My kids started attending a new Catholic school this year and to foster budding friendships I’ve been hosting blind (play)dates; meaning, I’m inviting moms over whom I’ve never met to sit and chat for a couple of hours. This week Allison (an OR nurse) and I pulled up two chairs and two waterloos while our six kids played around us, and I started with, “So, how was your day?”
I explained that I had hosted a theology of the body event and she explained that she assisted with a top surgery. Wow. Honestly, that dichotomy gave us room for deep and fruitful conversation, for which we were mostly equipped. As I thought about our conversation afterward, what struck me the most was how entirely benign the term “top surgery” was to my new friend. It was a little bizarre that, while our six kids happily played around us, this fellow Catholic-school mom sitting next to me spoke about the mutilation of a healthy human body as a “top surgery” and simply an ordinary task in a regular day’s work.
This got me thinking, again, about the power of language. I mentally visit this topic often, and if there is one overarching gift that learning more about theology of the body has given me, it’s an appreciation for the power of language. So I want to suggest that parents consider adjusting their use of language with their kids in three simple yet profoundly game-changing ways.
Use accurate terms
First, use accurate terms for the body. This young woman did not have a “top surgery;” she had a double mastectomy of two healthy breasts. We may have looked past the importance of this lesson 20 years ago when we were advised not to call a penis a wee-wee and a vagina a woo-woo. But now the rubber has met the road and the attack on language especially regarding the body is beyond alarming. Speak the truth with your words. A mother is not a birthing person; a woman is not a bleeding person; nursing a newborn is not chest-feeding; and a double mastectomy is not a top surgery. Get back to the basics of anatomy. Women menstruate, give birth and nurse infants via milk ducts in their breasts. Men have different anatomy. You get the picture.
Use vs utilize
Second, replace the verb “use” with “utilize” when you are referencing people. We use things, not people. For example, when I hire Rob to mow our lawn, I don’t “use” him for lawn care; I “utilize” his services. I don’t “use” my husband at tax time; I “utilize” his gifts around finances to do the heavy lifting of this shared task. My kids know they can ask to use my scissors, but if they need me to help with homework they are coming to understand that they are asking for the gifts of my caring and (limited) knowledge of math. Do they use the word “utilize” at their ages? No, but I do, and they hear it and process it.
Think: gift
Third, insert the word gift whenever appropriate. Making a gift of yourself is the major thread that weaves the story of theology of the body together. Start pointing out gifts to your kids. I don’t say “Thank you for Matthew;” I say, “Thank you for the gift of Matthew.” I don’t thank my parents for coming over to play with the kids; I thank them for being a gift to the kids. When something good comes our way, I exclaim, “What a gift!” And even when something bad comes our way, I explain, “What a gift,” and then walk my kids through why and how little crosses are gifts, too.
Use accurate anatomy; utilize – don’t use – people; point out life’s many gifts. Now you’re talking TOB.