The "Beauty Myth" Gets Old

A friend shared an article about Naomi Wolf, author of the 1991 book, THE BEAUTY MYTH(Goodreads #10). I immediately clicked on thelink, as I was eager to read what new words of wisdom this feminist icon had to share. Sadly, I was disappointed. In the same article where she claims her contemporaries and friends shun plastic surgery, embrace aging and find male dating partners with as much ease as they did in their youth, she talks about forgetting to do her “rinse” and finding gray hairs in the mirror in the morning. If we wish to bust the aging myth, wouldn’t embracing the gray be part of that?

When Wolf mentions catching the gray in the mirror, she talks about it as something to come in the future. My question to her is, “when” is that future? If not now, when it is happening, when is it that she will “go gray?” Is there an age at which this is acceptable? If there is, I wish Ms. Wolf would please share it. Apparently, going gray in your forties or fifties is not acceptable. At what age do we accept the gray as part of who we are?

I know very few women who embrace their gray. Co-workers have actually admonished me for not covering the increasing numbers of silver shoots that sprout from my scalp. One woman told me that even if my husband doesn’t express his distaste at my gray that he’d really prefer I cover it. I admit that for me, coloring my hair is more about a total lack of desire to invest time (and money) in my hair than it is about making a conscious social statement or taking a stand against artificial appearances. Yet, I’m apparently bucking convention enough that relative strangers feel the need to try to bring me into line.

Wolf mentions the time she spends in the gym to maintain her body, and says the time she spends is about her appreciation of the state of health, wellness and strength she feels in her body as the result of exercise. At forty myself, I hear her. I’ve lived long enough and suffered a few debilitating injuries that I appreciate my health much more than when I was young. Watching my mother lose agility, flexibility and strength, I see the importance of maintaining my own fitness so that I remain independently physically capable as I age. Keeping fit, without trying to remain a particular size, is definitely something I think is important for women throughout life. Comments about exercise and feeling good are about abilities and not appearance like the hair coloring.

The self-confidence that middle age brings to a lot of women is undeniable. My comment back to my friend’s Facebook post wherein she shared Wolf’s article was,“I used to think my thighs were fat when I was seventeen. Ha! Now, my thighs are things that take me up 4000+ foot peak mountains and as long as they can do that, I don’t care what size they are.” Of course, that is a bit of a half-truth. Consciously and rationally, I believe that statement. Unconsciously, the nagging, tiny voice remains in my head that says my thighs should be about the size of my upper arms and should be as flawless and free of marks or pocks of any kind as airbrushed photographs of swimsuit models. Most often, the rational voice wins out because it is, well, rational, and intelligent, educated and not influenced by unrealistic expectations. For many women, middle age tames those unhealthy demands, that clamor for attention when we’re young, in favor of real accomplishments.

As my friend wrote in her response to the article, she has grown happier with herself as she’s aged and no longer fears aging as she did in her twenties. I believe books like Wolf’s BEAUTY MYTH have contributed to the numbers of women who are happier at middle age, who embrace growing older and who appreciate each stage and age of life for its own merits, concentrating on those positives more than the negatives. Feminist writers and researchers like Wolf have definitely made a difference for many women who view life as a continuum rather than that hothouse flower that blooms for a short time and then withers.

One of the comments at the Washington Post website shares a truth I think is missing from my own argument herein: that thinking this way is the purview of educated, mostly middle to upper-middle class women. Women with resources are better able to fend off the call to youth, are able to take better care of their bodies and to feel confident because they have been successful in various venues. It is a small subset of women, as the commentator claims, who have moved into the way of thinking described by Naomi Wolf in this most recent article. While this may be true, a small subset is a start. Maybe with more time, the small subset publishing articles about aging as a myth will increase and spread across the socio-economic lines that continue to divide women’s experience of life. I’m not sure, but I think it might happen more quickly if even women in the small subset stop coloring their hair.

First published: http://www.hercircleezine.com/2011/06/30/the-beauty-myth-gets-old/

The Strength in Balance

When I think of "balance" I usually picture something like a mobile, which seems to effortlessly teeter and then right itself. It seems to "float" into balance. I see balance as a natural state, something I might return to if things were left to work themselves out. With enough time and stillness, my life would be balanced, right? Looking at balance in this way, it is no wonder many of my friends struggle ceaselessly and wonder why they, too, cannot find balance. We commiserate with one another, saying things like, "If I had more time, I'd be able to balance it all," or "If things would settle down for once..."

I attended a retreat recently. At the retreat, I met a yoga teacher ("A") with over twenty years teaching experience. This woman was the definition of exuberant and radiated a bliss that even Buddhist monks might envy. I could tell that she loved teaching yoga, so when the conversation traveled that path one afternoon, she freely and jubilantly taught everyone in the room how to perform a headstand. Not everyone could assume such a demanding position, per se, yet A's expertise allowed her to assist each person to her tolerance level and improve her practice, regardless. We talked about the purpose of poses, such as those that open the heart like camel and wheel. Conversation then addressed balance poses like crow and the aforementioned headstands. Because I liked crow so much, she taught me another pose, dying warrior.

