Well, I am now officially a member of LEARN. I feel like now I'm going to have my mettle tested as to how cooperative I can be with other homeschooling parents, and how disciplined I can be about keeping up with the joneses, so to speak. Within a day of joining, I got a private e-mail from a woman who runs a reading group. Soon after, a field trip was being organized. It was on at a run! Are we ready for this?
Thing 1 has been resistant about leaving the house. He needed a huge decompression after kindergarten and summer programs. It's only been recently that he's even been willing to leave the house for a trip to the grocery store, much less think about field trips and reading groups. On the other hand, he's been talking about his old school and seems to be starting to miss organized kid time. It's time for the social program to shift into gear. The last thing I want is one of those weirdly socialized homeschool kids who have ugly glasses, polyester pants and an intense compulsion towards competitiveness in spelling bees.
On the other side, this time off has done him a world of good. I remember that scene inParenthood in with Steve Martin where he talks about his kids "tense face", and I knew EXACTLY what face he was talking about. I haven't seen that tense face on Thing 1 in a while now, and it relaxes something tense inside of *me* that was really worried.
I don't know what I was worried about. I don't have a complete name to my restless feeling of impending doom or panic, but that feeling was there. In some ways, it's the tension of living and alternative life, parenting in a different way from the way I was parented and the way their dad was parented. We live in a period of experimental parenting, and it becomes a source of serious parental tension when you pick something and all you can do is wait and see if you made a good choice. When thing start to go wonky, it's the parental guilt I feel first. "oh no, did I cause this? Did I cross a line somewhere just like my family said I would?"
The pressure to have a normal child in the face of a society that hasn't even got normal defined very effectively can wreck havoc on the the already sensitive parental guilt buttons. Do I even want my kid to be "normal" when the kids around me are getting increasingly weird, unhealthy and neurotic as an average? Does average = normal?? As a group, we parents not only can't agree on what the best methods of child raising are, but we can't even agree on what the hoped for end goals are.
I don't want my kid to be normal, I want to raise him in a way freer of the hang-ups, short sightedness, and casual neurosis of the world we live in. I want him to be different, but I don't want him to be targeted. Skating that line is a constant challenge. I see the consequences for difference in my teen agers, and it both worries and makes me proud. Those guys are coming into their freak factor flying their freak flag high in their own ways.
Maybe I can let down the guard a little, take off my internal "tense face" and relax into the faith that living the example of an ethical life of honesty, compassion, fidelity and love is going to be the path that the young people in my life want to follow because it resonates with something deep inside them that just wants to be happy without someone else having to suffer to make that happen.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Marraige
My brother got married last weekend. Aside from the general goat rodeo nature of the thing, (being organized sort of last minute) it came together nicely. When the event finally happened, it was lovely. I don't mean the dress and the flowers (which I decorated for the alterpiece and the unity candle. and they looked FABULOUS)and the weird little paper runner and all that. But, the emotive content of the whole thing was lovely.
I have a weird relationship with marriage, and times like these brings that to the surface of my thoughts. I married once. I married rashly, without consideration of the emotional contract I was entering. I married without understanding within myself what marriage meant for me in ways I hadn't consented to. Meaning, I had/have deep seated beliefs about marriage that I don't recall having conciously adopted. I know a lot more about that now, and I view marriage with a wariness that borders on panic.
In some ways, I can't imagine anyone who knew what kinds of things can happen within a marriage contract would willingly choose to subject themselves to that. On the other, it's a beguiling leap of faith and trust between two people. In some ways, they come together stripped raw of their weaponry, tender and vulnerable, ready to take on a commitment not to hurt each other, to hold each other tenderly and commit to a kinder gentler way of approaching the world that, at a minimum, takes into account the well being of at least one other person, usually more since marriage usually = breeding.
That's big stuff. It's so easy to isolate from the world, to turtle up and keep yourself safe. The consequence for the safety that isolation brings is loss of connection to others, to community, to something other than the self. However, compared to how easy it is to get hurt when you extend yourself out of the shell, that consequence seems more than acceptable.
Our patio homes with no yard and huge homes to huddle in show that we are taking our isolation seriously. Why bother building community, when you can just stay inside, keep in touch with the world through cable and the internet, and keep yourself safe. But more and more, people are losing their grip. It's hard to know if you're sane or losing it when you have no context, no reflections of your behavior from other people, no connection to others.
Marriage means there will always be at least one other to consider. When you're considering one other, more others by extension become easier to consider, more of a natural process. The roots of community building as a manifestation of the skills learned through coupling?
In the end, that's the basis of my struggle. I got no beef with commitment. I think it's what makes the world go round. My problem is the marriage, and the context of the social contract I personally live in. (not that I've seen many other social contracts where the wedding contract is acceptable) My brother doesn't have these issues. He believes in what the contract states, and it invokes no particular interior rebellion on his part. His role as a husband and father, monogamy, basic christian values, all of that makes sense to him and is right and good. His faith in that contract makes it a Good Thing. He will rest easier at night knowing that he and his wife are on the same page based on the agreement they made at the alter. I sort of envy that peace of mind.
I have a weird relationship with marriage, and times like these brings that to the surface of my thoughts. I married once. I married rashly, without consideration of the emotional contract I was entering. I married without understanding within myself what marriage meant for me in ways I hadn't consented to. Meaning, I had/have deep seated beliefs about marriage that I don't recall having conciously adopted. I know a lot more about that now, and I view marriage with a wariness that borders on panic.
