Gender distinctions, according to Katie

When you're eight and possessed of a shopping list of mental issues that tend, among other things, to suppress your awareness of social niceties, you are granted the freedom to make observations that, generally speaking, the rest of us would not.

When it's just us, our home is, by and large, "clothing optional." We have all seen each other naked - usually daily - and until someone expresses discomfort at the idea, that is how it will remain, as far as I'm concerned. (This is quite a change over how I was raised: I saw my father less than fully clothed only once, by accident, and he was mortified.)

That there's what we call exposition. Now the real story.

I'm on my way to my evening shower. I'm dressed for the activity, which is to say: not, and on the way, I step into Katie's room to turn on her bedside lamp. She's reading by the overhead light, which I don't like to leave on. As I'm walking out I glance her way and she's looking - rather pointedly - at me. Or, that is to say, Me. Or rather, him. You know.

"Dad," she says, "I hate to break it to you, but your penis is shaking."

"Yeah, it'll do that."

"...when you walk.  Why does it do that? I mean, it's right out there and everything..."

Hoo boy. Not The Big Question, but still a little awkward. I can handle awkward. With Katie for a daughter, I'm used to it.

"Because it's just skin and muscle. It's not like my arm, with a bone in it or anything." (Stop that right now.)

Her face brightens in comprehension. Apparently, being home schooled includes some anatomy.

"So," she exclaims, "boy's penises shake. And girls, when they get older, their boobies shake. And that's the difference between boys and girls."

"Sure," I say, heading for the door. "That'll do for now."

"Okay," back to her books. "You can go get your shower, now."

Gender distinctions, according to Katie

When you're eight and possessed of a shopping list of mental issues that tend, among other things, to suppress your awareness of social niceties, you are granted the freedom to make observations that, generally speaking, the rest of us would not.

When it's just us, our home is, by and large, "clothing optional." We have all seen each other naked - usually daily - and until someone expresses discomfort at the idea, that is how it will remain, as far as I'm concerned. (This is quite a change over how I was raised: I saw my father less than fully clothed only once, by accident, and he was mortified.)

That there's what we call exposition. Now the real story.

I'm on my way to my evening shower. I'm dressed for the activity, which is to say: not, and on the way, I step into Katie's room to turn on her bedside lamp. She's reading by the overhead light, which I don't like to leave on. As I'm walking out I glance her way and she's looking - rather pointedly - at me. Or, that is to say, Me. Or rather, him. You know.

"Dad," she says, "I hate to break it to you, but your penis is shaking."

"Yeah, it'll do that."

"...when you walk.  Why does it do that? I mean, it's right out there and everything..."

Hoo boy. Not The Big Question, but still a little awkward. I can handle awkward. With Katie for a daughter, I'm used to it.

"Because it's just skin and muscle. It's not like my arm, with a bone in it or anything." (Stop that right now.)

Her face brightens in comprehension. Apparently, being home schooled includes some anatomy.

"So," she exclaims, "boy's penises shake. And girls, when they get older, their boobies shake. And that's the difference between boys and girls."

"Sure," I say, heading for the door. "That'll do for now."

"Okay," back to her books. "You can go get your shower, now."