PLAYING DOCTOR

          Why do children like to play doctor?  I guess a parent could ask, why do children like to play fireman or policeman or ballerina or dentist?  And they do!  The fact that playing doctor often makes a parent anxious is because, for the parent, it has a sexual implication.  Children also play doctor by bandaging fingers and knees and pretending to give medicine and injections; but this is often not the usual association we have to children playing doctor.  What parents think about is children examining each other’s bodies, pulling down pants or lifting skirts and peeking at genitals.  Sometimes it means using a pretend rectal thermometer.

          Children often play this form of doctor game because they have a good deal of curiosity about the human body and sexual differences.  They are curious about everything in their growing world of experience; but even at a very young age, they sense some mystery about the way they are made.  Often they get better answers to their questions about almost everything else than they do about sexual differences.  Examining each other is one way of trying to find some answers.  Almost everyone remembers playing doctor, even though it occurs so early in life.

          Today, sex (and nudity) is everywhere.  Even very young children are exposed to sexual matters on TV, in the movies, on the Internet, and as a subject of lively discussion at the dinner table and among nannies on the park bench.

          A parent’s dilemma is greater than ever as to how to deal with their children’s questions.  But the real dilemma is their own confusion and their own curiosity.  True, today’s parents are more knowledgeable and hopefully more comfortable about sexual matters than their own parents were, but a whole new world of sexual experience opens up every day.

          How to react to it?  How to make sense of it?  How to incorporate it into one’s own value system?  How not to be too turned off by it or too turned on?  It may take some time for adults – parents – to integrate this explosion of sexual matters and to help young children cope with what they see and hear from every direction; but in the meantime, my guess is that playing doctor may get a lot more interesting. 

         

WHAT MAKES FOR HOT SEX?

Surprisingly, it is not always with Mr. Right. As a matter of fact, an inappropriate partner or an unavailable one often fuels the fire of sexual desire more than someone who meets the requirements of the ideal partner.

Would the story of Romeo and Juliet enthrall us to the same degree if theirs was not a clandestine affair? Would the outcome of that tragic tale be the same if their parents were not engaged in a vendetta that made their love prohibitive?

Then there’s the story of “Looking for Mr. Goodbar.” Remember? Diane Keaton plays the role of a conventional, compassionate teacher deciding to be her “own girl.” In the murky nightclubs she explores, she finds excitement with dangerous and unpredictable men and spurns the Mr. Right in her life. This story, too, ends in disaster.

But many of us experience yearning for an unavailable partner, pine over an ambivalent lover, or engage in risk-taking sexual encounters at some time in their lives. How can we explain the excitement in such behavior? And the intensity of the sexual feelings connected with the experience?

It’s not unlike other ways in which some people, especially in their younger years, break the rules by driving too fast, drinking too much, or getting involved in drugs.

Taking risks seems to offer a feeling of power, a sense of entitlement to engage in behavior that has been prohibited in the past.

If the risks involved in the area of sexual behavior haven’t led to disastrous or very painful consequences, most people move on to want sexual experiences to be part of an intimate, secure relationship.

Memories of these experiences often linger on and may trigger excitement in fantasy life and even add excitement to sex with Mr. Right!

NO RING, DON'T BRING

NO RING, DON’T BRING

No Ring, Don’t Bring may not mean anything to you, but it is a familiar phrase to those involved in the process of planning a wedding, whether they are the bride and groom, their parents or those on the guest list. The ring referred to, of course, is an engagement ring.

The tradition of an engagement ring goes back to ancient times and was popular in many cultures. It has not always meant an agreement to marry, but it often conveyed that promise; it could also be a promise of fidelity, friendship, or eternal commitment. It could be made of metal, stone, or various metals and gems. It is only in modern times that a diamond is the most popular choice for an engagement ring. I guess ever since “diamonds are a girl’s best friend” became a popular belief.

The placement of the ring on the woman’s fourth finger of her left hand is also a tradition from ancient times based on the belief that there was a vein on that finger that led straight to the heart – the vein of love. There’s no reference I found that men have such a vein – so that’s maybe why men generally do not wear engagement rings – although they have begun to wear wedding rings.

Today, the engagement ring seems to have taken on a new function – you might say as a ticket of admission to the wedding – especially for single people. Who is invited and how many guests has probably always been an issue, dependent on many different factors. One issue today is the exorbitant cost of a wedding; therefore, the guest list is carefully surveyed.

Single friends, both male and female, are often told they cannot bring an escort, a date, a dancing partner, or a potential mate unless there is evidence of a committed relationship; and the best evidence of that is the engagement ring! No Ring, Don’t Bring!



