Duke, Horizontal

Inevitably, people always wonder what my parents think of “Duke, Horizontal.” In light of the salacious and very public nature of this biweekly column, this inquiry is probably reasonable. When it comes to sex and parental authority, most of us try to minimize the amount of details and maximize the level of denial. Some time during childhood, we linked the lyrics of rap songs with the miracle of procreation and realized that our very existence depended on Mom and Dad’s active sex life. After this scarring conclusion, we attempted to eradicate this reality from our mind and assumed our parents had retreated to a life of celibacy and 9:00 pm bedtimes upon the birth of their youngest child.

On the flipside, when it comes to recognizing sex’s role in the lives of their progeny, most of our parents seem to operate within a seemingly contradictory system of acceptance and rejection. As students playing make-believe adulthood in our college-size playpens, we amuse ourselves without curfews, chaperones or even the constraints of social normalcy. College functions as a real world dress rehearsal, and most parents seem comfortable letting the practice continue out of sight and out of mind, hoping that by opening night we’ll have smoothed over some of the sloppier scenes.

At the same time, attempting to introduce collegiate realities into the parental fiction of denial can paint a much messier picture. In this case, one of the more delicate maneuvers is the bedroom assignment for your significant other’s upcoming holiday visit. In my experience, it is almost universally unthinkable to even humor the idea of sharing sleeping space with the opposite sex under your parents’ roof. Some parents even seem to welcome and take pride in their defiance of fact, as in the case of one friend who still manages to convince her mother she sleeps on the couch when visiting her long-distance boyfriend (it should be noted that this same mother believed her daughter got wasted from “unwittingly” drinking spiked punch at a high school party; it seems some parents are more comfortable with reality than others).

The Pill is another opportunity to play parental charades. If you’re hoping that your parents’ insurance will foot your birth-control bill, you need a reasonable justification for taking it. Suddenly, some time in high school or college, women are plagued with troublesome skin or bad mood swings that require hormonal regulation. Often, these explanations have taken on such a phony tone that some parents still find them indigestible and proceed to demand the truth. The stammering conversation that results is generally uncomfortable for everyone involved.

For better or worse, young adults and their parents create careful boundaries and walls, hoping that no one opens a door to a scene they’d rather scratch from their brain forever. As my mom tells me when she occasionally browses through an installment of this column, “When I read this, it makes me wish I was your best friend. Unfortunately, I’m your mother.” And in many ways, that’s how it should be. If there’s no distinction between your friendships and your relationship with your parents, something seems amiss. They’re your parents for a reason. Cut them a break and spare them the details.

Brooke Hartley is a Trinity senior. Her column runs every other Thursday.