"C" IS FOR ... Y'KNOW

I wrote this piece in March 1995.

Last night my mother said the word condom. My mother! The word rolled off this refined septuagenarian's tongue like water off a duck's back. She had been telling me about the plugged plumbing under the chemistry lab floors at the high school, where she had once reigned as its librarian, when the "c" word just popped up in the list of debris she thought was possibly clogging the drains.

She didn't pause before she said it or gradually ease into saying it, nor did I detect a hint of revulsion in her voice, either. And I'm too young for my mother to be entering senility, so I can't blame it on her age. Mind you, this is a word which normally would have gotten my mouth washed out with Ivory soap had I said it when I was growing up. But say it she did as naturally as she says the word church.

Then she asked, "Don't you think it's amazing that in thirty years they never cleaned out those drains?"

"Gee, Mom, I'm even more amazed that you actually said the word condom!"

To place my sainted mother's unprecedented vocabulary in its proper context, this is the same woman who, after years of politely requesting disruptive students to "Please be quiet," invited a coronary when she raised her voice in a fit of exasperation and bellowed, "Shut up!" She obsessed over her outburst for weeks. So the day my mother actually articulates the "c" word in normal conversation is truly a red-letter day, indeed.

Even more shocking is the fact that she had assumed that condoms were among the items clogging the drains.

"They found pencils and papers and probably a condom or two."

What ever happened to the time when we kids snickered over the word rubbers? When we didn't know what prophylactic meant but we snickered anyway just because it sounded dirty? When mothers blanched at the very thought that their children even knew such language? What happened? AIDS happened.

Yet, by the mid-80s, when the AIDS panic was gathering a head of steam, the general public still maintained its distaste of the word. Although we were saturated with discussions of sex, we just couldn't bring ourselves to say the "c" word, not without cringing. And you had to say it, because condoms used to be relegated to the forbidden behind-the-counter territory in drug stores, forcing customers to ask for them.

In 1987 one condom company came up with a novel approach to help the public overcome its apprehension. Carter-Wallace, Inc., which makes Trojan Brand condoms, offered free plastic cards to their tongue-tied customers. The gold and black cards resembled credit cards and were imprinted with the request "MAY I PLEASE HAVE A BOX OF TROJAN BRAND CONDOMS" on the front. On the back, Carter-Wallace thoughtfully listed all the varieties.

I thought the cards were a hoot, so I requested six and passed them out to my friends. I doubt they were ever used because about that same time condoms went public; they were moved from behind the counter into the easily accessible help-yourself aisles. Ribbons of festively colored condoms were suddenly found everywhere. People no longer had to wince while whispering to the clerk what they wanted, which meant that the condom cards were already collector's items. The irony is that once people no longer had to say word, they no longer had a problem saying it.

Then last night my own mother said condom. I had hoped to have spared her from ever using the "c" word in my presence. 'Tis a sad commentary on society when seventy-something mothers blithely use such language with their daughters. I'm just glad her mother is no longer alive to hear it.

© 1995, Kitty Myers
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