Poses such as crow, the headstand and dying warrior are all about balance. In yoga, to maintain a balance pose, a lot of strength is required. As the result of these little conversations and private yoga consultations so generously given, I realized and verbalized my revelation that "balance takes strength." This has given me a new outlook on my schedule and on striving for that elusive balance we all seek in life. Now, I see balance as something that will require my strength to say "no" to commitments that would make me overcommitted, stressed out and lacking time to fit in normal meals, regular sleep and regular exercise. It will require my strength to stick to tasks that need completion without allowing time-sucking interruptions to take over.

Of course, like last week when my son's neck muscles went into a bizarre and sudden spasm for no apparent reason, there are times when we must urgently rearrange priorities. However, brownies for the PTO bake sale that you hear about the day before when you already have a deadline for two different jobs and your child has an orthodontic appointment are not what should be added to your already full schedule. Baking those brownies, if they will take you from regular sleep, be the "exercise" you get for the day or make you stressed so you are short on patience with those you claim to love and see as the most important people in your life, is something you must be strong enough to decline since they will send you off balance. You have to be strong enough to decline that which will send your world into earthquake mode.

While we can close a window so that a mobile might come to rest due to the lack of air flow, our lives cannot be lived without any breeze. It's as if we live in the jet stream; there is constant flow, which varies only in intensity. Like yogis, we must have strength in order to find and hold balance in our lives.

The French Metro Connection

Oh! The Irony!

When I was away last weekend, my husband cut his hand quite badly. He really should have had stitches. Had I been home, I would have provided that service. Because I wasn’t, he decided to just use bandages, as a result he has a very bad scar forming as this gash heals.

Tonight, while we were talking with our daughter about a friend and the friend-of-that-friend from school, I noticed my husband’s wound. The conversation was about how the friend of my daughter’s friend came half out of the closet. That is to say that he announced that he is bisexual. Claudia’s friend (I will call him Eric) had been talking with her about how he wants to support his friend, and at the same time worries other students will believe he is gay, or at least bisexual himself. Why would they think this? Well, Eric is what one might call “metro.” This means, in its most basic definition, that he is a male who cares about fashion and appearances but who is also otherwise heterosexual.

As family conversations go, there are tangents and connections and webs that spin. Someone’s comments remind a listener of something, and he or she interjects. The conversation takes a turn then wends its way back to the topic at hand. And, speaking of “at hand” I’ll return to my husband’s terrible cut. As my daughter talked about the situation with Eric, I interrupted with continued astonishment at how bad my husband’s wound really was and is. I then added that such a scar would typically be a conversation piece among men. We both laughed at this because the circumstances that led to his injury were not the typical “guy” fair; my husband cut his hand while washing his French coffee press.

Claudia called out, “Dad, you are metro!” We all laughed because my husband is as “womanly” as he is “manly.” What I mean by this is that while he drinks beer, starts all the fires in the fire pit and regularly takes out the trash, not to mention his job as a carpenter, all stereotypical “man” things, he also likes coffee from a French press, prefers scented soap in the shower and is always the one lighting candles as he prefers the romantic setting they create. Thus, while he might not be “metro” in the fashion department, there are plenty of ways in which he still might qualify under this designation.

I laughed and said, “Oh, it must have been pretty funny telling the guys at work about it!”

Chris replied, “You have no idea. They all asked about the bandage, of course. I told them I cut it when my French coffee press broke. They wanted to know if it was ‘on’ when I put my hand into it. ‘On?’ I questioned, then said, ‘no, it’s not mechanical, it’s a coffee press.’”

Of course, the emphasis on “coffee press” did nothing to clarify the confusion of his blue-collar co-workers who continued to think he was talking about a bean grinder.

We all laughed about the irony of it all: my carpenter husband not only cutting his hand on a French coffee press, but also while he was the one washing it!

It's All Part of the Plan: Gandhi, Mother Teresa and Professional Basketball

When I was in my late teens, I had a copy of a Jane's Addiction album wherein Perry Farrell shares a poem. At one point, he says, "I get off on athletes when they start getting all inspirational. Then they gotta go and mention Jesus and ruin it." That statement called to my young brain, already atheist from about second grade.

I'm not going to knock anyone's spirituality herein. I know plenty of people who practice all kinds of religions, so this post is not about the validity, comfort or anything else religion might provide to a person. As long as you're not using religion to establish "us" and "them" camps or to excuse violence in the world, then I have no beef with you and what you believe. (I'd ask the same respect for my lack of belief in return.)

Today, what I'm talking about is that athlete thing. I saw a story about twin brothers who were both recently chosen as NBA draft picks. In their elation, one was quoted as thanking God for their good fortune in both being picked for teams. He then went on to say that he believes he is fulfilling God's plan, along with his brother, and that he's really happy that God's plan is exactly their plan. Holy Coincidence, Batman! (Sorry about such a bad pun crossed with a pop-culture reference).

Now, I don't want to come off as assuming I can speak on behalf of any god. Yet, since this athlete seems to think he knows what God is planning, I guess I will go out on a limb herein and challenge him (the basketball player, not God--although, if there is one, I would be just fine challenging him/her/it, too, but I'll save that for another day.) What I want to know is this: how can you be so narcissistic as to believe that God would have basketball as part of a "plan" for you? I mean, I can see Gandhi or Mother Teresa as possibly divinely intended long before professional basketball.

