Style for the Infantile

 

I’ve been thinking about layettes. For those of you who have never thought about layettes, I’ll describe them for you. A layette is the first fashion wardrobe given to a newborn child. It is usually a blanket, pillow case, booties, sweater, panties and assorted accessories. If made by hand, the layette is crochet or knitted.

Boy babies are given blue layettes, and girl babies are clothed in pink. Sometimes, the infant is given a yellow layette. Yellow – why yellow? That is because the layette was purchased prior to the birth of the child. There is no explanation for the yellow color, other than to match a rather jaundiced complexion.

There has not been a change in layette fashion for a thousand years! It is now time for a change. I suggest the opening of a “Layette Boutique”.

The fashions for layettes will be regal. A parent can buy yard of rich, black mink to wrap the baby. Hand-crafted, calf skin booties and jewelry of all sorts; gold earrings, precious stone necklaces, pearl head-bands. No more washed out blue or faded pink. The maternity doors of Bellevue Hospital open and a little prince or princess is presented to the world.

Another issue comes to mind, and that is the contrasting styles of death and dying as opposed to birth and living. Funerals are led by police motorcycles, follow by flower cars and shining black limousines. Mourners are dressed in their finery. Who comes out of the hospital with a newborn? The father goes to the hospital and pays for his wife and child. The wife is weak, and woozy. She hasn’t been out of the hospital for days – her head is spinning. Father doesn’t know how, or who to hold first.

They drive home, alone, no fanfare – no public acclaim. When they arrive at home there is frequently a family gathering, but rather subdued – no grandeur, no cops, no politicians, no theatrics.

Why not blast the horns, ring the sirens, shoot the pistols. A child is born. A child wrapped in silk – magnificent Tahitian silk. Joy to the world. A child is born. Whose got the pampers?

 

Copyrights, 1980 Tom Golden.

Drowning in Lentil Soup

If my brother is in my Mother’s stomach, then where does the lentil soup go? My Mother had just finished her bowl of hot soup, and I was staring at her swollen stomach. With each spoonful of soup she ate, I winced, thinking of my baby brother swimming for dear life in that cauldron called her stomach.

I knew her stomach was really big, but was it big enough to hold a baby and all that hot soup?

I should never have asked her where I came from. She told me that I grew in her stomach. For a little child, the imagery is full of danger. How do you breath in there? How do you eat? Most of all, how do you get out.

Getting out of the stomach may be the most incomprehensible event. Did the doctor just cut open the stomach, reach in and take the baby out? Even if a Mother chanced identifying the vagina as the exit, there was no way a child could reconcile toilet function with the birth of a baby. Phooey! Gross!

We are still left with the dual functioning stomach – food storage and baby brooder. Fortunately, most children do not ask about the food function. If they did, Mother’s would be required to recognize the possible existence of a womb or uterus, or perhaps, a “special place”  just below the belly button. Once another compartment is identified, the confusion can be eliminated. Without some attempt at clarifying the mysteries of birth, a child must wish for their Mother to starve for nine months.

“I hope mommy doesn’t drink a lot today, or my baby will drown.” That night my Mother called me into her room. I came over to her bed, and she pointed to where the baby was kicking her side. Thank God. The baby survived the lentil soup.

Sometimes when I felt the “leg” kick, I was certain that the baby was fighting for life. If the “leg” kick was at the top of the swollen stomach, that meant the baby’s head was at the bottom – right in the middle of lunch!

By the way, how did my Mother know it was a leg and not an arm, or elbow? How could she tell? She couldn’t! It was an educated guess. It may not have been a guess at all, but rather a Mother’s need to answer the unanswerable queries of a child who would believe anything a Mother said.

Pregnancies and birth are unique and memorable events for all except little children. For the young child the magic is gone, because Mothers can account for everything. It is in the accounting that the magic dies and the terror and fear are born.

