Summer Thoughts

“If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all.” – Oscar Wilde

My semester is limping to an end. I can’t quite see over the stacks of papers yet to be graded on my office desk, but I know the end will be here soon, so there is hope. What’s getting me through these last dark days?

Summer.

Lots and lots of thoughts of summer. Long delicious days in the hot Texas sun will be spent doing very little. I’m so ridiculously happy that I live just a few houses up the street from my parents for many reasons, but in the summer, one of those reasons is because they have a pool. One of my favorite things to do is slip out a book I’ve already read a dozen times, hop on a pool float, and just…ahhhhhhh.

(sometimes this may also include a delightfully cold adult beverage)

So these days, when I get overwhelmed with the grading, the students, the administrative paperwork, etc… I fantasize about my summer reading list. I dream about the books I can’t wait to pick up and read yet again. So what’s on my list so far?

1.      Villette by Charlotte Brontë – I adore this book. It’s wonderfully thick. There’s so much depth and narration. I read it for the first time in grad school and I fell in love with it. I read my first copy so much that it broke in half. It was among the first books I replaced after the fire. Of course, it’s Brontë, so this is old-school writing. But, man, this is old-school awesome.

2.      The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams – Many people don’t realize this is actually the first book in a series, but the book can also stand alone itself. I read this one for the first time in high school Spanish when I was a senior. It had nothing to do with the class; he was done teaching for the year and we had to fill up our time with something, so I borrowed the book from someone in the classroom. Seriously, hand to God, I nearly threw up laughing at a couple of parts in this book. I’ve read it a dozen times since.

3.      Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling– any of them. All of them. Strangely, though, there’s a good chance I’ll start with book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I love it. It’s dark and twisty. And let’s face it, so am I. But it’s also optimistic and uplifting, and I have my moments. Once I’ve read that one, I may plow into the series from beginning to end (yes, I’ll read the last book yet again). Or I’ll read the series in random order depending on which book I feel like reading. I’ve read them all so many times that I can practically recite them line by line. Such great themes and descriptions, such wonderful power in these books. Kid or grown-up, it doesn’t matter. These are great books if you give yourself over to them.

4.      Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen – no one is better with Regency wit and sarcasm than Jane Austen (she was not a Victorian novelist…many people mistakenly believe that). Her characters are a delight, and she writes the best book boyfriends ever. Aside from that, you genuinely root for these characters (well, for most of them…others, you just wish a piano would fall out of the sky and land on them).

5.      On the Street Where You Live by Mary Higgins Clark – this is my favorite Mary Higgins Clark book. There is just something deliciously dark and prickly about it, but not so dark and prickly that it will keep me from sleeping. I have so many of her books, and I become so engrossed in them no matter how many times I read them. Stillwatch; Weep No More, My Lady; While My Pretty One Sleeps; and All around the Town are other favorites that she wrote that I will also probably read this summer.

6.      The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis – this is part of the Chronicles of Narnia series and is my favorite book in that series. I am a huge fan of the entire series, but I always begin with this one. I know The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is many people’s favorite, and it ranks high in the canon of literature, but The Horse and His Boy will always hold my heart. It’s endearing. It’s charming.

7.      Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier – This one I was introduced to waayyyy back in the 8^th grade. It’s wistful and haunting and twisted in an old-fashioned way. I knew it was great the first time I read it, when I was 12, but I didn’t realize how great. Only as I’ve gotten older and have re-read it so often do I get the wonderfulness of it.

8.      Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells – This book is funny, and sassy, and sad, and spirited, and so full of life and dysfunction and humor and spite that I can’t help but love it. The idea of friends-to-the-end, no matter what, is fascinating to me. I love the Ya-Yas, warped and twisted as they are. Probably because they are warped and twisted, and have found – and stayed with – each other.

9.      The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins – I’m confused by the classification of these books as “Young Adult” as the themes that permeate the books speak to everyone. Perhaps the publishers felt the dystopian setting would turn off older readers. The books are fantastic: social commentary wrapped up in entertainment. What could be better? This is a trilogy; there are three books in the series. What’s so great about this series is that kids and adults can read and enjoy these books and then have a conversation – together – about them. They aren’t just “kid” books or “adult” books. Universal problems and engaging characters, a book that once it sucks you in you can’t put down: there’s nothing better.