Yes, I am sure if these brothers make gazillions of dollars, then give a few million away to create some kind of basketball clinic or fund a children's hospital, that could possibly be considered a divine plan. It might be a way for God to accomplish the ultimate goal of helping kids play basketball or be treated (if they have health insurance) for illness and injury. It's a bit of a round-about way of reaching such a goal, but hey, I've already assumed the role of almighty omniscience once in this article, so why not stretch a bit more. Of course, to me, the basketball clinic or children's hospital smacks more of a big tax break with lots of positive publicity rather than sincere altruism. (As an atheist, is it not my job to be cynical?)

Nonetheless, I implore future recipients of awards, honors and big contracts with lots of zeros after the first numbers to refrain from being so full of themselves that they think any deity would have their fame and fortune as part of some "plan." Then again, maybe God is very busy planning who is going to win the Final Four and can't do something about all the nasty, unpleasant famine, disease and war. As a mother, I totally understand the whole "number of hours in a day" thing and that we must make choices about what really needs our attention. I'm writing this blog, for instance, rather than caring for the sick or leading the poor to peaceful, effective revolt. I avoid my own unpleasant household tasks with other distractions whenever possible (Facebook, anyone?). Hey, maybe God can address some of that unpleasant, nasty stuff during the commercials after typing an update on Twitter! Another, oft-heard phrase comes to mind to explain the basketball-picks-before-solving-hunger thing: God works in mysterious ways. Mysterious, indeed.

Considering "Our Bodies, Ourselves" Today

IMAGE PROVIDED BY THE BOSTON WOMEN'S HEALTH COLLECTIVE

In my last post, I mentioned that I grew up with The Boston Women’s Health Book Collective’s OUR BODIES, OURSELVES as a coffee table book. OBOS and HAROLD AND THE PURPLE CRAYON are the two books I first remember reading. The HAROLD books are about a little boy who draws himself into adventures when he’s supposed to be in bed. Besides that as a more typical early reader, I regularly examined the pictures, diagrams and drawings, and then sounded out what I could in OUR BODIES, OURSELVES, which seemed just as magical a book as HAROLD. I discovered that adventures and explorations were not just outside, but also inside our bodies.

While my mother is responsible for leaving the book out for my exploration, I creditOUR BODIES, OURSELVES with my development into a critical thinking, socially engaged woman. My women friends cannot believe how precocious I was as a teenager. They were not raised to be self-advocates or to feel empowered in their sex or sexuality. By the time I began menstruation, explored my sexuality in a relationship or gave birth for the first time, I learned to demand answers to my questions, to stand up for myself and be a partner only to mutually fulfilling relationships. (Yes, I had my share of “bad boyfriends” as everyone does. However, the difference is that I did not remain in these relationships nor did I repeatedly make the mistake of getting involved with the “same” type of partner.) I spurred the offices of condescending physicians in favor of care providers who would be partners in my health care.

OUR BODIES, OURSELVES, written by a collective, is a model of feminist collaboration. It values individual women’s lived experiences, and allows women to share their stories in their own words. The authors offer information and let women who have experience of a topic speak about it. Subsequent publications have been updated so that new voices grace the pages and new topics are added to the table of contents. OBOS has been in print for over forty years and has been translated into over twenty-six languages. Some of the topics have been expanded into sister publications, such as the teen-oriented CHANGING BODIES, CHANGING LIVES and OURSELVES, GROWING OLDER, which focuses on women’s lives at or near menopause. The authors promote civic engagement and social justice as well as self-advocacy. They take to heart the idea that the personal is political, which can sometimes be merely a “buzz” phrase. Long before “think globally, act locally” became the mantra of the environmental movement,OUR BODIES, OURSELVES was telling women this essential message.

When each new edition of the book has been published, it has met with sharp criticism in well-respected publications such as THE NEW YORK TIMES and THE ATLANTIC. As I re-readOBOS for this article, I developed some criticisms, as well. As a choice-in-birth advocate, I read blogs and medical journal articles about birth on a regular basis. A recent blog post about choice in birth addressed the fact that those of us in the natural birth camp often continue to place words and choices in the mouths of other women. We believe that “if” women just knew the complications associated with epidural, that they would never choose it. We assume that if doctors educated women about c-sections, women would do everything they could to avoid them. What we fail to recognize is that even knowing all of the risks that appall us about epidurals or c-sections, there are women who will choose to avail themselves of these options. Who are “we” to deny them these choices, especially if we advocate so strongly for choice?

This line of thinking is exactly the issue I have with OBOS in its most recent publication. I am a staunch defender of abortion rights. That right is also linked to a right to choose an alternative to abortion as an individual. The voices we hear in the abortion chapter in OBOS all release a sigh of relief at having obtained an abortion. What of those who experience remorse, or make a decision to give a child up for adoption or raise their child? I cannot stress enough that I am for the choice to exist and for abortion access to be widely available, in ways it is definitely not and has been declining from being accessible in the United States. I also believe that any frank discussion of abortion needs to include voices of women who have made other choices, so that if we pick up a publication, such as OUR BODIES, OURSELVES, we are aware of all sides of the issue. This same tack exists in the section on birth.

I believe that OUR BODIES, OURSELVES deserves a spot on the bookshelves of our homes, if not on the coffee table. As a mother of a teenage daughter and son, the book cannot take the place of conversations about each of the issues presented in the text. As theATLANTIC claimed in a 2005 review, the book glosses over issues that need further discussion and consideration, examples of which I’ve stated herein. The reviewer criticizes the stance that everyone wants to have sex all the time that the book’s sexually transmitted infections section takes. She regrets the emphasis on makeshift dental dams created from latex gloves, the entire description of which renders the reader as far from sexual passion as possible. Why not a discussion on why one might not choose to have casual sex partners in a time of sexually transmitted diseases run rampant? Discussions such as these might bring the book into a more up-to-date viewpoint.