In some ways, I can't imagine anyone who knew what kinds of things can happen within a marriage contract would willingly choose to subject themselves to that. On the other, it's a beguiling leap of faith and trust between two people. In some ways, they come together stripped raw of their weaponry, tender and vulnerable, ready to take on a commitment not to hurt each other, to hold each other tenderly and commit to a kinder gentler way of approaching the world that, at a minimum, takes into account the well being of at least one other person, usually more since marriage usually = breeding.
That's big stuff. It's so easy to isolate from the world, to turtle up and keep yourself safe. The consequence for the safety that isolation brings is loss of connection to others, to community, to something other than the self. However, compared to how easy it is to get hurt when you extend yourself out of the shell, that consequence seems more than acceptable.
Our patio homes with no yard and huge homes to huddle in show that we are taking our isolation seriously. Why bother building community, when you can just stay inside, keep in touch with the world through cable and the internet, and keep yourself safe. But more and more, people are losing their grip. It's hard to know if you're sane or losing it when you have no context, no reflections of your behavior from other people, no connection to others.
Marriage means there will always be at least one other to consider. When you're considering one other, more others by extension become easier to consider, more of a natural process. The roots of community building as a manifestation of the skills learned through coupling?
In the end, that's the basis of my struggle. I got no beef with commitment. I think it's what makes the world go round. My problem is the marriage, and the context of the social contract I personally live in. (not that I've seen many other social contracts where the wedding contract is acceptable) My brother doesn't have these issues. He believes in what the contract states, and it invokes no particular interior rebellion on his part. His role as a husband and father, monogamy, basic christian values, all of that makes sense to him and is right and good. His faith in that contract makes it a Good Thing. He will rest easier at night knowing that he and his wife are on the same page based on the agreement they made at the alter. I sort of envy that peace of mind.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Dreamscape: Jealousy
I was standing there with a man, I'm not sure entirely what we were doing, or planning to do together. He came onto the scene, in a rage. He grabbed me (by the hair?) and threw me down on the ground, growling for me to stay in place. Somehow it was clear in my mind he meant on my hands and knees, head to the ground. My hair was long and blond, like when I was a kid/teen. That was handy, since it acted as a drape across my face to hide my smile. I was so pleased, and looking so forward to whatever he had in mind as punishment for whatever trangression he thought I'd committed. He went back over to the guy, and I'm not sure what he did, but the other person went away.
He stalked off, but then came back to check on me, it seemed to make sure I wasn't going anywhere while he dealt with the other person. He crouched down beside me and grabbed a fistful of hair. I crept upwards, nuzzled the inside of his thigh and kissed it softly, which I'm fairly certain he didn't feel through his jeans. However, he seemed satisfied that I wasn't rebellious. He grunted in sort of smug satisfaction and stood up to deal with whatever he needed to before it was my turn. I waited.
He stalked off, but then came back to check on me, it seemed to make sure I wasn't going anywhere while he dealt with the other person. He crouched down beside me and grabbed a fistful of hair. I crept upwards, nuzzled the inside of his thigh and kissed it softly, which I'm fairly certain he didn't feel through his jeans. However, he seemed satisfied that I wasn't rebellious. He grunted in sort of smug satisfaction and stood up to deal with whatever he needed to before it was my turn. I waited.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Emotional Pornography
It's the little things in life that become emotional pornography when you're single. Maybe not just when you're single, but when you're not getting it.
2 hours of dancing on top of a 5 hour car trip had me whimpering mentally by the time I was heading home tonight. Leaning over a marble bannister, unable to even make it to my car without trying to stretch out my back, I found myself having an intense fantasy moment where all I had to do was make it home, and there would be someone there waiting whose only main concern would be whether they'd rub my feet or my back first. The backrub would be especially welcome, since it would likely involve lotion and I've had this chronic itch on my right shoulder blade for the last few months that has me contorting like a cross between a mental patient and a dog with fleas to reach it on a daily basis. This itch has been with me for years, but was one of the many little things that my partner did for me that made a warm squishy place in my heart, even if he insisted upon teasing me about it. "will you scratch. . ." "your right shoulder blade" he would finish with what I always hoped was amusement and not resentment. He didn't have any hard to reach chronically itchy places, so I never got to return the favor.
I figured this would be the place on my hide that wouldn't allow me to go "Between". He thought it was from my tattoo, I think it was because he didn't care for me properly when he grew me, and that was a weak spot on my skin :)
These fantasies combined with memories happen a lot anymore. I find myself sighing at the idea of curling up on the couch by myself to watch tv, and dreading forcing myself to actually cook when I'm by myself. I miss being felt up while I'm doing the dishes, and putting my cold hands in his warm places when I come in from outside and don't have enough sense to put on gloves. Laughing and joking around with another adult who you're intimate with is something that isn't the same with close friends. A lot of things aren't the same with close friends, mostly because they have their own lives and share their own little moment of life with someone else.
My step-brother and his wife are visiting my family right now. I just came from there today. They've been married a long time. I sort of vaguely remember them getting married, but I was pretty young and not paying much attention to that kind of thing. Or maybe, they got married just before my mom and step-dad got together. In any case, they've always been together in my mind. They almost split up a few years ago. I don't know exactly what the problem was, but it sounded like it was the same basic problem most couples who've been together for a while (especially those who got together young) face. They just got bored.
