Dear Creepy Uncle, Please Stop Asking About My Sex Life
How grown men ruin their nieces’ childhoods.
A few weeks ago, I watched a YouTube video in which comedian Maddie Wiener made a joke about uncles being “halfway between a father and a stranger.”
I laughed along, then winced at the painful memories the sentiment brought up. Indeed, all of my uncles growing up felt more like buddies of my father, whether they were from his side or not.
Awkwardly older than most of my cousins, I tried to break into their old boys club.
As the beers began flowing, their jokes were directed toward me, my body, or my sexuality as I hit puberty. Due to the common trope of “creepy uncles,” I suspect I’m not alone.
“You’ve grown up!”
When my breasts developed in fourth grade, it was all my uncles could comment on. As soon as I walked into a family gathering, someone would comment on how I’ve “grown” while looking pointedly at my breasts.
Never mind that I was 10 years old; the emergence of this body part gave them permission. They practically salivated at the mouth to bring my body against theirs in an innocent-looking hug. Because I was on stage, I had to smile as they topped it off with a wet kiss on the cheek that disgusted me.
I couldn’t say no because that was impolite. Despite the fact that I was a child and they were grown men, I brought it on me with the clothes I wore. Or so my mother implied when she banned me from wearing short shorts to family gatherings that certain relatives would be attending.
Before my mother finally got me my first bra, I received some hand-me-downs from my older cousin.
One of these hand-me-downs was a very on-trend Hollister cami with a plunging neckline. Per early 2000s fashion standards, these tank tops would have been layered many times over a push-up bra — ideally from Pink.
I did not yet have a bra, but I decided to sport this tank top one night at a family gathering. When I waltzed in, feeling mature and cool, one uncle pointed and encouraged everyone to laugh at my barely covered pointy breasts.
I ran into the bathroom crying, not understanding why it was fine to wear a tank top by itself last year but not this year.
My male cousins got to enjoy themselves at these parties, but for me, they were the place where I lost my innocence. I wasn’t the only one. I watched helplessly as my younger sisters were subjected to it, too, even making light of it because I hadn’t processed my own trauma yet.
They didn’t have to touch me. With their blatant sexual comments on a child’s body, and their wives laughing along, my uncles taught me my role. No one was ever called out for their inappropriate behavior, but at the same time, it was all my fault.
Casual incest
When my parents took me to get my first car in high school, my uncle made the suggestion that I should get a minivan so I could have a place to “shag.”
In college, the news of who everyone thought to be my first official boyfriend broke out. We were playing a game inspired by the show “Minute to Win It,” where each contestant has to suck up as many mini marshmallows as they can with a straw and transfer them to a Solo cup in one minute.
I was playing against my younger cousins and roommate, whom I left in the dust. I looked over at my father and uncle in the corner of the room and read his lips: “That’s how she got her boyfriend.” The heat rushed to my face as I watched my father chuckle and sip his beer. Even as an adult, I couldn’t escape it.
Did they really think that was my first boyfriend? Did they not wonder why I hid everything from them? Why I was the only member of the family who wore a robe on top of my towel if I had to get laundry from the back after a shower? Did my mother never notice that I only stripped down to my sports bras during workouts if my father wasn’t home?
This casual incest breeds mistrust and evasion. In my case, it also led to extreme sex aversion. The idea of sex and even masturbation grossed me out until age 19. Even then, it took a while to enjoy it because I couldn’t even undress without hearing my uncles’ voices in my head.
What were supposed to be meaningful milestones in my life — my first kiss, my first date, my first boyfriend — became shameful events to keep secret from my family. If my uncles found out, they would scrub off the youthful glow and turn it into a scandal. I desperately wanted their approval and I hated them at the same time.
Even when my father was arrested for his own sex crime, the jig still wasn’t up. No amount of self-reflection was done on the implications of the alcohol-induced perversion in the years before the crime.
If I hadn’t cut off contact, or if I’d ever told my uncles about my marriage, I know I’d be hearing about the conception of children every day. The one uncle who knew couldn’t shut up about potential inhabitants in my uterus.
One of the many benefits of detaching from the family is no longer hearing the insidious, degenerate comments about my body or my sex life from my uncles.
Marrying into perversion
Too bad I married into a family with yet another deviant uncle who feels comfortable soliciting my husband for young girls and sharing the sordid details of his horniness before he met his late wife.
In addition to that mess, upon hearing that his nephew was dating an American woman, the first thing he said was that white women have “big vaginas” that “aren’t suited to Asian men’s penises.” I’d be tempted to laugh at the obvious self-reporting under any other circumstance.
What’s worse: when this person is related to you by blood or by marriage and saying this shit?
Because he is the wealthy provider for a large family with ranging incomes, no one dares to speak against him. Particularly in Chinese culture, elders are given a free pass as the most important members of the community. With their penchant for gossip, I can’t get a peep out of anyone else indicating that they share my resentment towards him.
Luckily, other than that uncle, all the others are gems. My mother-in-law’s brother has lunch with his mother at the apartment every day, where I am free to walk around without a bra on at all times.
Maybe it’s the language barrier or the presence of his mother, but he has never once commented on my body. I’m still in awe that good uncles like him exist. How sad it was for me to realize that this should be the norm, but isn’t for a lot of young girls.
There are close families and then there is sexual harassment. A neutral, age-appropriate way of talking about bodies exists, but I doubt many uncles are willing to learn it. It is the uncles’ responsibility to learn boundaries, but is their wives’ responsibility to put them on the grown man rather than the child.
There is nothing sexual about children. It does not matter what they wear, whether they’re developing, or how old they are. No one is asking for it, especially not minors.
Dear uncle, stop asking about my sex life. You should not be observing my physique. My sexuality is none of your business. Instead of asking about my sex life, ask yourself why you feel so comfortable talking about what I do with my body.
It doesn’t matter that I am a grown woman now. Leave my younger cousins and me alone. Stop traumatizing generations of young girls for your sick pleasure. Move your obsession away from pubescent bodies and move on to something that does not harm anyone.
I researched for quite a while trying to find statistics to back up my theory that most girls have to deal with at least one uncle who is inappropriate towards her, but I could not find anything other than anonymous Reddit threads chronicling similar experiences.
I don’t think that the absence of correlating information disproves the trope of creepy uncles, but I’d like to start a dialogue in the comments. If you feel comfortable sharing, have you had an uncle comment on your body or sex life?
All genders are welcome to comment about their experiences.
Since our mothers, aunts, and grandmothers wouldn’t do it for us, how about we collectively speak up against this behavior that ruins childhood for so many? It was not okay then and it’s not okay now. I’m so sorry if you’ve had the misfortune of experiencing this, too.
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