Equality and women’s rights still face an uphill battle. In the United States, we’ve lost ground in the past few weeks, when our legislature moved a measure forward that redefined rape in a way not favorable to women, the most frequent victims of this crime. Pundits believe the next vote will lay this misogynist bill to rest or that President Obama will veto it. Even as our political environment attacks women, if a book wants to speak intimately and truthfully to women, it should present conflicting viewpoints when women’s voices are heard and their stories are told. I planned on this article as a love letter, of sorts, to a publication that I believe in and that I believe shaped me as a woman. While I revere OUR BODIES, OURSELVES, I hope that voices from all viewpoints will be included in a future update of the book. The text can advocate for a way of thinking and acting without condemning those who personally choose otherwise. For if choice is really what we’re advocating for, if autonomy and self-advocacy are what we believe make for equality, then we must accept the choices of each individual woman.

First published: http://www.hercircleezine.com/2011/06/23/considering-our-bodies-ourselves-today/

There he grows again.

Recently, I was away from home for four days. Upon my return, I got help bringing everything in the house, and we began the process of becoming a whole family unit again. After dinner, my husband suggested we take the dogs for a walk in the field across the street from our house. We went out the door and started across the front yard toward the road. I walked behind my son and to the right. After making sure each small dog was being carried across the street, I happened to look at Henry from head to toe as I watched him lovingly tote one of our dogs on his right arm. He appeared to have grown (Henry, not the dog, of course). I commented on this observation, which was confirmed once we returned home and stood back to back. Chris said, "You are exactly the same height now."

My children's growth has always astonished me, just as it does most parents. Some of it we "miss" and don't notice in how slight and slow it is. Other times, they are noticeably changed overnight. Apparently, while I was away, my son decided to get taller. Because he is now interested in his own growth, I know for a fact that he was an inch shorter just a few weeks ago. He is regularly measuring himself to my height, and sometime in the past several weeks, we stood back to back just like we did tonight. He was about an inch shorter at that time.

Watching his male body grow into a man is mind-blowing for a woman who grew up with one sister. I had no experience of male development, physical or mental. Being a tom-boy, I grew up with boys, so I never noticed their changes or growth so much. Height never mattered to me, and since I was relatively short and skinny until I finally grew between sixteen and twenty, the boys who were my companions never took notice of my growth either. Being raised by a mother and father who both really wanted daughters, a daughter was all I could imagine for myself.

When we were pregnant both times, my husband and I thought we would have preferred girls. We were overjoyed at the birth of our first child when we learned she was a girl. When we were surprised with the second born, we assumed we'd have another girl. A late-pregnancy ultrasound to rule out a medical contraindication to home birth revealed our boy. In some ways, we were relieved as we had chosen a boy's name easily and even with just six weeks to go, could not determine a name for a girl. In an irrational way, I almost asked my husband if he wanted me to somehow "put him back" or "change him into a girl" as if that was possible. It felt, in that immediate moment of knowing, that some mistake had been made.

Then, upon his birth, our Henry, who had seemed to manifest himself from conception, turned this seeming mother of girls and lover of girls into a devoted, adoring mother of a boy. My mother, who is a barber by profession, has been known to moan and groan at sons and their mothers. She complains about how my aunts are with my male cousins. She lets her half-disgust show clearly at my own relationship with her grandson. "Mothers and boys," she laments, as if saying those two descriptors together explained anything. And yet, as mothers of sons know all too well, there is some truth to the difference in relationship, an indescribable essence that does not exist between mothers and daughters, and is not even the same as that of father/daughter bond. Thus, as I notice yet another growth spurt in my son, I'm thrown into a tailspin of emotion. I'm not ready for him to be an adult man, and yet, there he grows again. I guess I have to catch up, not in physical height, of course, but rather in the emotional expansion it requires to be a mother to a man.

Visiting the Secret Garden

PHOTO BY CHRIS ROBINSON

The first time I read Nancy Friday’s MY SECRET GARDEN, I was nonplussed. I was seventeen years old, yet I had been raised with a copy of The Boston Women’s Health Book Collective’s OUR BODIES, OURSELVES as a coffee table book. Without an appreciation for the history of the women’s movement and its accomplishments in the decade and a half between the publication of Friday’s book and my initial reading of it, I found many of the fantasies silly and the women’s description of their lived sex lives pathetic. By pathetic, I mean that I felt the women suffered mentally and emotionally not due to societal pressures, but rather their own weakness. Being raised by a mother who taught me nothing if not to stand up for myself, I could not imagine a woman not doing this as an adult.

Reading the book as a mature woman, I have a renewed appreciation not only for the fantasies, but also the women’s lived experiences. There is so much sex in our culture and in the mass media. We don’t know, though, how much of what we see reflects what is going on in women’s minds. As I read through MY SECRET GARDEN, I could not help but wonder about women today. It occurred to me that I knew nothing about the fantasy lives of even my closest friends. This struck me as odd since we share significant intimate details on a variety of topics. For example, I know who uses what sex toys and who does not use any. We’ve discussed the merits of and advised one another about the differences between silicone versus glass. I know who enjoys porn, and who finds her husband sexiest when he’s emptying the dishwasher. I know who has tried having an open marriage, and who is not having sex at all. What I don’t know is what these women think about while they masturbate, while they have sex and whether their spouses know about their fantasies. It seems that where fantasies are concerned, there really is a secret garden.