Those little moments that are so important to me now, important enough that thinking about them brings on some kind of weird horniness, an emotional horniness seeking out consumation on the plane of intimacy instead of the playing field of the physical connection, are things that it's easy to forget are important. It's simple to see how green the grass is somewhere else for no other reason than the sheer novelty of the unknown being more interesting than what you already know in and out. They got bored. They felt the other one didn't hear them, didn't appreciate them, didn't even know who they were anymore.
They got past it, somehow. I'm not sure how they did that either. But now they're comfortable with each other. They like each other. Somewhere, they realized that maybe those little moments meant more than they seemed, maybe they weren't so little. They know each other really well, better than anyone else does. That counts for a lot, when you really think about it. In Shall we Dance? the Sarandan character says this about marriage, "We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness."
Not especially romantic, but it's that witness I miss the most. The participation in my life by someone else who gives a shit about it. I spent 12 hours making a roof over someone's head. I'm so fucking impressed by that. The only other human being in the world who can truly understand how impressive the amount of work I did was, isn't here anymore to care. The only person who has a complete picture of my history, of where I came from, what I fought through to get here, took his attention away and left a hole in the documentary. The *context* of my accomplishments has been removed.
I don't need a person in my life. I am content with myself most of the time. I can support myself, take care of my kids, keep myself entertained, get laid (theoretically), develop my self/art/skills/intellect, and happily sleep by myself taking up a surprising amount of the king sized bed. I find myself wondering, what exactly is a partner good for? I'm so competant in my own life, it's almost scary, what do I need in someone else?
I realized I don't *need* someone else, but I want company. I want a companion who is interested in me, who is interesting themselves, and who is simply *there*. Being present in my life, witnessing it and sharing it. While I do seem to get more *done* by myself, I miss killing time. I *want* to just hang out with someone whose company is so enjoyable, that we just talk to each other about whatever, and suddenly we're late for where we were supposed to go, or not going to get enough sleep for the next day, or didn't get the project done we swore we were going to do. People are interesting enough, but individuals are fascinating. I love and miss digging into a particular person, a unique person, and spending *years* understanding their layers and plumbing their depths. I like working on that kind of time scale. I miss forever, I long for the knowledge that there's plenty of time ahead. Emotional pornography is the decadent luxury of the forseeable future laid out in front of you, available for slow and deliberate exploration, deeper and harder, increasingly subtle and sensitive probes based on shared history and the unique language of intimacy that every close pairing develops.
2 hours of dancing on top of a 5 hour car trip had me whimpering mentally by the time I was heading home tonight. Leaning over a marble bannister, unable to even make it to my car without trying to stretch out my back, I found myself having an intense fantasy moment where all I had to do was make it home, and there would be someone there waiting whose only main concern would be whether they'd rub my feet or my back first. The backrub would be especially welcome, since it would likely involve lotion and I've had this chronic itch on my right shoulder blade for the last few months that has me contorting like a cross between a mental patient and a dog with fleas to reach it on a daily basis. This itch has been with me for years, but was one of the many little things that my partner did for me that made a warm squishy place in my heart, even if he insisted upon teasing me about it. "will you scratch. . ." "your right shoulder blade" he would finish with what I always hoped was amusement and not resentment. He didn't have any hard to reach chronically itchy places, so I never got to return the favor.
I figured this would be the place on my hide that wouldn't allow me to go "Between". He thought it was from my tattoo, I think it was because he didn't care for me properly when he grew me, and that was a weak spot on my skin :)
These fantasies combined with memories happen a lot anymore. I find myself sighing at the idea of curling up on the couch by myself to watch tv, and dreading forcing myself to actually cook when I'm by myself. I miss being felt up while I'm doing the dishes, and putting my cold hands in his warm places when I come in from outside and don't have enough sense to put on gloves. Laughing and joking around with another adult who you're intimate with is something that isn't the same with close friends. A lot of things aren't the same with close friends, mostly because they have their own lives and share their own little moment of life with someone else.
My step-brother and his wife are visiting my family right now. I just came from there today. They've been married a long time. I sort of vaguely remember them getting married, but I was pretty young and not paying much attention to that kind of thing. Or maybe, they got married just before my mom and step-dad got together. In any case, they've always been together in my mind. They almost split up a few years ago. I don't know exactly what the problem was, but it sounded like it was the same basic problem most couples who've been together for a while (especially those who got together young) face. They just got bored.
Those little moments that are so important to me now, important enough that thinking about them brings on some kind of weird horniness, an emotional horniness seeking out consumation on the plane of intimacy instead of the playing field of the physical connection, are things that it's easy to forget are important. It's simple to see how green the grass is somewhere else for no other reason than the sheer novelty of the unknown being more interesting than what you already know in and out. They got bored. They felt the other one didn't hear them, didn't appreciate them, didn't even know who they were anymore.
They got past it, somehow. I'm not sure how they did that either. But now they're comfortable with each other. They like each other. Somewhere, they realized that maybe those little moments meant more than they seemed, maybe they weren't so little. They know each other really well, better than anyone else does. That counts for a lot, when you really think about it. In Shall we Dance? the Sarandan character says this about marriage, "We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness."
Not especially romantic, but it's that witness I miss the most. The participation in my life by someone else who gives a shit about it. I spent 12 hours making a roof over someone's head. I'm so fucking impressed by that. The only other human being in the world who can truly understand how impressive the amount of work I did was, isn't here anymore to care. The only person who has a complete picture of my history, of where I came from, what I fought through to get here, took his attention away and left a hole in the documentary. The *context* of my accomplishments has been removed.
