Labels Equal Limitation

Labels - we seem to need them; labels that categorize and subsequently prescribe response. We need to know if it is a boy or a girl so we can plan. Plan for what -- pink or blue? Ballet or hockey? Playhouse or racing track?

Do we realize the limitations we place on our kids when we genderize them? It's shocking to me how many people are completely unaware that they do this - or how many don't really believe there is such a thing as genderizing. Do we really think little girls are born with a penchant for pink or that little boys have a love of trucks in their blood? Really?

Once, a long, long, time ago, I was a little girl. I was born free to be --- whatever I wanted to be. My parents didn't have the means or inclination to decorate a nursery so I was spared the frills indoctrination. I had a mother who had been athletic, strong and who loved adventure and my dad was the same, so it was natural for them to leave my sibs and I enough breathing room to decide for ourselves what we liked and what we were interested in. 

As a young child I had little to no interest in dolls, frills, pink or my mother's high heels. I did enjoy dressing up and playing Ivanhoe (mixing bowl on my head and all), had a fascination with pocket knives I couldn't manage to open, loved the sandbox and my friend's Tonka grader and when I got older, I loved building forts. Huck Finn was my role model and later on, Anne of Green Gables with her daydreaming, dramatic ways. And the best times of all spent with my sibs were pooling our imagination and talent (imagined and otherwise) and putting on shows. Throughout my childhood, I can't recall hearing my parents dragging gender into the division of chores or leisure. There weren't girl jobs and boy jobs -- just jobs that needed to be done. We fished with our dad, piled wood, played outside and shared our toys - whatever they were. My brother enjoyed our play kitchen and we all enjoyed his hot wheels (the tracks from which substituted as swords from time to time).

How different life would have been for us if we had been raised under an umbrella of presumption of what constituted femininity/masculinity - if
my mom had insisted that I wear a dress instead of a suit and tie for my band performances; if my sister hadn't been encouraged to play boy's baseball when there wasn't a girls team for her to play on; if my brother had been forced to play hockey when what he really loved was playing in the school band.

According to Merriam-Webster online dictionary:

fem·i·nin·i·ty: the quality or nature of the female sex

Why impose what those "feminine" qualities are? I can tell you that I never felt more feminine than when I was exerting my leadership and running for student council, or in later years, asking for a raise, or caring for sick child or parent. My notion of femininity had little to do with the height of my heels, how well I accessorized or how attractive I appeared.

Simply put -- had we been born to parents with rigid, preconceived notions of gender, we wouldn't have been free to express all that we were and grow to be the people we are today. My parents created a safe space for us to experiment, explore and express ourselves and  helped us feel that we were just fine the way, and who, we were. No labels required.

Stand Up

Image from http://speakequal.com/u-s-education-secretary-releases-statement-regarding-recent-lgbt-youth-suicides/

Bullying and teen suicide. The tragedies and images are leaping off the pages, and our TV/computer screens. It's beyond disturbing. It has become an issue of epidemic proportion.

Someone I love once described suicide as not having a desire to die, but rather being too exhausted to live. Bullying can do that to someone. It can wear them down; grind them into disenfranchised shreds; strip them of self worth and deplete them of the will to go on ...

Although there are often complex reasons behind a suicide, being gay or different seems to be a recurring theme. Our teens are killing themselves because they can't find a safe place in our society to become all they were meant to be. Being gay is not as rare as we are lead to believe ... if everyone who was gay - every teacher, judge, politician, pastor, athlete, leader, celebrity - was "out" and living their lives authentically, it would not only diffuse the "different" factor just by sheer number, it would show our kids that everyone has a place at the table; it would give our kids something/someone visible to relate and hold onto.

I am a mom of a gay daughter and I will not accept "tolerance", pity, or sympathy for me or her, nor fear; nor judgement from anyone. I won't accept anything less for her than all she is entitled to; the same love, respect, rights, responsibilities, liberties, opportunities that are granted to every citizen in our country. Nothing less; no comprise. None.

But it's time for us to give the news stories more than a passing sigh and moment of silence. It is time for us to be outraged and become warriors to protect our children -- our future generation. Bullying has to be dealt with head on in the schools, in the home, within families, in the workplace and in the justice system. We must speak out, demand that our schools educate our children about bullying and the roles everyone have to play in preventing, protecting, and reporting. Gay adults have to step forward to dispel fears of the unknown; to model a different face of "normal". We adults (gay or otherwise) must STAND UP and provide a safety line for young people drowning in misery. Most of all we have get over ourselves and let people be who they are or who they want to be. Unless of course that means becoming a murderous criminal or bully. Period.