A TEENAGE SEX ADDICT

Donald looks under skirts.
Donald touches thighs, and slowly reaches pubic area.
Donald touches a breast, while touching arms, while touching a thigh, while touching….
Donald talks dirty to woman.
Donald walks into ladies dressing room.
Donald stares at naked teen age girls in dressing room.
Donald suggests that he will have or get a woman.
Donald tells woman she is his. Ignores refusals.
Donald pushes his body against woman’s body.
Donald gives unannounced kisses – some with tongue, some just on lips.
Donald touches pubic area.

BUT!!!!!!! And this is very important.
Donald never has intercourse with anyone but his wives.
Donald never shows his penis.
Donald never bares a breast.
Donald never puts his fingers on a vagina.
Donald never removes a woman’s clothing.

In fact, Donald Trump does not have ‘sex’ with strangers. You know, like real ‘sex’.

Donald is 13 going on 14…..

 

What’s It All About Alfie…

Sequester: To segregate, to set apart…

So when the Congress voted to sequester some money, they actually set aside dollars, for guns, for TSA and for other things. When the news first spoke of the Sequester I didn’t know the meaning of the word. I wondered why they used the term Sequester.  It seemed rather pompous.  Who knew what the term meant? Was I the only citizen out of 350 million that didn’t know the word? Did all others know the word, and not I?

Just prior to writing this evening I went to Webster to find the definition. How many other persons looked for, or asked for a definition of Sequester. It’s like when Rachel Maddow says ‘redound’ in one of her public service ads. What the hell is she talking about? My bell rings every time she says ‘redound’, and I think am I the only listener who finds the word awkward, and archaic.  Rachel, why not just say, ‘to give to me’, as in my folks gave me their home.

And furthermore, what is wrong or right about immigration? What is the problem? Why is it an issue? Throughout my life I believed that immigration was a good thing – actually a natural thing for people to do. People loved to immigrate to the United States.  If you loved in a village in Russia, and you got bored you immigrated. Tired of eating potato in Ireland, you backed an old suitcase and immigrated.

For most it was quite an adventure, and fraught with hardship, but they did it anyway. Foreign born were thrilled to float on by the Statue of Liberty, and they thanked their God that they arrived safely. My neighborhood was full of immigrants, or at least the children of immigrants. To be an immigrant suggested courage, industry and the ability to speak a foreign language.

Aside from some left over Indians, the rest of the nation were immigrants. Well maybe the Pilgrims were not immigrants, but there were none in my neighborhood. Eleven million illegal, mostly Latin immigrants and the nation is aghast. Well not the entire nation, but at least a bunch.

Real immigrants like Jewish, Irish, Italian, German, and Dutch, had an Ellis Island. A not so modest proposal: Round up all of the illegal Latins and bus them to Ellis Island. Delouse them, check their teeth, and even change their names if their name is hard to pronounce and be done with the problem. One caveat! Do not round them up at the same time, because who will be left to pick the lettuce in Yuma, Arizona, or wash the pots and pans at Le Cirque, or clean the toilets at Kennedy Airport.

Now for the mentally ill who are killing Americans, or intend to kill Americans, or might be inclined to kill Americans. As a clinical psychologist of 46 years, I have consulted with several thousand patients, and not one of them fits the bill as an assassin. Perhaps one might turn sour, but as of April 26, 2016, not one of those thousands should be denied their Second Amendment rights.

It is relatively easy to identify a mentally ill killer. Wait until he or she (rare if ever a she) gets a gun, or a bomb or multiples of both, and kills one or more persons without a visible motive. There you’ve got them. That person is most likely mentally ill or at least mean spirited. Maybe you will discover a motive and whether you do or not – they are very disturbed and not to be trusted with a gun or a bomb.

I am only one of thousands of psychologists, and psychiatrists, and as such some amongst us might be  able to pinpoint a potential killer, that is a mentally ill killer. But with privacy laws, and possible law suits, one must be careful not to pinpoint wrongly. A diagnostic classification of bi-polar disorder, schizophrenic, manic-depressive, sociopath, or aggressive personality may be the guideline for Second Amendment denial.