OPEN SESAME

 

I turn the key and the door opens.  I walk into my office waiting room.  Although I have not redecorated it for a few years, I think of it as more attractive than any of the waiting rooms where I have waited as a patient.

 

I feel proud as I look around.  I am a Master of the Universe here.  Not a Wall Street Master of the Universe, but a respected and successful member of my profession.  Here I have the pleasure of doing work that contributes a rich dimension to my life.  Here I have earned money that has contributed to my sense of self-worth.

 

I am of a generation in which middle class generally did not work after college.  Their chief goal was to marry and have children.  I wanted that too, but I always wanted to pursue a career.

 

Here in this office, my husband and I had adjoining suites; and for a time, collaborated as a sex therapy team.  He would be proud of me that I continued in this space and purchased the office when the building became a co-op.  I rent the extra suite and so have some sense of being a business person.

 

The one disturbing feeling that comes over me from time to time is that my life here will come to an end -- that I will become too feeble in mind and body to be a Master of the Universe and patients will no longer come through that door.

 

But until that day comes and I put my key in the lock, I will as a Master of My Universe and I feel fulfilled.



FORBIDDEN -- What my daughter saw in Jerusalem

Orthodox Jews are forbidden to watch television, go to the movies or museums where they might see images of naked men and women.  Women are forbidden to appear in public without covering their hair or to wear clothing that fails to cover their lower arms, their necks or their knees.

Men are required to wear what we regard as a uniform -- a yarmulke or a black hat, black pants, and a white shirt.

There are foods Orthodox Jews cannot eat and books they cannot read.  In other words, the secular world in its myriad dimensions is off limits to them.

What my daughter saw as she strolled through Orthodox communities in Jerusalem or joined the huge crowds at the Western Wall were hordes of Orthodox Jews, separate in dress and manner, carrying a prayer book in one hand and in the other hand, the whole of the secular world, their iPhone.

AN UNUSUAL FRIENDSHIP

Menachim is the friend I made on American Airlines Flight 16.  I was traveling in Economy and there was an empty seat next to me -- for which I was grateful.  At the very last minute before take off, an Orthodox Jewish man claimed the seat. 

He was not someone I would have chosen as a seat mate.  I am a secular Jew, with a particular antipathy for fundamentalism in any form.  However, in the past few years, one of my grandsons chose ultra Orthodoxy as his way of life, which has troubled me very much.

A short time after the plane took off, without any thought, I turned to my fellow traveler and said, "I think it's beshert that I am sitting next to you."  He smiled and said that beshert (it's fated) usually refers to a mating situation and he didn't think I had that in mind.  Among other differences, my seat mate appeared about forty years younger than I am.

From that point on, Mechachim and I talked, laughed, and had drinks together.  To my amazement, I liked this man.  That flight was the start of our friendship.  We have talked many times on the phone.  He has visited my home and I have been at his home for a Purim party.  He has invited me to join his family at Passover -- although I was unable to accept.  He invites me to lunch with his wife.  We have shared beliefs and feelings about many things.  There is no doubt in my mind that we are friends.

My most recent experience with Menachim was when he brought me some special matzohs for Passover.  We sat and talked for a while about his faith, our children, and my feelings about my grandson's Orthodox lifestyle.

As he was at the door, almost to leave, I turned to Menachim and said, "If I weren't against your tradition, I'd love to give you a hug."

The next morning Menachim called me.  He said he had told his wife about my wanting to hug him.  Her response was, "You should have let her.  She's an old lady."

NEVER TOO LATE

I first met Vivian in an exercise class.  I was impressed with her energy, her air of confidence, and a quiet presence I thought of as dignity.

I made some friendly overtures to her, chatting before class started and suggesting we go to coffee sometime; but it was clear Vivian was not interested in our getting together.  She always left with her friend Alice, a long-time friend.

Vivian left exercise class long before I did.  I was surprised when our paths crossed in a book club we had both joined.  Vivian had an extraordinary knowledge of modern and classical literature -- which we all appreciated.

Vivian was much more a member of the book club group than she had been in the exercise class.  I attributed it to the fact that, without Alice, she was much freer to interact with all of us.

Eventually, Vivian and I became friends -- as close as some of the friends in my past.  How was that possible, I asked myself?  We didn't grow up together; we weren't in the same class in kindergarten, or high school, or college.  We never pledged to be (BFF) best friends forever.

Vivian didn't know my story, my parents, and she didn't dance at my wedding.  We weren't professional colleagues.  She never met my husband -- nor I hers.  She never shared the intimate secrets of my life's various stages.

How, then, could I regard her as a close friend -- but I did.  We knew each other's older selves and we shared what it meant to grow old.

But, like many of my friends of my past, Vivian died, and I miss her.  She was my friend.