I don't need a person in my life. I am content with myself most of the time. I can support myself, take care of my kids, keep myself entertained, get laid (theoretically), develop my self/art/skills/intellect, and happily sleep by myself taking up a surprising amount of the king sized bed. I find myself wondering, what exactly is a partner good for? I'm so competant in my own life, it's almost scary, what do I need in someone else?
I realized I don't *need* someone else, but I want company. I want a companion who is interested in me, who is interesting themselves, and who is simply *there*. Being present in my life, witnessing it and sharing it. While I do seem to get more *done* by myself, I miss killing time. I *want* to just hang out with someone whose company is so enjoyable, that we just talk to each other about whatever, and suddenly we're late for where we were supposed to go, or not going to get enough sleep for the next day, or didn't get the project done we swore we were going to do. People are interesting enough, but individuals are fascinating. I love and miss digging into a particular person, a unique person, and spending *years* understanding their layers and plumbing their depths. I like working on that kind of time scale. I miss forever, I long for the knowledge that there's plenty of time ahead. Emotional pornography is the decadent luxury of the forseeable future laid out in front of you, available for slow and deliberate exploration, deeper and harder, increasingly subtle and sensitive probes based on shared history and the unique language of intimacy that every close pairing develops.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
W - The President
These stickers kick ass. I love them. They are beautiful and elegant, with just the right font, in a very cool square shape that is different from most any bumper sticker I've ever seen. There's something extremely classy about the font they used, the W is sleek and pronounced. It's white on a black background, easy to see and unmistakable. The shape of the sticker alone is distinctive, the W takes up most of the space, so you already know where you're going with the sticker before you even get to the punch line.
And let's talk about the punchline. It's simple, directly to the point. There's no convincing, there's no pleading, no humor, no negotiation. W... who is he? The President. He won, you lost, get used to it. It's a statement of victory. Of victory so complete that there is no apology, no mincing, no euphamism. Nothing can be done, and his supporters are free to be as public and unapologetic about their support as they want to be.
And the form of support they choose is classy. It's so fucking classy. It's timeless and elegant, it's not in any way cheap or faddish. I'm drawn to those stickers with the same lust I have for cars I can't afford, vacations to the south of France, and any table setting that involves more than 4 pieces of flatware. Those stickers make me feel beaten. They make me feel outclassed and vaguely embarrassed about my political leanings. I respect those stickers as an adversary more potent than anything I've seen in the political arena since my conciousness blossomed.
There has been a backlash, of course. But it's too late. The joke is funny, the effect is certainly a great try. I may even get one myself. However, it's defense, and they scored the win in this round. Maybe the F will salvage some shred of pride, provide some dent in the smug feeling of bovine contentment felt by people who have convinced themselves that they stood behind W all along and never had any question he was the right guy for the job. Maybe the pure vulgarity the F implies, put on such a classy sticker with such a sleek and refined font will rattle the cages of the people so very very pleased with themselves, but in the end, it's a token effort against a group of people so inured in their rightness that they couldn't be rattled if a bomb dropped directly on their house and they saw a big W - The President sticker on the tip of it.
And let's talk about the punchline. It's simple, directly to the point. There's no convincing, there's no pleading, no humor, no negotiation. W... who is he? The President. He won, you lost, get used to it. It's a statement of victory. Of victory so complete that there is no apology, no mincing, no euphamism. Nothing can be done, and his supporters are free to be as public and unapologetic about their support as they want to be.
And the form of support they choose is classy. It's so fucking classy. It's timeless and elegant, it's not in any way cheap or faddish. I'm drawn to those stickers with the same lust I have for cars I can't afford, vacations to the south of France, and any table setting that involves more than 4 pieces of flatware. Those stickers make me feel beaten. They make me feel outclassed and vaguely embarrassed about my political leanings. I respect those stickers as an adversary more potent than anything I've seen in the political arena since my conciousness blossomed.
There has been a backlash, of course. But it's too late. The joke is funny, the effect is certainly a great try. I may even get one myself. However, it's defense, and they scored the win in this round. Maybe the F will salvage some shred of pride, provide some dent in the smug feeling of bovine contentment felt by people who have convinced themselves that they stood behind W all along and never had any question he was the right guy for the job. Maybe the pure vulgarity the F implies, put on such a classy sticker with such a sleek and refined font will rattle the cages of the people so very very pleased with themselves, but in the end, it's a token effort against a group of people so inured in their rightness that they couldn't be rattled if a bomb dropped directly on their house and they saw a big W - The President sticker on the tip of it.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Masculinity Class Final Paper
Dating is one of those interesting areas of interpersonal dynamics that’s easy to get advice for, but hard to determine whether the advice has merit. The plethora of information available for people to utilize shows that there is need, desire, and plenty of confusion about the best way to proceed when it comes to finding another person to connect with in an intimate way. Dating advice is a place where gender assumptions and stereotypes are still rampant. I see this as a sign of confusion about current standards of gender expectations rather than a more sinister desire to keep traditional roles stable. Traditional roles represent stability and the known and in times of change and turmoil, Michael Kimmel says, “society tends to search for the timeless and eternal during moments of crisis, those points of transition when old definitions no longer work and new definitions are yet to be firmly established.” Female roles in our society, homes and workplace have changed dramatically in the last 30 years, and it makes sense the confusion about the current state of affairs would show up dramatically in one of our most elementary points of human connection, dating relationships.