To appreciate MY SECRET GARDEN in a modern context, I created a simple, five-question survey using the features available at SurveyMonkey.com. I collected seventeen responses from the thirty emails I sent to friends. With such a small number of respondents all from my circle of friends, there are no definitive conclusions that can be drawn about women in general. However, the information is definitely useful for asking more questions as part of an article about the state of women’s sexual fantasies today. The results are as follows: most women reported having sexual fantasies and that they employ them when they masturbate. Seventy-five percent of my little network reports using fantasies during sex with a partner, as well. However, less than half share their fantasies with their partners. The reasons given for not sharing were similar. Women, in one-way or another, expressed discomfort with sharing their fantasies, even with their sexual partners. One stated that she did not feel her partner would be interested.

I left a comment box so that respondents might provide whatever other information they thought might be useful or that they wished to express. Some of these were uplifting. Women said they had great sex lives or that they felt great about themselves in their sexual relationships. Others were heartbreaking. Some women reported scaring off lovers with their openness, the same as Nancy Friday described in her book. Others reported a lack of intimacy for sharing, or partners who were not comfortable with the women’s sexual thoughts.

At the time of its publication, MY SECRET GARDEN broke new ground. Friday states in her introduction that interviewees were often ashamed of their fantasies, or felt they were strange or that they were the only person to think such things. Many wondered if there was something wrong with them. My limited survey indicates that while the majority of women are more comfortable with their fantasies, with having fantasies and with their sexuality, there remain those who are stifled or fear that their fantasies are somehow not something they should be having or sharing. Women still do not want to openly share their fantasies with sex partners.

Bruce Springsteen has a song aptly titled, “Secret Garden.” In the song, he described a relationship with a woman and how she will open up her body to him, but also keeps her innermost-self hidden. Thus, Friday’s title still applies, as women’s fantasies remain mostly secret.

First published: http://www.hercircleezine.com/2011/06/16/visiting-the-secret-garden/

The "Emperor" Takes a Walk

I’m a bit confused about the so-called “slut walk.” Why is it a “slut” walk? Is it because of the way the women dress when what they’re saying is that walking around in your bra or a super-short skirt and heels does not mean you are a slut, seeking sexual activity or even any attention at all? Isn’t a walk (parade, demonstration, etc.) a way to demand attention? To my understanding, women who participate in the “slut” walks are asking that men (and women) not react in any way to their appearance or wardrobe choices. They want men to see them on the street wearing a bra, a short, tight skirt and heels and to react as if they are wearing paint-splattered sweatpants, or they seek “zero” reaction to their appearance whatsoever.

Throughout history men and women have sometimes dressed provocatively, to well, provoke a reaction in men or women. I understand that the underlying message in the slut walks is supposed to be about rape, about increasing rape convictions and not blaming victims. I know that women, at every stage of life from infancy to old age are raped regardless of what they’re wearing. In fact, there are healthcare workers who rape anesthetized and comatose women and there are also people who rape the dead. I agree that provocative clothing is not an invitation to rape. I do not believe it is not an invitation to attention of a sexual nature. When I say “attention,” I mean just that. I mean being approached or spoken to by someone interested in what you seem to be offering by what you’re wearing.

Whether we like it or not, clothing is a visual cue. It is not, I reiterate, an invitation to sex and definitely not permission to rape (an oxymoronic phrase, of course). However, when I see someone in a shirt that says “Texaco” on one pocket and “Joe” on the other, I don’t think it is too outrageous of me to make an initial assumption that the person is an employee of the Texaco company and that he or she goes by the name “Joe.” Yes, there are the ironic hipsters who wear clothing with logos and names not their own. If I interact with a person I see wearing a Texaco/Joe shirt, I will find out more about him or her. I will find out if he or she works for Texaco, possibly, and whether his or her name is Joe. While I will make some assumptions from my initial visualization of this person, I will not make any judgments solely based on his or her clothing. My judgments will be about the person’s behavior more than his or her clothes. (I know, I know, we shouldn’t “judge” anybody.)

Thus, while we might see a woman dressed in a bra and short, tight skirt and heels and assume she seeks our attention in a more rather than less sexual way, I agree that catcalls or overtly sexual gestures are not appropriate reactions. Men or women might approach her and find out who she is. Men or women can talk with her to make a human connection, and only then know if her clothing is a message of possible interest in attraction or if she is merely most comfortable wearing this style of dress and is actually wishing to be left alone and not be approached at all. Possibly, she is a sketch artist and just wants to sit on a bench, sketchbook and pencil in hand, drawing the scenery. Maybe she is walking to an interview as a nanny or nurse. Maybe she’s in a bar having a drink after a hard day as a bank manager. (Maybe her jacket is at the office and the skirt is hiked up for no apparent reason and certainly not to attract any attention.)

What I’d like to point out is that the situation is the same for men. If they want to be taken seriously, they will not show up for a job interview shirtless and in cut-off jeans. They will also not go to a bar that way if they aren’t seeking women’s (or men's) attention. The cut-off jeans and shirtless chest do not mean that the man is interested in sex. They definitely don’t mean the guy wants to be raped, either.