Using such a screening would require the professional, or perhaps the insurance company to reveal the identity of the potential killer, and we could then refuse them the right to bear arms, or bombs. One of the benefits of scanning the nation for potential mentally ill killers is that it gets almost hysterical, unanimous support from both ‘sides of the aisle.’ With such support our mentally ill will now be given more treatment services, more grants for the study of mental illness, and more drugs.

The mass murders have little saving grace, but for the current frenzy to open the treasury, find the mentally ill and cure them, or if necessary lock them up. The reason I suggest to lock some of them up is that as has been repeated over and over again, if someone wants to get a gun or a bomb they can get one. It is pretty easy. That applies to the mentally ill, as well as to the Mafia.

It is just not easy being a Black President!!!

I have never been in favor of grading children in Physical Ed. I am in favor of Physical Ed or just gym in my day, but no more grades. The physical requirements, and athletic skills that would earn an A, are only available to Jocks.

Could you earn an A for just attending on time, with sneakers, proper attire and civil behavior? Perhaps a B if you are consistently wearing pants, or jeans, but all else is acceptable. If it were possible to teach a child how to hit better, or shoot a jump shot, or run faster, or do 50 perfect push-ups or at least 6 chin –ups, then I say go for it. But Phys. Ed doesn’t do that. There is little or no teaching of athletic skills in the typical gym class.

Why not begin every school day with 30 minutes of calisthenics, or maybe just 15 minutes. That is the exercise portion of the school curriculum. If a child chooses to go to the gym to play a sport, or learn to shoot a bow and arrow, that is their choice.

But what about the Phys. Ed teacher – what are they to do? Nowadays the Phys.Ed teacher is trained in the curriculum of Sex Education, and that class should be required of all students, except for the student who is too embarrassed, or already promiscuous. No, all kidding aside, I am in favor of teaching students about their anatomy, sexuality, STD’s, safe sex, sexual abuse and even abstinence ( at least for awhile). For most students their primary schooling regarding their sexual needs and behavior takes place in their bedroom and bathroom. Advance training typically occurs at a party, or in a car, or in someone else’s bedroom or bathroom.

Sex Education Begins At Home – Good Luck!

Against his better judgment, but with the urging of his wife Adele, Sam agrees to speak with his son, Tom, about sex. Sam, a man of 45 years, has been avoiding such a discussion for the past two years. His wife, Adele, has pleaded with Sam to have a ‘man to man’ talk with their son about “the birds and the bees.” Tom just celebrated his 14th birthday. Adele has been anxious about Tom’s increasing romantic interests in their neighbor’s 16 year old daughter, Samantha. “It’s just puppy love”, has been Sam’s response, but Adele has been insistent about the need for homebound sex education.

Sunday morning’s bagels, lox and cream cheese have been devoured by all, and Sam asks Tom to join him on the patio. At the furthest end of the patio, out of earshot, Sam arranges two lounge chairs. Tom follows his Dad, and they sit side by side. Actually the chairs are touching, allowing for even a whispered communication. Sam clears his throat, takes a deep breath, and begins…

Sam: Tom I think that it is time for us to talk.

Tom: About what Dad?

Sam: What do you mean about what?

Tom: About what, Dad?

Sam: Something very important.

Tom: O.K.

Sam: Keep it down Tom. Stop shouting.

Tom: Shouting? I’m not shouting.

Sam: O.K. that’s better.  Just keep it down.

Tom: Dad is something the matter?

Sam: No, not at all. I just want to talk with you.

Tom: (concerned) Is Mom alright?

Sam: Mom is fine – she’s perfect. I mean she’s okay. This isn’t about your Mother.

Tom: Great. (relieved)You really got me scared Dad.

Sam: I’m sorry Tom I didn’t mean to scare you.

Tom: Dad…

Sam: (startled)What?

Tom: Oh nothing, but I was gonna meet Peter and Mark downtown.

Sam: Oh good. Well I guess we can talk tomorrow. It’s not a big deal.

