When Your Dad is a Nudity Nazi

There are two types of naturist parents, the ones that try to protect you, and the ones that want to set you free.

Growing up in Southern California, in the heart of Orange County suburbia, where homes are built so close together you could stick your arm out the window and shake your neighbor's hand, where homeowner's associations are run by policy-pricks, and where reputation is the currency of choice, a naturist kid is often left confused as to which behavioral path to take.

My dad was something of a "Nudity Nazi" in that he seemed more concerned about protecting us from the law than just enjoying the sunny delight of a sans-clothing creature of cavort.

While driving out to weekend camping trips, he would always advise our family of laws and regulations for various jurisdictions that we passed through...

"Okay, we are now entering the national forest, and here you can be nude except for... blah, blah, blah, so you have to make sure you... yada, yada, yada."

And then we'd enter into a state park, or some other federal land, and then he'd announce once again,

"Okay, we are now in a state park, and here nudity is absolutely banned, so we won't be camping here!"

We'd all roll our eyes because it seemed monotonous and overkill, yet in his mind he felt as if he were protecting us from ourselves. It would otherwise be informative, and we'd probably accept it out of love and concern, except that his need to police my brother and I, and his need to criticize our mom, seemed to go around the clock.

He would set up little flags at our campsite, like the kind you'd see planted above underground pipelines, placing them in a wide perimeter just to make sure my brother and I knew the limits of how far we were allowed to explore the surroundings. When we'd get too close to the flags, he'd stand up so that we could see he was watching us.

There was always his constant reminders that it's proper for girls to cross their legs when sitting, which is something all girls are taught, but then again, we're naturists. Exactly what body part must be concealed from view when mixing with other naturists?

When another naturist boy grew an erection from chatting (and sneaking a kiss) with me, which often happens when naturist families get together, my dad would scold me for putting that boy into an awkward position, as if it were my fault, or that I was being inappropriate.

It seemed like my dad would have been happier if we had just kept our clothes on. The irony is that he preached the benefits of naturism, but I wonder to this day what those benefits are.

My Mother the Naturist Rebel

My mom was the polar opposite, the kind who didn't give a fuck if anyone saw her, or saw us. She had the attitude that it's "her body", and if "your eyes" can see her, then it's "your problem" and not "hers to fix". Ultimately, this conflict of clothing-optional attitudes is what led to my parents' divorce.

Mom was a housewife who wanted to be permanently nude. She did keep "some" clothing, but they were only for leaving home. She had built up such a naturist life that it became her, and for that matter, didn't make sense to be anything else. If we expected non-naturist guests to visit, there would be fights between her and Dad.

"This is our house Goddamn it!"

She would always argue, refusing to accommodate the comfort of others. If we couldn't limit our friends to nudists or nude-tolerant, then they weren't worth being friends with as far as she was concerned. She wanted to be valued for who she was, so much so, that she used her nude body as a filter to sort out those whom she had no desire to associate with.

Nude sunbathing in the back patio, sitting on the front porch nude, even answering the door nude, were things that she did. Other families along our block knew that we were naturists, and we were often the topic of discussion. Some of the neighbors complained to my dad about her being seen nude either in the backyard or on the front porch. He always argued with Mom about it, but she had no fucks to give.

It's not like she was unkempt either. She took very good care of herself. She stuck to a low-carb diet, ran on the treadmill (in our house), and went to an esthetician to keep her skin flawless and hairless. Part of her "shtick" was gaining a sense of value from being noticed, which made her something of an exhibitionist and even a narcissist. Otherwise, she grew up in a household of six other siblings and a single mom, where she was the youngest, and often left ignored. Running around naked from an early age was how she got her family to deal with her. The older she got, the more she tried to distance herself from them, and naturism became part of that.

But Mom is not a tramp. She never cheated on Dad as far as I know, and never did anything slutty as a naturist. She's actually quite classy in the way she carries herself, and the way she converses. If she were to attend an elegant dinner party, she'd be the one wearing high heels, a diamond necklace, with her hair styled into a high bun, but otherwise fully nude, having conversations about finances and sports with men and women dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns.

Choosing the Behavioral Path

After the divorce, we rarely heard from Dad again. He was inconsistent with child support. There were phone calls to my brother and I for our birthdays, but after a couple of years he stopped. My brother took that hard, and so did I.

Even though his nudist code enforcements were obnoxious, there's something to be said about your father not valuing you that imparts a deep, psychological scar on a son and daughter's sense of self-worth. I mean, I think I've always been an introvert for as long as I can remember, and I've always preferred to read books and value my alone-time. Yet, I can't seem to shake the little voice inside that wants to hold my Daddy's hand, be his "little girl", and wonder why he doesn't want me anymore.

I think my reasons for continuing to live as a naturist has something to do with that. I have this part from my mom that wants to be herself and not care what others think. But there's this other part that wants her dad to see her and be proud that he raised a proper naturist.

Being born an Orange County girl, the path I ultimately chose to take was my mom's. The bottom line is that I don't give a fuck what other people think, but I'm not as daring as her. I'm not concerned about breaking the law or making other people feel uncomfortable as I am about keeping the peace. I'd rather be reading and writing, taking a hike through a wilderness, and finding some spiritual enlightenment.

I see the genus of Homo Sapiens as no more unnatural than oak trees, crickets, and vernal pools. I love wandering nude through a wilderness area, taking with me nothing more than my hiking sandals, leaving my campsite behind and allowing Nature to metabolize me into her cellular structures.

Perhaps growing up in the prying eyes of suburbia with a naturist Nazi is also the reason why I love that.