In order to get a grasp on what I consider to be the basics of relationship dating advice being presented to the public, I consulted three main sources: David De Angelo author of the e-book Double your Dating, Ellen Fein and Sherrie Schneider authors of The Rules II, and Dr. Joy Browne author of Dating for Dummies. De Angelo advises men in a primarily traditional shame based manner, calling to the man’s ego, his desire for power and his aversion to being thought of as less than a man. Fein and Schneider advise women in a primarily traditional manipulative female wiles approach that calls to a womans’ insecurity about her physical appearance, her desire to abdicate power/responsibility for action to the man, and the understanding of sexuality as power. Dr. Browne takes a more middle road stance and attempts to write a book appealing to everyone with special notes about tendencies of one gender or another. The content of the advice isn’t all that different between these three sources, the form it comes in, however, is. If you wanted to break these authors down to stereotypes, it would be: traditional masculine, traditional feminine, and progressive egalitarian. These are three socially different groups of people, yet the content remains somewhat constant: try to look good, be confident, develop your own interests and don’t put too much pressure on any individual relationship working out.
I looked for commonalities as well as differences in these references. De Angelo and Fein/Schneider are both opposite ends of the gender spectrum. They advocate fairly traditional gender roles in the interaction between men and women. They agree on a few main points: Men must pursue, women must be pursued. Men have to make the moves, women respond to advances. Neediness is not attractive in either gender. Keep your distance, don’t give away too much information too early. Develop your independence, learn to be happy with yourself. Some of these points aren’t objectionable at all. In fact, the middle road author, Dr. Browne agrees with at least the last few in the list. Dr. Browne does not, however, agree with the game playing mentality that goes with the other authors advice. Fein/Schneider advocate rules like: only call a man back once for every 4 times he calls you. De Angelo advocates rules about not answering a womans’ questions directly, to crack jokes or lie outright in a funny way.
Playing hard to get is considered attractive. Not returning phone calls, being busy, and being mysterious about what is truly going on in your head are advocated as ways to build desire, interest and sexual tension in a person you’re interested in. These games establish power in the relationship, they cultivate a belief in the person you’re trying to attract that you are better than they are, or at least an equal, thus desirable. Utilizing basic human desire to climb the social hierarchy through their associations, this advice can be devastatingly effective as long as everyone buys into the stereotypical behavior and gender codes being iconized.
The study of psychology began to be seriously developed in the late 1800’s with Freud. Psychology began the idea of defining normalcy and deviance in humans. Gender roles and the interactions of people in romantic relationships was something that was observed, noted and attempted to be explained rather than challenged. Some of those initial assumptions about the core nature of how gender is done are still with us today in the forms of gender stereotypes and statements that start with things like, “men always…” or “women should. . .”
As a culture, we developed an investment in settling the issue once and for all. If we know what men and women do, then we know what they are, and we can know what to expect. Victorian era relationship styles became the standard to which all subsequent eras struggled to maintain. The first major crack came from Rosie the Riveter and got blown open by the flower child. Women were no longer willing to accept the gender roles they’d been assigned by Freud and had been pressured to maintain by a society seeking stability in a century of huge upsets. (world wars, the industrial revolution, the depression) Feminism became an offshoot from the anti-war movement and resulted from dissatisfaction for how women were treated within that movement and an increased understanding of how effective political cooperation can be when the group is united in its goals. (faludi ch. 6)
I was fascinated to consider that women were pushed into feminism by men who had inappropriately applied traditional gender roles in situations where the common ground was philosophical and political rather than specifically sexual or domestic. Without the combination of political awareness and the desire for the men to have women as staff to do the work for the movement, feminism may never have happened. The first programs in feminist/womens studies started in 1972. I was born in 1973. The bonding together of women who stood up and said "we will not be allow ourselves to be oppressed anymore" happened as my mother was blossoming into adulthood, deciding what kind of adult she wanted to be. She is so different from her own mother, that not just grandma being foreign (Latvian) and my mom being raised basically American explains it. I had always just thought it was a cultural difference. It is, of course, but I think it's much more than country of origin. My mom was a transitional generation between Victorian era women of Freud and a new breed of woman more like Rosie the Riveter.
I married a feminist, and he broke me of the remaining notions I held of getting my door opened and getting stuff bought for me just because I was a woman pretty quickly. You want equality? You got it, babe, open your own door. It ended up being a situation where we worked out what we wanted to do based on individual interests, not on gender. I mowed the lawn, he did the dishes, and we fought over who had to clean the toilet. Some jobs are no fun no matter what.
Somewhere along the line tho, he cracked. I can only speculate on what caused it, I never even identified the situation until it was well over. Was it the pressure from his own gender? Did his imbedded ideas of what a man is really like finally leak through the seal he'd put on them until there was a crack that broke the whole thing down? Was it subtle pressure from his dad, implications that he wasn't a real man? Was it his own insecurities about being ahead of the curve, a man unlike the men around him? And he was. He was unlike the men around him, he was unlike anything I'd ever seen before, unlike anything I had known was possible for a man to be. Those men are much more common now, they're just 20 years old and not 30something. He was a man ahead of his time, and maybe being on the frontier just got to be too much. He's retreated into traditional masculinity with an aplomb I find sort of fascinating, if grisly.
Defining traditional manhood would have been something I would have struggled with 6 months ago. I just knew it when I saw it. Kimmel on the other hand, did a pretty good job. He has four rules that seem to make it all so clear.