What I want to know from the “slut walkers” is what they really want. If they seek to raise awareness of appalling conviction rates in rape cases, terrific! If they seek to keep awareness in general about the fact that clothing does not entitle anyone to sex, that is also important. If they are asking that men and women ignore whatever it is that they have on their bodies (or don’t have on), I’m not sure that is possible. Clothing has always told a story of sorts throughout history. It has told the status or occupation of a person, it demonstrates a person’s affinity for a sports team, a band, or his or her support of a particular maker of clothing. And, even when we wear non-branded clothing where the label is only on the inside, we’re still sending a message.

I also have to ask the “slut” walkers if their true intent is that no one ever reacts to what another person is wearing. Thus, if there was a clothing shortage and Nazi uniforms were found in a warehouse, millions could don the uniform and no one would worry or judge the person wearing the uniform as one who is possibly racist. A New Yorker might wear a Red Sox t-shirt to the next home game and not feel self-conscious cheering when a Yankee’s player hit a homerun. He should also expect that in a bar after the game, no one will assume he’s a Red Sox fan, but will rather approach him and start up a conversation in total ignorance of the person’s t-shirt. The next time a “slut walker” goes to her child’s high school for a meeting with her child's male (for sake of my subsequent description herein) teacher, she will not seek a man in a button-down shirt and dress pants but rather ask each passing male in low-slung basketball shorts, a baseball hat backwards and a rock band t-shirt if he is the teacher she seeks. Otherwise, she’s making assumptions based on clothing, which she is clearly against.

So, for the record: Yes! No means no. No! Clothing of any type or a lack thereof does not constitute an invitation to sex, or permission to rape. Yes! Rapists should be convicted of their crimes whether their victims are eighty and wearing a thong and bustier in the proverbial dark alley at night or are twenty and wearing a turtleneck and overalls and working on a hiking trail clean-up crew. However, demanding that our clothing is not seen is asking everyone to don the “Emperor’s New Clothes.” 

Reading "Lolita" Today

My choice of LOLITA is based partly on the fact that I had not yet read it and it is on the goodreads.com feminist book list. I chose to read it right away because a male friend of my daughter’s recommended it to her. Aware of the mythology surrounding the book, I wanted to read it so that I was aware of what my daughter would be reading. The fact of her reading it is not the issue, for I have a booklist from my teen years that would thrill Humbert Humbert, the child molester narrator of Nabokov’s LOLITA.

Before reading the book, and now subsequent to reading it, I wonder about its merits as a feminist book at goodreads.com. Literary criticism did not yield insights beyond the one reason I determined myself; LOLITA might be considered feminist because it recognizes female sexual development. Because of their prepubescent bodies, adults do not like to consider that twelve-year-olds may have a sexual nature. This is also a sign of natural development. For, if adults admire the emerging sexuality of pre-pubescent beings, they are likely of the same character as the child molester narrator of LOLITA. Thus, it is the mere recognition that a young woman or adolescent might have sexual inclinations that provides a tiny flame of feminism.

I did not sympathize with Nabokov’s Humbert Humbert, regardless of the author’s ability to employ clever literary conventions. I suppose much of this has to do with being a woman, and one who was as an adolescent, consciously aware of my own burgeoning sexuality. As I alluded to in my first paragraph, my teenage reading list included romance novels my friend’s mother collected and Nancy Friday’s MY SECRET GARDEN, a book about women’s sexual fantasies. When my town librarian spoke with my mother about my latter choice of reading material, I feigned innocence. I claimed that I requested the book because I thought it was THE SECRET GARDEN, a children’s book. (I’ll consider Friday’s book in another article, but again, Humbert Humbert would likely approve of my choice of reading material and my crafty way of covering the true intent of it.) Nabokov’s writing technique did not connect with my affinity for pun and metaphor. There were glimmers of appreciation wherein I nodded in happy agreement at some of his purposeful turns of phrase, such as when the narrator refers to the period of his possession of Lolita as her “nymphancy.” The obvious connection between that term and “infancy” met within my mind. At other points in the story, Humbert Humbert admits his immature state, and I enjoyed the way in which Nabokov allowed the narrator to convict himself of being an emotionally undeveloped man. Aside from a few little tidbits such as these, I found the book brimming with pretentious syntax and affected diction. (The irony of writing about things such as syntax and diction and referring to the writing as pretentious is not lost on me here.)

LOLITA was published in the 1950’s when the Kinsey Reports’ revelations about sexual behavior were released. If viewed in the context of its historical publication, LOLITA also introduced women’s sexual development to a public that otherwise collectively denied sexuality to women their entire lives. If we consider LOLITA from this vantage point, I believe this is why it might be considered feminist. Outside of the time of publication, such as today, when infants are sexualized with bikinis and high heels sold for feet that cannot even yet walk, LOLITA is a travesty for feminism. It is a cautionary tale that we did not heed. Instead, we’ve let advertisers and would-be child molesters foist sexuality on beings that have only just been born a physical sex. As Nabokov warns in the faked psychologist’s foreword in LOLITA, emerging sexuality is something entirely separate from depraved pedophilia, and the two should not intermingle.

