You know, in the last week, I think I’ve talked more about sex with my family – with my sister and my father, and some assorted uncles and an aunt – than I have, uh, ever. We’ve talked about who we thought would get knocked up outside of marriage, some of our more repressed/naive relatives, and just traded general jokes. We’ve watched shows that heavily feature sex – like tonight’s Private Practice – without blinking, or cracking up hysterically to the Samantha Who storyline about her not remembering sex/being an amnesiac virgin.
In fact, I was sitting on the floor that night, and Dad told me a story about a safe sex advertisement featuring buildings “covered with rubbers” – and my first thought was not “augh Dad’s talking to me about sex” but was to crack up at how quaint “rubbers” as a term was.
Now granted, this was the evening Mom’d passed away, and we were still coping with it in our own ways, so maybe that was an anomaly… except it’s continued, in talking about relatives, or other TV shows. (The only comment on Private Practice was my sister saying it was more soap opera-y tonight, and me commenting that she should shush so I can admire Taye Diggs’s bare chest in proper reverence..)
I’m not sure if we’re just shellshocked and reacting, or if this is the way we normally are and we were all more prudish around Mom. I think I like this new family dynamic, though – it’s freeing. If, admittedly, sort of strange.