It’s about time we talked about breasts. They have a gazillion names. The old mammary glands. Boobs, knockers, boobies, bazookas, melons, bosoms, bubbies, and so much more.
But let us get the scientific definitions out of the way before we go anywhere else. Females that have mammary glands are from the class Mammalia. More commonly, we are called mammals.
Others are not like us. Reptiles and such. All other animals do not have mammary glands. Not fish. Not birds.
Female mammals produce milk for their offspring. As such, they spend a good portion of their time and energy raising their offspring. In the animal kingdom, us included, this behavior helps ensure the survival of the species. Milk money.
Most people do not know that men have mammary glands too. Human male breastfeeding is possible. But they need to produce the hormone prolactin. It is necessary to induce lactation. So. Under most normal conditions, males do not lactate. One way to accomplish this is through medical intervention.
There are some circumstances where this could occur naturally in men. The conditions, as you might guess, are extremely rare for men to lactate. One way is through starvation.
On a historical note, thousands of men reported lactation during World War II while held as prisoners. These men were in different locations, too. Either in Japanese POW camps or Nazi concentration camps.
Science then showed that the hormone-producing glands—like the pituitary gland, which generates prolactin—are disrupted when a person is malnourished. But, at the same time, so is the hormone-destroying liver. If proper nourishment is later given to the person, the glands recover much more quickly than the liver. This causes the hormones to explode with activity. Hence the milk from the nipples.
Anyway. Back to breasts. Here we live in a culture where women cover them up. Exposing them is considered “nudity.” I’m thinking of this because as kids, we would sometimes get an issue National Geographic that would show women from different places on the globe, and their breasts would be exposed. Oh, we would sneak peeks like crazy. And the word would get out. All the neighborhood kids would go to the person’s house who had a subscription to get a glimpse.
As a matter of fact, it was on this date, November 1, 1896, the first bare-breasted women — from Zulu — appeared in National Geographic Magazine. And people peeked.
These days, men pay money to go into shady places just to get a glimpse of women’s breasts. Well. And probably more.
But why?
During my kidhood, I can remember taking my shirt off outside when we were playing. The boys had their shirts off. My sister and I were every bit as hot as they were. So off the shirts came. We played street baseball that way until someone’s mother got a glimpse of us. Then Mrs. Kronenberger was brought into the mix, and that ended our bare-breasted days in the sun.
But why?
I had a friend who lived in Cincinnati and had a swimming pool in her high-fenced backyard. She liked to sunbathe with her top off. One day, Cincinnati police showed up, citing her for public nudity. A neighbor could see her “breasts” from his second-floor window. Even though she was on her own property, she could be seen by others who were not, hence the ticket (and near arrest.)
But w-h-y?
I see fat men in the summertime with their shirts off. They have much, much, much larger breasts than I do. Yet, they can tromp around the town with their black socks and plaid shorts and show their mammary glands to the world.
Admittedly, I would never walk around bare-chested, only because I’m very self-conscious about my body. I’m rail-thin. I don’t even like people to see me in a swimsuit in my own pool. My friend Janet says of herself and other “older” women, “But they’re not looking at you.” But I contend that people do look, and notice, and make judgments. It is a sad reflection on me that I should care that they do. But I do care.
More so, it is a sad reflection on the human condition that we judge people so easily instead of showing acceptance. How many times do we hear people say, “Oh my goodness. Did you see what she was wearing?” Or, “Did you get a load of that nose-ring and tattoos?”
Acceptance would be better, if we could.
It is a reflection of compassion. If we could.
Oh, if we could.
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“We are all different. Don’t judge, understand instead.”
― Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart
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“Our task must be to free ourselves… by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature and it’s beauty.”
― Albert Einstein
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“This is my letter to the world
That never wrote to me”
― Emily Dickinson
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Don’t be a boob about breasts. Or anything else.
