! I ate a banana, and Triscuits. She Always had fresh bananas, and the Triscuits were considered the Good crackers that we never had at home.

Then I went swimming. Yay! Skinny Dipping at Gramma’s! This is also a treat! (The only time we could be nekkid was when Mom was not there. But that is a whole story in itself, and I will tell that in another post. ) I spent the rest of the afternoon, and evening naked, swimming, and enjoying the sunshine, in what would turn out to be The Very Last Time I got to have that Joy. I Had absolutely no clue what was coming that would rock my world!

When Grandpa came home, we played pool, watched his favorite news program on TV, and ate dinner. I always loved having dinner with Grandma, and Grandpa! While eating, Grampa broke the news about why nobody else had been there to pick me up by handing me an envelope which contained an airline ticket to fly from San Jose, Ca to Portland, Oregon the next morning. Grandma said, with a big smile, “Surprise! Your Family Moved Out of State While You Were at Summer Camp!” They were both quite pleased with how they presented this, and found it to be quite amusing.

My mind was going berserk. I had so many questions, concerns, and things I just did not know! But Gramma and Grampa were confident, calm, and happy. They had no trouble showing me that everything was alright. I knew from them, that everything was OK, but I still had hundreds of questions. How? Why? What happened? Where is my new home? Where am I going to go to school? What about all my friends, here? What about all my things? Did my room get packed, and moved? What about my bike? What happened to all my treasures, and junk? So many more questions. The only thing I knew for sure was that right now I was safe. Grandma and Grandpa are calm, happy, peaceful, and convinced me it was all OK.

We finished dinner, and I helped clean up, while Grampa went to smoke his pipe, and and watch his favorite golf Highlights show on TV. I Loved the smell of Grampa’s pipe! Later, they took me to Baskin Robbins Ice Cream for dessert. We came back to their house, and played some pool, and went through every single one of Grampa’s magic tricks he kept in his bar. I picked-up every single item in their house that ever meant anything to me. I looked at every single item on every single shelf, and in every drawer. This was the very last time I would get to experience as a kid at their house.

I was happy, sad, excited, and confused. There was so much going through my mind. Grampa settled down in front of the TV for his usual night-time programs, and would soon doze off. At this time, I would usually go out and swim one more time before bed. Grandma would usually do some of her office work, some laundry, and then head out for her nightly snail-removal patrol through her garden. I Always enjoyed being naked at Gramma’s, and did so as often as I could. I went out, and instead of swimming, I just lay there naked on the soft clover lawn, and watched the stars. After a while, I went around the front of the house to go climb my tree. I was still naked. Occasionally we went out in the front yard naked, but not very often. Nobody in her neighborhood ever thought twice about seeing one of us kids, or one of their own outside naked. It was not a concern, just a freedom. I climbed all the way to the very top of The Best Tree I had in all my life! This tree towered higher than even the second-story of the neighboring houses. From here, you could see every street in all directions, and every house, and every back yard, too. Most people left their curtains open, and there was never any shame, or feeling of the need to hide behind closed drapes. Here, you never saw anything unusual, because it was all common, and we saw it all the time. To me, it was daily life. People did that without shame, or the need of hiding. I watched the neighborhood as people did their normal nightly things. I marveled at how all these people had stable, normal lives, and while my world was taking twists and turns, the rest of the world went on in a calm, peaceful way. After dark is when most would enjoy the yards, and gardens without the heat of the day. People watered their lawns, their flowers, and their gardens. It was not unusual to see people in their yards doing these things naked. They never looked around to see if anyone was watching, because this was just normal daily life to them. People put their kids to bed. People took out the trash. People took one last swim before bed. Gramma went out and did her normal nightly gardening, watering, and snail-patrol. I wondered what she would think if she discovered I was up here naked, and not in bed. I did not worry, but I just wondered, because I had never climbed the tree nekkid, and seldom climbed up here late at night. As she made her rounds across the front of the house, she paused below the tree, looked up, and smiled. I wondered if she would know I was up here, or was just smiling at the fact that this was my tree, and she often saw me climbing it. After a while, I saw her go for her nightly swim before bed. She, too, always skinny dipped. That meant she had already rousted Grampa from sleep in his chair in front of the TV, and she would be heading to bed after her swim. Normally after her swim, she would go inside through her bedroom door, still dripping, letting herself air-dry. She would usually go and transfer one more load of laundry, put on a fresh nightgown, and go to bed.