No sissy stuff, that's the first rule. You can never do anything that even remotely hints of femininity. The second rule is to be a big wheel. You know, we measure masculinity by the size of your paycheck, wealth, power, status, things like that. The third rule is to be sturdy oak. You show that you're a man by never showing your emotions. And the fourth rule is Give 'Em Hell. Always go forward, exude an aura of daring and aggression in everything that you do.
Traditional manhood isn’t nearly as much of our past as traditional womanhood is. The effect is that men are left without the proper responses from women and society to understand how they should be acting, since what they’ve been taught doesn’t seem to be as effective a model as it was for their fathers. The current way men want to interact with women in a dating scenario reflects a desire to establish power and dominance in at least one aspect of their lives in a society where men are floundering to understand what it means to be a man. In What Makes a Man: “The Gift”, Michael Datcher talks about “disenfranchised men who in place of commitment play the field, measure their manhood by booty call average. The home run fence replaced the picket one.” While he is specifically talking about black men, I think there are signs of this in a more generalized look at men’s behavior.
Young men have come to adulthood with some of the expectations of male entitlement that were the natural birthright of the penis bearer in our society as late at their own fathers time. That entitlement simply isn't as easy to come by anymore. Women who are bonded to the men my age were raised by the first generation of feminists, the first wave of women who came to adulthood with expectations of their own entitlement: entitlement to a job with a competitive to men wage, entitlement to their own sexual pleasure, entitlement to help around the house when they too work outside it, entitlement to pursue their own interests and to expect support from their mates to accomplish it. This stuff is all radically new, and it happened since I was born. Finding a place for the 4 rules of traditional manhood becomes problematic when faced with the reality of new womanhood. Dating has become an arena for proving manhood in a society with no proving grounds and the hunt allows men a traditional method to prove their manhood in ways socially recognized by both men and women.
Unfortunately, reinforcing these standards of manhood for dating comes into conflict with the new ways men are expected to perform in society, the workplace and the home. In long term relationships, jobs, parenting, and more, men are expected to be more able to operate in our increasingly service based society. That means they have to develop skills like being more sensitive, multi-tasking, and understanding body/meta language the way women have been doing for a lot longer.
I firmly believe men are perfectly capable of developing these new skill sets, but are still struggling to do it willingly. Men do a lot to keep each other in line, the very nature of male bonding is one of sadism on an emotional and physical level. They think nothing of humiliating a friend in order to make sure the friend upholds the standards of masculinity he feels are important. Female society isn't much kinder to their own members, of course, but womens liberation has done a lot to muddle the issue even among ourselves. We can't force someone to conform when we've been told from the moment we could understand that we could do anything, that we can stay at home or work, we can have kids or not, we can be more masculine or more feminine, wear make-up or not, and it's all ok. We have been given the freedom of variety that is still considered normal and acceptable. Men haven't been given that freedom yet, and they are trying to figure out what to do now.
The study of gender as a construction, a choice or a response to pressure was birthed by feminism. As it stands now, gender study typically indicates women and is based on the inequalities women face. The gender of men is still invisible. Men are ungendered. By being without gender, men are left without an understanding of masculinity as a construction that can be chosen. Masculinity is viewed as an inherent and unchanging quality of genetics. What this ends up meaning is that if femininity is a construct that can be chosen, and masculinity is genetic and is present without choice on the part of the man, then all heterosocial interactions pressure the woman changing herself (since she has the option of change and he doesn’t) in order to get along. Lack of exploration of masculinity as a construction encourages the belief that these assumed components of masculinity are true.
If this is the case, when sociologist Erving Goffman wrote:
[I]n an important sense there is only one complete unblushing male in America: a young, married, white, urban, northern, heterosexual Protestant father of college education, fully employed, of good complexion, weight, and height, and a recent record in sports . . . . Any male who fails to qualify in any of these ways is likely to view himself -- during moments at least -- as unworthy, incomplete, and inferior . . . .
We are shown how limited our scope of manhood has become, and how very few actual men fit under the umbrella represented by an ideal no longer, if ever, suited to modern life.
I went to a lecture by Michael Kimmel, and he talked about how this change we're seeing is inevitable. Men simply are going to have to take on more traditionally feminine roles in society. Those roles still need to be filled, and women aren't going to go back to working in the house only. Kimmel pointed out the definite benefits to men if they take on these roles. If they're helping around the house, the woman they're with is going to be less tired, more happy, and more likely to have the energy and desire to have sex. Men who help around the house get laid more. Sociologists Scott Coltrane and Michele Adams actually did the research. Men who help around the house have better health stats, more connection with their children, the children are better adjusted and get in less trouble academically and socially. Everyone wins here.
Earning my Tool Belt
Last weekend, I worked hard. I worked really really hard. I spent the weekend participating in the local Habitat for Humanity Womens Build. This is an annual event (this is the 4th for the local group, my second) where a house is built from bottom to top by women. This year, the family it was being built for was a married couple, so there is one man on the crew.
There's something really powerful about women building a house. This is especially true in the first parts of the build, my area of specialty. In the beginning, you are putting up walls, trusses and sheathing the roof. These are exhausting, physically intensive jobs that require teamwork and just plain grit to get done.
