The other night at pole class, some of the women were asking me about my pole. How much, where I put it, etc etc etc.
Then one woman, who seriously looks like she's about twelve, said "I asked my husband if I could get a pole and he was all like, "I don't know".... [and here I would note aside from the obvious creepy beginning of the sentence, who in their right mind wouldn't want their lover to do hot pole practice?!] "and then I think I sort of convinced him, but I don't know where to put it so the kids won't see it and get at it and my husband is really worried they'll turn into weird sex fiends"... [Does this mean that *she* is a weird sex fiend?. . . . AND SHIT! Am *I* a weird sex fiend?!]
To which I replied that my kids bleeping *love* my pole. And that my son is already a better pole dancer than me. Which is completely true - he is amazing and has out-of-this-world upper body strength.
To which she looked at me utterly aghast. And said nothing else.
Since getting my pole, and announcing it to the world (hey, I'm really fucking happy about my pole, what can I say?), and posting pics of my Boy-o on said pole, I've been aware that people *may* have some issues with this. Because pole-dancing is not your everyday hobby, and there are a lot of preconceived notions about what pole-dancing is like, and correspondingly, what pole-dancers are like. (In my case, some of the latter pre-conceived notions may be true, but that is besides the point at this particular juncture...).
So here's the first thing: Pole-dancing class is all about sex. It is sexy as hell, and that is a big part of why I love it. It's hot. Totally. But it's also really, really fucking challenging. Body-busting-muscle-building-break-your-ass-legs-covered-in-bruises-thighs-covered-in-pole-burn-sweat-your-face-off-not-for-the-wussy kinda hard. And that is also why I love it. The blend of those two things are completely and utterly *me* and completely and utterly happy-making. I get to combine big parts of me into one activity. I get to work out in four inch studded heels. It's a good life. (On this note, I would say that I feel pretty meh about the recent call by polers to de-sexualize pole, and make into in an Olympic sport. I mean, I feel conflicted about the Olympics to begin with, and I also think that if you take the sex out of pole, it loses something in my world. Anyhoo...).
And here's the other thing: when my kid pole-dances, it isn't at all about sex. I show them them spins I know. I don't show them the booty moves (though, they have seen me dance in general, which is pretty booty-licious). Anyways, Boy-o rocks it. He climbs, he spins, he kicks up his heels, he shakes his booty and he is totally, completely and utterly blissed out. He is happiest when in his body like that, and when I watch him rock it, I often find myself wishing I'd have gotten a pole years ago. Bloody amazing, that kid. Girlio tends, thus far, to use it as a ballet-dancing sort of prop - and here I confess that the thought of her idolizing the fat-shaming world that is ballet horrifies me a good deal more than the thought of her idolizing the 'sex fiendish' world of pole-dancing. Yes - that's right. I'd rather she strive to love her body enough to slut it up with panache and strut her stuff than strive to be light as a feather (and here I would note that -yes, the ballet is beautiful and artsy goodness. I even like some ballet. But my daughter is not body shaped now, nor will she ever be body shaped to become a prima ballerina. With or without the requisite eating disorder(s). Like her mama, she is solidly, well, solid. Ballet would mean a world of body-loathing dissapointment, and it's not something I will ever encourage in her world. Contemporary dance... that I would encourage wholeheartedly. Or pole. You know, what evs).
Which brings me to the second strain of thought-processing that was brought up when ruminating about this discussion... kids and sex. Sex and kids. Kids! Sex! (insert appropriate horror-flick soundtrack of your choice).
Which.... I will blog about tomorrow. Because this is already getting too long. Because I have been, as usual, too wordy.
... to be continued