10.  One for the Money by Janet Evanovich – This is the first book in the Stephanie Plum series. They are wonderfully funny and a little bit spicy and remind me of a cheesy 80s movie even when I’m reading the book. I love it. Stephanie Plum is down on her luck and goes to work for her cousin as a bounty hunter. She’s terrible at it and gets in over her head (of course). It’s just super fluffy reading that is perfect for summer.

It’s a diverse list, and it’ll keep me going for a while. It’s by no means complete. I gobble up books the way some people eat pizza: I can read a whole book in one sitting. There are never enough books, and there is never enough time to read as much as I want to. 

My Unintended Social Experiment: HairGate

“The most violent element in society is ignorance” – Emma Goldman

This week, I unwittingly found myself the conductor of a social experiment. How did I conduct such a high academic enterprise without even meaning to?

I wore my hair differently.

Yup. It’s that simple. You see, every day I straighten my hair. Otherwise it curls. And I don’t mean little tip-up-at-the-ends Carol-Brady-flip curls. I mean serious volume, brush-both-sides-of-the-doorframe curls. Disaffected 90’s grunge hair. Because of this, yes, I’m very attached to my hair straightener.

This week my hair straightener began acting up. I turned it on and it smoked. Not because of product build-up on the plates; it was smoking from the cord. Oh crap. That’s not good, I thought. I immediately unplugged it and helplessly watched the cord melt off. It was 9:30 at night. I had work the next morning.

Ok. Curls it would have to be.

 

Curls, Day 1

This was me the first day I wore my hair curly. Not too bad, right? Of course, keep in mind some of it had already been straightened before the Death of the Hair Straightener. I’d slept on my hair, and that managed to flatten some of it out.  I am so far out of my comfort zone here. Before this day, I hadn’t worn my hair curly for years. Possibly decades.

 

 Curls, Day 2. They're growing.

This is the next day. Yes, the hair is bigger. It was a combination of f actors, really: I had just showered that morning, it was dreadfully humid outside, and there was no straightening involved this time.

This is the hair I sported for the next two days before I was finally able to replace my hair straightener. Several people did compliment my hair, some people looked at me and simply pointed out that my hair was different (thanks for that…I had no idea), and others just looked at me and blinked.

What I found truly incredible about these Three Days of Hair, were the things some people said to me, or asked me. This is the unwitting social experiment of it all. Over the course of the past three days, but mostly when the curls were at their peak on the last two days, I was asked or told the following at least once, and some more than once:

- You [finally] did your hair today! I got this one from a lot of people, two of whom actually used the word “finally”. I “do” my hair every day (unless I wear a ball cap). Ironically, these were the days I didn’t “do” it.

- Your hair is different. Gee, you don’t say. Damn curls must’ve just appeared there when I wasn’t looking. How ‘bout that? Is this a true/false statement? How am I supposed to respond to this?

- Are you dating someone? As if the only reason I could possibly have for changing something about myself is for a man in my life. But no. I’m not dating anyone. Why? Do you know someone? (haha, kidding…sort of…)

- Are you going through a breakup? No. Again, my hair does not revolve around my status as a Plus One.

- Are you a Gypsy? I swear to God. Has no one ever seen a white person with curly hair before?

- Are you really Jewish?  *sigh* I don’t even know what to do with this one. Maybe you’ve missed the cross I wear around my neck every day, which would make me the worst Jew ever. And I didn’t know curly hair was a sign of The People.

- Are you part black? Oh my God. Didn’t you ever watch Mean Girls? You can’t just ask someone this question. Three people asked me if I am part black. Three. I can only assume it’s because of the curls. It certainly can’t be because of the pasty skin that I rock. Thanks for playing, and I would proudly own it if I were, but no, to my knowledge, I’m not.

Are any of these assumptions or questions appropriate? Why would anyone feel free to ask them of me – suddenly – simply because my hair was different? And why would they need to be asked at all? Is my ethnicity anyone’s business? Is my relationship status? Maybe I just wanted to change my hair. Maybe I will again, even if my hair straightener doesn’t break. As I get older, I’m learning to embrace the curls. I actually kind of liked them this week. Why is society so judgmental of the least difference, the least quirk, in others?