Saturday, wall raising day, it rained. We were wet and miserable, cold and slogging through clay heavy mud. Words like "mire" "tar pit" and "I'm Stuck!" flew around the site freely. Words were the only thing moving freely through the job site. I held on, knowing that the next day I would be "in the air," the term used euphemistically to indicate the people who would be doing the roof.
Sunday was clear. It was the most perfect day for being in the air that could be imagined. It was heavily overcast, around 60 degrees, and not all that windy. We started by getting the headers set, the big, obnoxiously heavy end pieces at the front and back of the house that hang over the edge. Getting those in the air is always impressive. Doing it with a crew of only women is just that much more incredible and satisfying. I'm not sure how much they weigh, but it's somewhere around several hundred pounds. After that, my job was to grab the trusses and pull them up while they push from below. I'm proud that I was designated as strong enough for this job, but yesterday, I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. My abdomen was so sore, and I realized that it was from leaning over a wall, and pulling up one truss after another. After that, we had to center the truss. Somehow, it became my job to tap the end with a small sledgehammer to get it right. I should have pass it over to her after a while. The tendons on my right hand are still (Tuesday afternoon) objecting to motion, and the very idea of gripping something hard makes me wince.
We had the trusses set in place by noon and spent the afternoon sheathing the roof. I wasn't completely certain I could still hold a hammer, but hold one I did. I exchanged the framing hammer I'd been using to set the nails in the trusses for a lighter one for roof work. That helped. In the air, something to hold a hammer becomes critical. I didn't have the pants with the hammer loop, and I only had a nail pouch to hold the hammer, sort of. I was tired of worrying that I was going to drop my hammer on someone's head working below me. I decided I needed a tool belt. In a conversation with my partner, the woman I'd worked with last year, I talked about the decision to get a tool belt.
Getting a tool belt is an interesting decision for a woman. After all, exactly how often is a woman really going to need a tool belt?? There's something a little pretentious about a woman wearing a tool belt that's hers. Like combat boots, there's an expectation that this piece of equipment is meant to be used. If it's not, then owning it is a waste, it's an insult to the supreme utility intended by its existance. There are some things that are so rugged, so utilitarian, and so specifically made to *work* that owning it and not using it for that task is shameful.
I owned a herding dog once. I had two dogs, both were herding breeds. One, however, was a working dog. I never quite lived down my shame in owning such a finely composed tool and never using it for what it was intended. She was a working dog, and that's what she wanted to do. She tolerated being a pet, and made the best of it, but that's not what she was put on this planet to do, and we all knew it. When she died, I knew I'd failed to do what I'd always said I would. I had promised myself that I would make sure she had something to herd, that I would have moved out to the country before she passed and gave her something to move from place to place the way she intended. I didn't do that. Somehow, the time passed, the opportunity wasn't there, and she became old and feeble before I fulfilled my obligation to her utility.
Would I fulfill my obligation to the utility of a tool belt? Would it become worn and used as it should? Will I be able to find anything I'm looking for without concious thought because I've worn it enough that I know exactly where each pocket and each tool hangs on my body when it's there? Will the unfinished buckskin that tool belts are made of become slick and smooth in places where my hands have touched, where the tools have slid in and out? Or, will the belt remain clean and suede like, the leather still stiff and shaped by the factory and not by the tools it has held?
I speculated with my partner about whether a tool belt is something to be earned. There are other communities where things are earned. In the leather community, one earns their "leathers" by meeting certain standards set within the community they choose to participate in. I have a ring that I covet and want, a ring that signifies my being a part of the Latvian community, a symbol of that ethnicity, a ring that can only be given as a gift, and in my family is only given when a person learns the language. I haven't earned that ring yet, even tho I've spent years in half hearted efforts to learn.
In speaking of my concerns about getting a tool belt and whether I'd earned it, my partner turns to me, comprehending completely what I was saying and said with utter seriousness, "oh, you've *earned* your tool belt." I was so pleased by that, I wasn't sure what to say. If there's anyone who could make that judgement, in reality, it would be her. She is tough, super tough. I have never met another woman who works the way she does. She is supremely competant, and I respect that entirely. She works hard, she's straightforward, she's strong, and she's very much still a woman. Earning the respect of someone that you respect a great deal is a satisfying thing. I've had respect from people I don't respect and it's hollow.
I have earned the right to wear a tool belt. I work hard, and I do it often enough to justify having the right tool to do my job properly. I like working with Habitat, and I like building houses. I have a passion for housing, for building, I hadn't realized that until the last few years. In my mind, I had this vague notion of building my own home. At one time, that was The Plan. We were going to move to the country, build our own home, and get a flock of sheep for the dog to herd. I would spin wool, we would have a masonry stove to heat the place, backed up by passive solar. We were going to figure out how to generate our own electricity and grow our own food.
I'd been afraid I didn't have it in me. I thought building our own home was something that I couldn't do, that my body just wouldn't take it. I know that's not true now. My body is strong, it is able, and it can build. I spent 12 hours on Sunday alone working really really hard. I didn't do it alone, but I did a lot. I can build a house. While I'm not interested in building a stick built house, I know I can work hard, and I can get the job done. My tool belt won't go to waste, because I will make a home for myself and my children, in a very literal sense. Until then, I will make homes for other people, structures for other people to call home for their families, or in the case of Thunder Dome, homes for communities to come together and celebrate their unity. I build.
There's something really powerful about women building a house. This is especially true in the first parts of the build, my area of specialty. In the beginning, you are putting up walls, trusses and sheathing the roof. These are exhausting, physically intensive jobs that require teamwork and just plain grit to get done.
