"You won’t find men’s genitalia in quality literature."

This is my favorite quote of the day. It comes from a from the NY Times a couple of days ago in an article about school librarians who are up in arms about a recent Newberry award winner's use of the word scrotum in her book, The Higher Power of Lucky.

“I think it’s a good case of an author not realizing her audience,” said Frederick Muller, a librarian at Halsted Middle School in Newton, N.J. “If I were a third- or fourth-grade teacher, I wouldn’t want to have to explain that."

I can't help but wonder what it is about the technical terms for body parts that makes people so squeamish. We're fine with our kids referring to their wee-wees and their bajingos, but God forbid they should know the medical terms for their bodies. That's crossing the line. This isn't an isolated affair, either. This follows directly on the heels of a recent incident in which a theater performing The Vagina Monologues renamed it The Hoohah Monologues because a passing driver said she was upset her niece saw the word vagina. Her niece, who, incidentally, has one.

My best guess is that this discomfort in talking about body parts has something to do with adults wanting to preserve their kids' innocence. That somehow they assume that by teaching kids how to talk about sex organs, they'll be that much closer to thinking about sex itself. Which will lead, naturally, into a life of S&M, homosexuality, and, of course, necrophilia.

That's the best explanation I can come up with, because, frankly, the idea of not teaching a kid the proper terms for their body parts is unbelievably foreign to me. When I was a kid, neither of my parents ever felt the need to couch discussions of our bodies in kushy euphemisms. That's not to say I never used little-kid slang for my penis. I did, but it was self-imposed. (I can even remember an incident in which I asked my mother how a doctor knows if a baby is a boy or a girl. Mom casually responded, "If it has a penis, it's a boy; if it has a vagina, it's a girl," which made me go "Mom!" as kids do when their parents shock them.)

What gets me most about the book banning is that it's a book written for kids age ten to twelve. Librarians are saying that younger kids--even kids as young as eight--will probably be more likely to read it, but still...adults need to grow up a bit and remember that kids aren't blind or stupid. By the time I was eight, I knew damn well what a scrotum was and so did every kid in my class. As soon as kids realize their genitals exist, they start talking about them. Parents might as well teach them the right way to do so.

Of course, if they're still dead set on talking to their kids in euphemisms, they might as well use some new terms. Like these, if you have a son. Or these, if you have a daughter.

Other news...
Speaking of childhood, there's an interesting game hovering around on the net called "Alter Ego," which is part choose your own adventure, part personality test. Basically, the game asks you questions and offers you choices. Based on your answers, it develops a life for your alternate personality (the one in the game...not the one you have in real life). Theoretically, assuming you don't kill yourself, you can live out an entirely separate life. The game is less fun than interesting, but it's worth playing through a few times. Oh, and one bit of advice...when the man in the car comes up and asks you questions, run away as soon as possible.

Also, speaking of hoohahs, I'll be attending the Belmont Burlesque this coming Saturday, cohosted by the imaginary Mr. B. Come out and join me for seminudity and crass comedy. It's a lot of fun.