An Open Letter to My Mother, Regarding Her Gymnophobia

Last updated on: December 28, 2014 at 3:01 pm by Calah Alexander

An Open Letter to My Mother, Regarding Her Gymnophobia 2014-12-28T15:01:24-05:00 Calah Alexander

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Dear Mom,

I know things have been rough between us lately. I know that you have been been emotionally volatile about the direction I’ve chosen to take my life. I understand that you don’t agree with it and that you would prefer I go in a more “socially acceptable” direction. But this is not a decision I have made lightly, and the truth is, it’s a choice I’ve made for you as much as for me.

Mom, it’s time that you get over yourself and accept my decision to be a nudist.

The fact that you object to this at all is completely hypocritical. Last night, for instance, you insisted repeatedly that I “couldn’t walk around naked.” But I have seen many people, over the course of my lifetime, walk around naked! And not just my siblings, whom you also hold to this unfair double standard. How can you possibly insist that we wear clothes when you yourself walk around naked in the shower? I fail to see the difference between being naked in that terrible closet of drowning and being naked anywhere else, except that you know the shower is the only place I will not go. But I’m not falling for that, Mom. I wasn’t born last year, you know.

In fact, I was observing you pretty carefully last night when you thought I was running deliriously back and forth on the couch. After four instances of me removing my diaper myself (despite your adorable attempts to secure it using combinations of onesies, drawstring shorts, and duct tape), you gave up. I know, because you said to Dad, “I give up.” And do you know what happened then? Everyone was happy.

Sure, my siblings all ran away from me shouting “ew ew ew naked!” Sure, you knocked a glass of wine onto the floor because you were trying to watch me while cleaning the kitchen. Sure, that lady came to the door and I streaked past you and almost made it to the sidewalk. Sure, the dog kept licking my butt.

But think of the positives, Mom! My siblings running away meant I got the whole couch to myself, without me having to hit them repeatedly! Knocking that wine over meant that the whole floor got a good scrubbing, without me having to smear yogurt all over it! A neighbor seeing me streak meant that you don’t have to announce this decision publicly, since everyone probably already knows! And let’s be honest — the dog licking my butt was already a positive.

Since we’re being honest, I think it’s time I tell you that I’ve come to realize that this whole disagreement is your fault. The truth is, Mom, you can’t see the gift I’m giving you. It’s not all that easy to wrestle my way out of a duct-taped diaper that’s under a onesie that’s under shorts and suspenders, you know. But I do it for you, not for me.

I know that your favorite thing to do is to clean up messes, since you do it all day long. But since you’ve selfishly locked all the cabinets and I can’t open the refrigerator, this is the only way I have of giving you surprise messes to clean. Just like when I stand on a chair at the table and yell, “wawa milk wawa milk wawa milk!” at the top of my lungs while holding a full sippy cup in my hands, or when I lay facedown on the floor kicking my legs and screaming “wace car!” until you bring me the right race car, this is one more way for me to give you an opportunity to do your favorite activities. It’s just a small way I’ve found to show you that I love you — as often as I possibly can.

I’ve long suspected that you don’t love me nearly as much as I love you. This fear is reinforced every night, when you put me into a bed with bars, in a completely different room than the one you’re in, and leave me there for hours. I’ve only barely reached a stage where I can console myself in the face of this blatant abandonment. But if you continue to object to my nudism, it will forever confirm my deepest fear. I will have no choice but to scream all night, every night if I must, until you pick me up and never, ever put me down again.

Ever.

Love,

your son Lincoln

PS: I’ll be two in four days, and for my birthday I’d really like a larger supply of those scented markers my sister put up on the highest shelf in her room yesterday. I’ve eaten all of them already.

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