Saturday, wall raising day, it rained. We were wet and miserable, cold and slogging through clay heavy mud. Words like "mire" "tar pit" and "I'm Stuck!" flew around the site freely. Words were the only thing moving freely through the job site. I held on, knowing that the next day I would be "in the air," the term used euphemistically to indicate the people who would be doing the roof.
Sunday was clear. It was the most perfect day for being in the air that could be imagined. It was heavily overcast, around 60 degrees, and not all that windy. We started by getting the headers set, the big, obnoxiously heavy end pieces at the front and back of the house that hang over the edge. Getting those in the air is always impressive. Doing it with a crew of only women is just that much more incredible and satisfying. I'm not sure how much they weigh, but it's somewhere around several hundred pounds. After that, my job was to grab the trusses and pull them up while they push from below. I'm proud that I was designated as strong enough for this job, but yesterday, I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. My abdomen was so sore, and I realized that it was from leaning over a wall, and pulling up one truss after another. After that, we had to center the truss. Somehow, it became my job to tap the end with a small sledgehammer to get it right. I should have pass it over to her after a while. The tendons on my right hand are still (Tuesday afternoon) objecting to motion, and the very idea of gripping something hard makes me wince.
We had the trusses set in place by noon and spent the afternoon sheathing the roof. I wasn't completely certain I could still hold a hammer, but hold one I did. I exchanged the framing hammer I'd been using to set the nails in the trusses for a lighter one for roof work. That helped. In the air, something to hold a hammer becomes critical. I didn't have the pants with the hammer loop, and I only had a nail pouch to hold the hammer, sort of. I was tired of worrying that I was going to drop my hammer on someone's head working below me. I decided I needed a tool belt. In a conversation with my partner, the woman I'd worked with last year, I talked about the decision to get a tool belt.
Getting a tool belt is an interesting decision for a woman. After all, exactly how often is a woman really going to need a tool belt?? There's something a little pretentious about a woman wearing a tool belt that's hers. Like combat boots, there's an expectation that this piece of equipment is meant to be used. If it's not, then owning it is a waste, it's an insult to the supreme utility intended by its existance. There are some things that are so rugged, so utilitarian, and so specifically made to *work* that owning it and not using it for that task is shameful.
I owned a herding dog once. I had two dogs, both were herding breeds. One, however, was a working dog. I never quite lived down my shame in owning such a finely composed tool and never using it for what it was intended. She was a working dog, and that's what she wanted to do. She tolerated being a pet, and made the best of it, but that's not what she was put on this planet to do, and we all knew it. When she died, I knew I'd failed to do what I'd always said I would. I had promised myself that I would make sure she had something to herd, that I would have moved out to the country before she passed and gave her something to move from place to place the way she intended. I didn't do that. Somehow, the time passed, the opportunity wasn't there, and she became old and feeble before I fulfilled my obligation to her utility.
Would I fulfill my obligation to the utility of a tool belt? Would it become worn and used as it should? Will I be able to find anything I'm looking for without concious thought because I've worn it enough that I know exactly where each pocket and each tool hangs on my body when it's there? Will the unfinished buckskin that tool belts are made of become slick and smooth in places where my hands have touched, where the tools have slid in and out? Or, will the belt remain clean and suede like, the leather still stiff and shaped by the factory and not by the tools it has held?
I speculated with my partner about whether a tool belt is something to be earned. There are other communities where things are earned. In the leather community, one earns their "leathers" by meeting certain standards set within the community they choose to participate in. I have a ring that I covet and want, a ring that signifies my being a part of the Latvian community, a symbol of that ethnicity, a ring that can only be given as a gift, and in my family is only given when a person learns the language. I haven't earned that ring yet, even tho I've spent years in half hearted efforts to learn.
In speaking of my concerns about getting a tool belt and whether I'd earned it, my partner turns to me, comprehending completely what I was saying and said with utter seriousness, "oh, you've *earned* your tool belt." I was so pleased by that, I wasn't sure what to say. If there's anyone who could make that judgement, in reality, it would be her. She is tough, super tough. I have never met another woman who works the way she does. She is supremely competant, and I respect that entirely. She works hard, she's straightforward, she's strong, and she's very much still a woman. Earning the respect of someone that you respect a great deal is a satisfying thing. I've had respect from people I don't respect and it's hollow.
I have earned the right to wear a tool belt. I work hard, and I do it often enough to justify having the right tool to do my job properly. I like working with Habitat, and I like building houses. I have a passion for housing, for building, I hadn't realized that until the last few years. In my mind, I had this vague notion of building my own home. At one time, that was The Plan. We were going to move to the country, build our own home, and get a flock of sheep for the dog to herd. I would spin wool, we would have a masonry stove to heat the place, backed up by passive solar. We were going to figure out how to generate our own electricity and grow our own food.
I'd been afraid I didn't have it in me. I thought building our own home was something that I couldn't do, that my body just wouldn't take it. I know that's not true now. My body is strong, it is able, and it can build. I spent 12 hours on Sunday alone working really really hard. I didn't do it alone, but I did a lot. I can build a house. While I'm not interested in building a stick built house, I know I can work hard, and I can get the job done. My tool belt won't go to waste, because I will make a home for myself and my children, in a very literal sense. Until then, I will make homes for other people, structures for other people to call home for their families, or in the case of Thunder Dome, homes for communities to come together and celebrate their unity. I build.
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