In Two Pieces

We have daughters.

Enter all of the stupid, disturbing things people say when they find out you have daughters.

"Lock them up 'till they're 30!"

"Get your shotgun ready!"

"Get used to being broke forever if they want to get married."

"Cover her up!"

Stop there.

Few people- though I know some who have- have used this phrase verbatim.  It is in the nuances that it shines through.  For some of us, without even knowing.  For us, it was the two-piece bathing suit debacle.

Our spirited, eldest child has been desperate for a two-piece bathing suit since she was old enough to talk.  It never occurred to me to ask her the reasons why, I just did what my deeply rooted Baptist upbringing required: don't ask questions, just cover it up.

One pieces are appropriate.  They're more modest.  They're less grown-up.

None of these arguments hold water; not for me at least anymore, but I hadn't really thought about it deeply until my kid was the one holding a bathing suit that came on two hangers instead of one at Target.

Why can't I wear it, Mama?

Because, darling, there's a small percentage of civilians who are out and about and just so happen to also be pedophiles.

No?

Because, as women, we are in fact held responsible for how others respond to seeing parts of our body that men walk around freely displaying.

No?

Because, as women, we will always carry two pieces within us: who we are, and who they think we should be.  And the later wins, nearly every time.

This particular , one-sided conversation has burned itself into my brain this summer.  The summer of girls in Disney movies becoming Chiefs in their tribe and no one in animation land bats an eye because women have been in charge since the dawn of time; everyone knows that.  The summer of Wonder Woman and Amazon Women dressed in armored bodysuits and kicking ass for the good of all mankind- for human decency and love. The summer of beautiful, strong and capable women who wore whatever they wanted and who, I bet, didn't stop and think once that their body is something they should cover in an attempt to safeguard it.  They were too busy, you know, making sure people didn't die to worry about their necklines.

This is not the lesson I want to perpetuate to my daughter.  That there is a secret shame associated with being a female- a shame that requires clothing to hide it.  That she is responsible for how others choose to respond to her.  That her clothing defines her character.  That she is somehow a burden on society; a threat.  Just because she is a female and there are different rules for us in this game. These are not the phrases I want to shape her childhood- the ones about marriage and shotguns and clothing.  She is more than this.  She is more than a bathing suit.

When I finally got over myself, it occurred to me to simply ask her the reasons why she wanted one.

"Because I feel beautiful in them, I can swim without anything pulling and play volleyball better and it's way easier to pee."

I bought her the damned suit, because, really, I've been trying to pee in one-pieces for over thirty years and if there's anything less modest than that, I don't know it is.

I want to be very clear in that there are those who choose to cover whether for religious or personal reasons.  THIS reflection is in no way referencing any adult's choice in how they honor their own beliefs. This was simply about my child, and my deep desire to raise her without the fear, shame, or knowledge of her own body  that I had to contend with. How making room for her to articulate her own opinion, motive and stance was not only healing for me but opened doors of communication I believe will carry on in her growing years to come.