A few weeks ago, I posted some photos on Instagram (irate_corvus) of my daughter and me at the Warhol Museum. A friend expressed horror that I would take her to such a place, asking if they “still have that floor.”

I had to ask what she meant by “that floor,” which suggests that no, whatever it was isn’t there any more – to which said friend replied, “It was R- and X-rated stuff.”

Okay, hold up. A of all: If such an exhibit were still at the Warhol, I wouldn’t walk my 5-year-old through it because, while I’m a firm believer in not sheltering children from reality, I’m not going to plant them in front of sexually explicit photography/video and say, “Here’s some sex, kids, enjoy.” There is absolutely art that isn’t appropriate for developing minds; hell, considering it’s Warhol, some of it probably isn’t appropriate for me (whether or not it is art is a completely separate conversation). So, being that I’m a relatively responsible person and a decent parent, seriously? You really thought I’d let her get anywhere near that gallery?

And B of all: why does the explicit nature of the art on one part of one floor of a six-story museum (seven if you count the basement, which has a free-for-all art studio in it) make the entire place inappropriate for children? Because one of the paintings was done with urine? Have you ever met a 5-year-old? Do you have any idea how hysterical that idea is to them, not to mention explaining the process allows the adult to open a discussion about how anything can be art and therefore, kids shouldn’t ever be ashamed of what they create because, no matter what it looks like, it’s art to them? That art isn’t about perfection, it’s about imagination and color and fun? Because the child may catch a glimpse of actual human anatomy?

The horror.

Would you deny your kid the opportunity to see Michaelangelo’s David? Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man? Reuben’s Daniel in the Lion’s Den? No? Interesting, because all of those paintings feature naked or near-naked human forms. Maternite by Marie Cassatt (exposed breast)? Gaugin’s Two Women of Tahiti (more exposed breasts)? Sargent’s Portrait of Madame X (extremely suggestive)? No? No.

Why not? Because they’re classics? Because they’re paintings and not photographs? Because being either or both sets them apart? Why are those forms beautiful, whereas those captured by Warhol or Annie Leibovitz (and again, we’re separating depictions of the human form from the sex stuff) are dirty?

I don’t know that I have a good answer. I do know that kids aren’t inherently prone to body shaming or being embarrassed about their bits and pieces; they learn it from the adults in their lives. And when we deny them art because we’re afraid of the words penis and breast, which are perfectly acceptable, anatomical terms, we’re telling children they should be ashamed of their own bodies. When we steer them away from art that displays the human form, we’re discouraging them from making observations and asking questions, telling them the subject of their bodies, and ours, are off-limits. And when it’s off limits with trusted adults, who do those kids go to? Their friends? Yikes. The internet? Double yikes.

Is there such a thing as appropriate and inappropriate where the human body is concerned? Of course there are. Keep your clothes on in public. Don’t touch people who don’t want to be touched. Interest in your own body is healthy, but the exploration of said is for alone time. To disavow the human body as a subject of conversation, however, is to deny kids the best source of reliable information: a trusted adult. Does a 5-year-old need a detailed explanation of sex? Probably not. But if you tell her not to ask about a penis now, then she won’t ask about it later and that’s a problem. Or a vagina for that matter.

Biology isn’t dirty unless we make it so, and if we do, we do a disservice to our kids, both in the realms of art and development of a healthy body image and self-confidence.

Kids are way, way smarter than most adults think they are. Zora, for example, took a half-second glance at some of Warhol’s screen tests, which play throughout the museum, looked back at me, and said, “I don’t like those. They’re looking at me and they’re creepy.” Yes, kiddo, yes they are. But after looking at Warhol’s Mick Jagger series and silver Elvis canvas, she had me take a series of pictures of her, making a different face for each shot. She inherently understood the concept of altering a single image slightly to make something remarkable.

She loves photo booths for the same reason. She learned how to silkscreen, learned that watercolors running can enhance an image rather than ruin it, and was absolutely fascinated by the massive photographs of Warhol holding up an acetate print of Marilyn Monroe in which he seems to be looking out of the picture at the audience and the audience can look back – an artistic connection she wouldn’t be able to forge anywhere else. She learned that anything, from her notebook scribbles to a pile of rocks to which barrettes she puts in her hair, can be art.

So, I’m going to keep taking my kids to art museums. And while there are exhibits I’ll decide they aren’t ready for, I’m not going to freak out if they see a penis or a breast. If they ask questions, I’ll answer them at a level I think is appropriate, and if they want to know more, I’ll consider and find the best way I can to explain it to them. I’ll remind them that everyone is different and everyone is beautiful and wouldn’t life be boring if everyone thought the same way or looked the same way or acted the same way?

Art is intended to expand worlds. Help your kids expand theirs by giving them that gift and the gift of your time in interacting with it.