Rick Mercer, a talented Canadian famous for his clever, witty passionate rants, added his voice to the chorus of adults who publicly declared their gay status in the "It gets better" video shot a year ago to encourage young gay kids. He feels that it is time to move beyond telling our kids that it will get better, and start working to change that which is hurting them - and protect them. He can speak for himself; watch the video below:

Unconditional

“You’re my daughter and I love you. I don’t care who you love,” she said. “But that is best kept private anyway.” The momentary relief from hearing the words she had waited years to hear evaporated with those last few syllables ... “best kept private”. She’d being doing that her whole life; keeping the “private” part of herself - the part of her who dreamed, desired and loved in technicolour – stored neatly in a virtual closet.

She exhaled a long, slow, wistful stream of air to momentarily relieve the knot in her chest, just enough to breath again. That permanent knot that expands and contracts depending on …
She was certain that if she did not find a resolution soon, she would surely, eventually, strangle.

Her mind drifted to the ideal … the words that would yank the knot from her body, free her from self loathing, and bring light into her life:

I love you. You are enough – in fact perfect – just the way you are.

Period.


For any young gay kid who is feeling weary and isolated, watch the video below and know, IT GETS BETTER.

Be Real

I just saw a commercial for running shoes that claimed to tone your butt and ham strings simply by wearing them. I assume they work best if you are moving around. And apparently you can lose double digits inches off your belly, back, butt and thighs by wearning magical underwear -- Spanx? My grandmother called them girdles. I call it bondage.

The barrage of advertising aimed at perfecting our imperfections is staggering and it's aimed squarely (disproportionately) at women. Judging by the ads women have alot of things to repair, upgrade, conceal, replace and maintain. I don't see too many ads suggesting how men can lose their belly fat or that unwanted hair in their noses, ears, or on their backs. Not many ads for products that can make every male body part smell like a box of chocolates!

A few things come to mind:

One - some clever sleazeballs are making scads of money from  women's insecurities; and
Two - we really need to reconcile - make peace with our image - and be content with ourselves, just the way we are. We need to get real.

Remember my posts on the booty pop and bump it?

Eye of the Needle

I used to be able to do it effortlessly, successful often on the first try. Now I hate to admit it, I struggle to thread the needle. I turn up the light. I cut the thread to give it a nice clean edge so there's no resistance. I even don the drugstore cheater glasses. I'm fully equipped.

I squint - where the heck is the eye of the needle? I bite my lip hard as I will the needle into focus. It helps a little - but not enough. I refuse to concede to the needle. I will not be defeated!

It's hard to accept limitations, that something I could do so routinely now requires the use of an aid (those darned glasses). I've been reading labels at arms length for some time. Maybe I should be thinking about getting my eyes tested for the real deal. I've been resisting that for a while now. Not anxious for proof that something is starting to fail. What'll be next?

Right now I need the black thread in the eye of that darn needle ...
Hubby was happy to help. Lucky me ... did I mention his eyes are not as aged as mine?

Choosing our response

Haven't we all had thoughts or preconceived notions that we are not proud of -- feelings or ideas about things that we didn't even know we had? I think most of us would like to think we are open minded, unbiased, or non judgemental. Then we find ourselves looking at the homeless person squatting beside the curb with a cup out for coin and we feel a little more than a little uncomfortable. Or we pass a group of young lads with black skin decked out in hip hop duds and clutch our purses a little tighter. Snap judgements that we'd be ashamed to admit -- to ourselves or anyone else. These are revealing moments for us ... teaching moments.

I don't think we can help or stop those initial feelings or reactions that expose ... but we can control our response. We can "grow" through it, move past "tolerance" onto acceptance and understanding. We sell ourselves short and deprive ourselves of possibilities when we cave to generalizations and prejudice. Take for example my first encounter of women loving women when I joined the Women's Centre in college. I had never seen women being romantic and affectionate with one another and I can recall the knot in my stomach and the utter discomfort that comes with fear and ignorance. I pretended to be OK with it all and let me guard down enough to actually get to know the same women I had been cringing about. Fear fell away with the labels. Misconceptions were replaced with warm human beings and soon I didn't have to pretend. Lesbian had a face ... and a heart attached to it.

I can think of many times when I have battled my inner "isms" - and I know I am winning the war. I aspire to have a heart that is big and pure enough to love and accept the shapes, shades and variations of humankind. It's a choice I can make.