Tom: No Dad. I’ll give them a call. I’ll see them later.

Sam: Oh fine, that’s fine. Well I guess we can talk today.

Tom: Yeh. I kinda like this Dad.

Sam: (Incredulous) You do?

Tom:  Yeh. Well what is this about Dad?

Sam: Well your Mom, well your Mom and I think that it is important for us to discuss things about men and women and things like that.

Tom: (excited) Yeh sounds good!

Sam: (vexed) What do you mean, sounds good?

Tom: You know Dad, sex and things like that…(giggles)

Sam: It’s not all sex. Everything is not about sex Tom.

Tom: I know that Dad. In health class we talked about pregnancy, babys and things like that.

Sam: Oh you do?

Tom: Yeh. We learned about STD’s and marriage and family.

Sam: STD’s. What’s that?

Tom: Sexually transmitted diseases, Dad.

Sam: Oh yeh, sure. That’s good.  I’m glad you learned about them.

Tom: Yeh, so am I.

Sam: That information will come in handy someday.

Tom: That’s for sure.

Sam: (abrupt) What do you mean by that?

Tom: Nothin. Say Dad, I better get going.

Sam: But I want to tell you…On second thought we can talk tomorrow. See you later, son.

Later on the same evening, Sam and Adele are in bed.

Adele: Sam, how did it go?

Sam: What?

Adele: How did the talk go with Tom?

Sam: Fine – just fine.

Adele: Great. I feel much better. I was so worried. I know it wasn’t easy for you.

Sam: No problem – no problem.

Ten minutes later. Sam is attempting to go to sleep, while Adele is reading. Her side of the bed it lit by a small bedside lamp.

Adele: Sam.

Sam: Uh.

Adele: Are you awake?

Sam: Sort of.

Adele: Sam, I was wondering what Tom had to say.

Sam: About what?

Adele: You know. Did he have any questions?

Sam: Adele, can’t we talk about this tomorrow? I’m really beat.

Adele: Sure we can honey. I was just curious. You know how I am.

Sam: Yes.

Adele: Was he comfortable talking to you Sam?

Sam: (annoyed) Adele, I’m really tired. Can’t we just go to sleep?

Adele: (insistent) Just tell me what he said!

Sam: (angry) Adele I’m serious. I’m exhausted!

Adele: I know. I’ m sorry, but I am so concerned. You know how kids are nowadays, and with Samantha next door. Sam, you understand don’t you?

Sam: Adele, I’m almost asleep. Goodnight.

Adele: Goodnight, Honey, Goodnight.

Next morning. Breakfast table. Seated are Tom, Sam and Adele

Adele: Tom would you like more pancakes?

Tom: No thanks Mom. I’ve got to get going.

Adele: Dad tells me that you and he had a great conversation yesterday.

Tom: Yeh.

Adele: I guess you must have felt a little funny.

Sam: (annoyed) Adele, enough.

Tom: No, Mom. I felt fine.

Adele: I mean wasn’t it a little….

 

Sam: (interrupts)Adele, Tom has to get going. He’s going to be late for class.

Adele: I was just interested in how you both felt. I mean it isn’t everyday that a father and son speak about personal things and…

Sam: (shouts) that’s it. Tom get going. Have a nice day.

Adele: Sam, what’s got into you?

Sam: Nothing. Well honey. I’ve got to go. See you later. (gets up and gives

Adele a kiss on the cheek).

Evening. Tom’s bedroom. Sam is outside the bedroom door. He knocks on the door.

Sam: Tom are you busy?

Tom: No Dad. Come on in.

Sam: How was your day?

Tom:  Good Dad.

Sam: Great. You know yesterday I wanted to talk with you about relationships between guys and girls.

Tom: I know Dad.

Sam: What do you mean, you know?

Tom: Sex. You wanted to talk about sex – right?

Sam: Well not exactly. Actually you’re right. Let’s talk about it. Your Mother thinks it’s important to discuss sex with you. Okay?