First published: http://www.hercircleezine.com/2011/06/09/reading-lolita-today/

The Meandering Path of Learning

Last week, I turned in my education plan to the superintendent's office. It's quite ambitious, but also planned with Henry's input, so I am confident that he'll complete everything we've set out for him to do. Our home schooling year wraps up at the end of June, and I'm tasked with putting together a final report for the school year.

I send in samples and we update Henry's web page that showcases some of his writing, pictures of things he's done and is our "practice" at presenting a form of an electronic portfolio. The report includes highlights of things Henry learned (and what I learned, as well). It is relatively comprehensive, yet it can never really capture the meandering path of learning a home school education provides. We learn just as much when we're just living life as from carefully crafted lesson plans based on well-researched texts and materials.

Just this morning, we went around the lake. Henry road his bike and I walked. As we traveled along, sometimes with him slowly pedaling beside me and other times with him circling back to me, we talked about all kinds of things. We began talking about a new program he found about Samurai through our Netflix subscription. From there, when his bike made a few creaking noises, we talked about his plan to work with Chris to learn bike maintenance. Henry's bike is a hand-me-down from Chris yet is a bike, when it was new, that cost $2,000, so it is worth keeping in excellent condition. It's a bike that will serve Henry well into his adulthood if he cares for it properly. So, item number one is that Henry will learn more about bike care and maintenance in the coming weeks.

Our conversation turned at one point turned to the film Wayne's World. I can't now remember what prompted the movie quote that first spawned the subsequent discussion, so let's suffice it to say, one of us said a quote from Wayne's World and the other said another back. From there, we talked about the way in which the film referenced the music of Led Zeppelin, yet did not use it. We're both aware that this band is famous for not participating with iTunes and that they "never" let their music be used in films or other advertising. Our conversation turned to whether we think this is good, bad, whether it protects artists rights and whether something so iconic should be protected. Is it able to be protected when it is so pervasive in a society? Does it limit other artists who might actually desire to pay tribute to its influence in their lives?

From there, I offered some known instances wherein a band sold a song for a purpose, such as advertising and how that can "ruin" the song for people. My example was the use of The Rolling Stones's "Start Me Up" by Microsoft when Windows was first released. This conversation took a little side trip into the history of computers. I explained to Henry about MS-DOS and how computer screens used to look, how you had to "start" software and user systems from a blank screen and all of that. I said, playing the side of "no sales of music" that I cannot hear "Start Me Up" now without thinking about the advertisement for Microsoft. Then again, I'm not perturbed when I hear other music and it reminds me of a film, per se. Our conversation about music and its use in movies, its ownership by artists and then by corporations turned many circles and took turns and looped all around like a game of chutes and ladders: climb to here, slide down to another spot. Wend around the bend, and so on. When we approached the "big hill" (which is merely steep not very "big") we stopped talking so he could ride ahead and ascend and I could keep pace without trying to talk.

Our discussion continued about corporate ownership of songs rather than artist ownership. We related it to things like Bill Waterson's (creator of Calvin & Hobbes) refusal to allow the comic to be animated and thus voiced. We talked about the potential of Henry's own drawings and artistic creations being sought after. We discussed contracts, what the difference is between ownership and rental or licensing of songs and other artistic media.

As we rounded the bend to head back home, our conversation returned to the samurai show he began watching so that he could catch me up in the plot so that I was not lost watching the next episode with him. He explained the sequence of events so far, then talked about the manifestation of steam punk and all it's incantations today. We got home and watched the show together.

As I sat on the sofa eating my breakfast, I couldn't help but also wonder about our conversation. Was that "school?" Henry definitely learned about some things such as the history of computers, the development of software, the concepts found in contracts and he did some critical thinking around philosophical issues, all while getting exercise and strengthening our relationship together. This is all without mention of the birds he identified while we made our way around the lake, as well.



The most wonderful part of this kind of meandering path of learning is that nothing is "gone" as being up for discussion or research and nothing is ever settled, either. Henry sits with kinds of knowledge that he can then re-create and assimilate or alter depending on new information. For example, for the past several months, he's been considering our government as it operates today. He is looking into alternatives. He's exploring the differences between communism, democracy, socialism, anarchy (not lawlessness, but rather self rule) and trying to figure each of them out to see what he finds the "best" for himself. As he does this, I'm reading Erich Fromm's Escape from Freedom, which is mostly a treatment specific to describing how the Nazis came to rule in Germany. It is a psychological explanation for the changes society has undergone as it moved from the middle ages toward today. Right now, Henry is spouting to his grandmother about socialism. He's singing the praises of people looking out for one another, for more sharing and for a sense of belonging. When we're talking about all of this, I keep plugging in little questions about "how do you decide who decides how much is shared?" and things like that as we discuss socialism. We talk about video games and computer games online and how interactions with others often leads to total lawlessness and to a me-first attitude and a total lack of consideration of others. In cyber-worlds where teamwork would lead to success, people abandon it even to their own peril, merely in a scramble to "win" some little battle while losing the war, as the saying goes. The cool thing is that these forms of government are not just defined, Henry is not tested to see if he memorized the definition and then we move on to something else. Rather, Henry gets to let them simmer and then brings them back to consider further. He can also claim he is a socialist one day, a democrat (small d intended!) and then a communist and none of these labels has to "stick." He is not defined by a set of peers for his views of one day. He is allowed to try things on, learn more about them, turn them inside out and then add them to his "wardrobe" or discard them for something else. This is the gift and bane of home learning as it is wondrous and magical, but not easily conveyed on paper in a report. I guess that is how it is with the most beautiful and amazing things in life, learning included!