After she finished her swim, instead of going into the house, she came around the front, to the base of my tree. She had a huge grin on her face, when she looked up at me in the very top, and said “Are you going to stay up there naked, all night, or do I have to drag you down?” I laughed. She Never went out front naked. (not that her neighbors had never seen her naked, it was just that she kept it to the back yard.) I told her I would not make her drag me down. She offered me one of her massages to make me sleep soundly if I was down, had my teeth brushed, and was in bed in five minutes. That was all the further urging I needed. On the way down, I asked how she knew I was up there. She smiled, and said “Grandma’s have magical powers.” That caused the neighbor who was just out of my view to laugh. I realized Connie, the neighbor had told Gramma I was up there, but that she probably would have figured it out on her own, too. Once I was down, Connie came and gave me a big hug, and said “Have a good flight, tomorrow! Get some rest.” I wondered how long Connie had been out there.

I hurried inside and got ready for bed. Gramma stayed and chatted with Connie until I was in bed. She came and gave me the promised massage, and I was out-cold, and slept solid until morning. (Gramma’s massages were magical, and I learned how to give the same magical massages from a childhood of having received them myself.

I woke to the wonderful smell of bacon. I knew I had just enough time for a shower before breakfast was ready. I enjoyed one last shower, the very last time as a care-free kid in my favorite bathroom! I was scheduled to fly out in a few hours. When I got out of the shower, I was pleasantly surprised to find that sometime during the night, she had washed all my dirty camp clothes. I expected that I would have to wear old, dirty clothes to fly to Oregon. They were all folded and stacked on the bed I had vacated just minutes before!

We ate breakfast. We always had cranberry juice, eggs, bacon, bananas, and English muffins with fresh jam. Anyone who has ever had my eggs, can thank my grandma for teaching me how to make perfect eggs! Grandma, Grandpa, and I shared the comics, and shared laughs over breakfast. Then it was time to go. I packed my duffel-bag, and Grandma took me to the airport, bought more film for my camera, and made sure I had snacks. She told me my Dad was going to pick me up at the airport in Portland, and that my mom, brother, sister, dog, and cat were all driving up. Then I boarded the plane.

So, here I was, 12 years old, on a plane to Oregon. My only possessions were in a duffel bag from the last week at camp. I knew that in a couple hours, I would be landing in Portland, Oregon. I Knew I had just left behind everything. I knew I had just said goodbye to my childhood. I knew I left behind all I ever knew. Everything I had in life. My friends, freedom, community, and almost everything that I ever knew was now gone. I Knew that having spent my last night as a kid totally naked was significant. I knew that Gramma did not come out front nekkid for just anybody. I also Knew there was no way Grandma would actually climb the tree at all, let alone while naked, but it was perfect, and very fitting that she threatened to do that. She always managed to find ways to connect with me when most others in my life could not. I knew life was about to change. I remember the pilot announcing when we crossed the California state line into Oregon. Just like that. I was a Californian. Now I am an Oregonian. I remember looking at the tiny roads below to see if I could find Mom’s car.

In what seemed like no time at all, the pilot announced we were coming in for our landing at Portland. I could not get enough of the views out the window. I wanted to learn all about my new home. I wanted to see where I would be making my new life. We came in along the Columbia River Gorge. I was absolutely amazed at the beauty I was seeing in Oregon! I knew that no matter what else came at me, there was always My wonderful Nature to escape to! As the plane landed, it appeared it was going to land in the water of The Columbia River. There were people in boats, and waterskiing, and enjoying the last of summer. Then the runway met us at the edge of the river, and we landed.

My head began to go a million directions at once again. I could not have asked for a better ending to my childhood as I knew it. Last night at Gramma and Grampa’s seemed almost like it was precisely planned. While it was filled with so many emotions, and uncertainties, It was absolutely the very best way I could spend the very last night of my childhood, and the beginning of a brand-new part of my life. I was still amazed that I was Now In Oregon, when less than a day ago, I was a carefree kid in California at summer camp.

“Welcome To Portland, Oregon.” That was the announcement the pilot made as they opened the door for us to leave the plane.

Welcome to Oregon. You just left your childhood in California.

Your World just got turned upside down, and life will never be the same.

( Sept, 5, 2011 update: I just posted the follow-up to this story, detailing all of what happened to make my family move out of state while I was at camp. You can view that blog post, titled "welcome to Portland,Oregon", here: http://enterwithanopenmindorclosedeyes.blogspot.com/2011/09/to-portland-oregon.html )