Tom: Sure Dad. It’s okay.

Sam: Okay. Tell me what you know, and if you have any questions ask me.

Tom: I really don’t have any questions. I mean I feel kinda funny talking about this with you.

Sam: Relax. We’re both men. If we can’t talk about these things who can you talk to?

Tom: Mark, and Peter.

Sam: Oh yeh. I understand, but they’re your age. Perhaps they don’t have all the information.

Tom: Well maybe you’re right.

Sam: So go ahead. Tell me what you have on your mind.

Tom: Well Dad, it’s not exactly a question, but can I get a subscription to Playboy?

Sam: (stunned) What?

Tom: I’d like to get Playboy, or maybe Penthouse.

Sam; Are you serious? I can’t believe you. Just forget it!

Tom: (hurt) Forget it Dad. I knew I shouldn’t ask you. Just forget it.

Sam: Why? Why do you need them?

Tom: Well every time I read them…

Sam: (aghast) You read them? Where? Where did you get them?

Tom: Peter’s dad has Penthouse. I read them at Peter’s house.

Sam: His dad has Penthouse? He lets you read them?

Tom: No, his dad doesn’t know.

Sam: Tom you are much too young – much too young.

Tom: But Dad, when I look at the girls, it’s easier to masturbate.

Sam: (shocked, stunned) What the hell! Just watch yourself Tom. Take it easy.

Tom: Now you’re mad. I knew I should have just shut up. Dad I better get to sleep.

Sam: I’m not mad. I’m just surprised.

Tom: Didn’t you ever read Playboy? Did you?

Sam: What difference does that make? I’m your father. I can’t believe that Peter’s father lets him read Penthouse.

Tom: I told you Dad. His father doesn’t know. Peter sneaks it out of his dad’s bedroom. Peter thinks his dad is really horny.

Sam: Tom, that’s enough. I don’t need to know about Peter’s dad.

Tom: Dad. How old were you the first time you masturbated?

Sam: (stunned, bleary eyed) What did you say?

Tom: I was wondering when you first jacked-off?

Sam: Tom, just watch your mouth.

Tom: I’m sorry Dad, but I was just curious. Being a guy, Dad, I just thought I could ask you that.

Sam: Well you took me by surprise. I mean I’m supposed to answer your questions, but…

Tom: I understand Dad. I apologize.

Sam: Tom, I’m sorry I jumped on you.

Tom: Say Dad, did you ever use condoms?

Sam :(shouts)  Shut the fuck up. Just shut your fuckin mouth.

Tom: But Dad…

Sam: You want to know about jacking-off, or condoms or whatever, just ask Mark, or Peter, or maybe Peter’s Dad. Not me!

Tom: I’m really sorry Dad, but you said we should talk about sex.

Sam: Right. But not about my sex!

Late that same night. Sam and Adele are in bed.

Adele: Sam, why were you shouting in Tom’s room?

Sam: Oh, nothing much. We just got into some heavy talk.

Adele: Like what?

Sam: Good night, Adele.

Adele: Sam, please don’t shut me out. This is important.

Sam; Adele, just forget it.

Adele: Sam, I am your wife. I can help.

Sam: Help, help with what. I don’t need your help Adele. Just go to sleep.

Adele: Why are you so upset?

Sam:  Why, I’ll tell you why. Your son – your son asked me about jacking-off.

Adele: What? What did you say?

Sam: Tom wanted to know how old I was when I first masturbated.

Adele: He did?

Sam: Yes he did. And did I ever use condoms.

Adele: I hope you told him that you did.

Sam: Listen Adele, if you want to talk to your son about your sexual acts, techniques, and equipment, go right ahead. I’m not!

Adele: Alright, calm down. Enough. Just relax.

Sam: O.K. Good night.

Adele: Good night Sam.

Several minutes later

Adele: Sam, are you up?

Sam: Barely.

Adele: Sam.

Sam: What?

Adele: How old were you when you first masturbated?

Fin……………………………