Vindication of the Experience of Birthing Women

In response to my last post, wherein I commented that our language around birth still needs updating and that we need to widen the scope of our consideration of mother and baby to include newly-minted fathers, I heard responses that spoke to the darker side of birth experience. Rather than change the language, two responders said that their experiences of birth were the opposite of the rhetoric they heard. Both were exposed to people who talked about how easy birth was, how it was natural and a wonderful experience. Because of this, both went into labor with a rosy picture of how it would be for them, too. There was some heated exchange in emails and Facebook posts on the issue. I came to recognize that my viewpoint, as expressed, was more from a sociologist's and birth practitioner's stance. While this can be helpful in the scheme of things, it does not serve individual women or honor their experiences.

Subsequently, I spoke with a midwife friend about the issue. She agreed that my perspective was less a lived one and more of a "if this were an ideal world" view. Underlying the strong emotions (on both sides) in response to my article, it seems that being heard and honored is something still missing in the preparation for labor rhetoric and the lack of support postpartum for processing the life-altering event that is birth.

My midwife friend reminded me of her own birth experience. By all counts, the birth of her second child "should" have been wonderful. She had the care of a competent midwife, gave birth at home in her own environment and definitely felt more empowered by this experience than that of her first birth. She thought she had prepared herself this time by reading all the books, by hiring a midwife, and by staying out of a hospital setting. This was her "armor" and shield against anything that might "go wrong" or otherwise not be perfect. Armed with all this knowledge of hypnobirthing and breathing out a baby, how could the birth be anything but the gauzy, flowery hippy event described repeatedly in Spiritual Midwifery?

The reality of her birth is that her water broke in the morning, and labor did not begin until late afternoon. When labor did begin, it came not in gentle ocean waves, bringing in the tide, but rather like the lightning, thunder and tornados that recently ripped through Massachusetts. There was no gradual build-up. First stage (when contractions are happening) tore through her body, wreaking havoc with physical pain, but also emotional strife. This was NOT what was supposed to be happening! Meg (not her real name) cried out in pain. The pressure in the anterior (front) of her introitus (the opening of her vagina) was excruciating.

By all "outside" counts, meaning everyone but the mother herself, Meg's birth was great! She went into labor after her water broke well within the prescribed timelines. Her labor was fast, and fast equals short which equals good in the minds of people typically judging labor. While she had pain as she pushed a long time to birth her baby, that was "fleeting" and stopped upon the completion of labor. She had a healthy baby in her arms, no problems breastfeeding, a group of women who were supportive and caring, and well, what could be wrong now?

Something was definitely wrong. Meg was pissed about her birth experience. For many years, she harbored bad feelings toward her midwife, who is the person who took the blame for all the emotional and physical pain Meg endured during her labor. Now, with her child approaching the teen years and as a midwife herself with a lot of birth experience behind her, Meg realizes that her experience of her second child's birth and her reaction to that experience are normal, yet no one would ever speak to that. When you've got that baby in your arms and he or she has ten fingers and ten toes and is breathing on his or her own and nursing "like a champ," well, what's there to complain about?

Many women feel betrayed when birth is only portrayed as "strong menstrual cramps" because they experience something far more painful. At the same time, perpetuating horror stories like those I heard from the parents of friends over the years doesn't help either. I grew up hearing about mothers who told their children, "I almost died giving birth to you," and "I was in labor for thirty-five hours!" These stories can scare children, especially girls who might one day be giving birth themselves.

I do think that a positive outlook on birth is something that should be "pushed." I also still think we need to stop with language around birth as if it is an ordeal or surviving something perilous like a fall down a crevasse. I still think dads/partners need to be included in the birth process and the postpartum, and need support themselves. Let me add to my last post with the following: we also need support for women. They need to be able to mourn and celebrate their birthing experiences. When I say this, I mean the same woman should be able to lament what she needs to where any loss is concerned with full validation and she needs to celebrate what she wants to glorify where any "gain" is concerned. Meg needs to be able to be thrilled that she had a successful home birth, that she had a healthy baby and that she just did it and endured the pain she felt. She also needs to be heard as she rages about the lack of preparedness she felt for that pain near her urethra, how she felt duped by the hypnobirthing camp and that nothing, absolutely nothing can actually prepare you for each individual birth experience regardless of how many books you've read, classes you've attended, herbs you have on hand or births you've actually had.

In the end, women need validation for their entire experience. They need to be listened to without judgement. What seems whiny to one person is the biggest deal to another. What one deems a non-issue might be a huge accomplishment in the mind of another. In the end, I stand by my suggestion that we continue to examine the ways in which and words we choose to talk about birth. I stand by my suggestion that we include new fathers/parents-who-did-not-give-birth when we consider the "condition" of all parties to a new baby. Because I do hear you, friends who responded to my post, I amend my post to say that women need space, time and someone to listen so that they may share the entirety of their experience of birth. We need open, honest communication so that we celebrate together and mourn together and validate individual experience without judgement. What I'm saying here is not new, I'm merely saying it in the context of motherhood and birth. All people just want to be told the truth, just want to share their own truths, and need to be heard and supported as they transition throughout life's milestones.