I spend 30 minutes each day straightening my hair. That’s almost four hours of my time a week wasted to make my hair—what? More adult? More professional? I’m turning it into something that it’s not to be perceived as something “more”. I shouldn’t have to do that. I shouldn’t be afraid to be anything other than what I am: me.

The F-Word

“The first resistance to social change is to say it’s not necessary.” – Gloria Steinem

I don’t offend people on purpose. In fact, I am a very open-minded person. I hold my beliefs quite strongly, and I am (more than) happy to share those beliefs, but if someone does not agree with me, I don’t turn into a “hater”. I may not choose to surround myself with people who disagree with me, but I also will not dispute their right to their own opinions.

But every now and then, I say something that offends people without meaning to. For instance, what if I dropped the F-word right now? Would you shame me? Run away and never read my blog again? Let’s find out.

Feminism.

Oh dear. There it is. The big bad F-word. Oh. Did you think I meant something else? That other F-word? That other one might be less offensive to people. “Feminism” bothers people. It scares some people (but they won’t admit that). It makes a lot of people extraordinarily nervous.

It’s the word that does it, really.

If you asked people if they support the idea that men and women should be treated equally, most would respond positively. If you asked people if one gender should be placed in domination or a position of power over the other, many – if not most – would say no. You have asked these two questions without ever using the term “Feminism”, yet this is precisely what Feminism is. It is the idea that men and women have equal rights and sovereignty.

That’s not so frightening, is it? Looking at that, why on earth would anyone – man or woman – not be a feminist? How can you look at your own mother, your sister, your aunt, your wife, your daughter, and think she is not human enough to deserve every right and privilege that someone with an XY chromosome enjoys? Feminism is such a simple concept. It is not a scary idea at all.

So why the bad rap?

Well, it’s complicated…and it’s not.

Let’s start with the simple story. For a long time, Feminists didn’t have the despicable reputation they have had since the 1970s. In fact, Feminists in America have been around since the 1840s. But in the late 1970s, Phyllis Schlafly swooped in to destroy the Equal Rights Amendment and taint the term “Feminist’ as a whole. She called Feminists “radicals” and claimed they would destroy the traditional American family. She convinced conservative America that Feminists were mostly concerned about abortion, they were chafing against their roles as wives, and that the ERA would mean daughters would be forced into the military draft. Because of her efforts, the ERA was never ratified in the states and Feminists were now viewed with suspicion, often with hatred, and always as man-haters.

Thanks, Phyllis. You're a peach.

The truth of the Feminist movement is much more complex, and ties much more closely to the changes the country was going through. Typically, the Feminist movement is seen in three waves. The first wave dates from the Seneca Falls gathering in 1848. This was the first Women's Convention ever in the US. This was with beginning of the women's suffrage movement in America. Clearly, Feminism is not a modern concept. The question then, of course, because of the time period and the tone of the country, was whether to push for women’s rights or for civil rights. The Civil War saw the emancipation of slavery (in theory), and Feminists began pushing harder for women’s rights, yet the right to vote was not achieved until the 19^th amendment was ratified in 1920.

The second wave of Feminism has an early date from WWII when masses of women flooded the workforce. Sixteen million men had gone to war, and women were called upon to leave the home and keep the economy functioning. This had never happened before. Men, who had always ruled the country and the employment roster, had never invited women into the workforce. But now, Rosie the Riveter showed them the way. Suddenly, women were taught that they could be productive, earning members of society. They were valuable. They had worth beyond the incubating power of their wombs. Those chains that bound them to ovens and dinner tables were no longer entirely welcome, and when the boys came home from ‘over there’, the women in the workforce didn’t necessarily want to leave the jobs they’d come to love.

This WWII date, though, was almost a default start date because of the war. By the 1960s and 1970s, though, it was no longer default. It was active. Women were eager to take control of their own bodies and their own lives. There were protests in Atlantic City outside the Miss America pageants. Many women were tired of being seen solely on the basis of appearance. Bra-burning, the motto of the powerful Sojourner Truth "Ain't I a Woman?" began to gain popularity. Society was changing, and everyone could feel it.

Back in 1923, Alice Paul (all hail Alice Paul… “hail!”) introduced the Equal Rights Amendment stating that no one can be discriminated against in the United States based on gender, be that person male or female. This amendment failed to pass. It was reintroduced every year, and every year it failed. However, in 1972, it hit its time and suddenly took off. It had incredible support. It passed in federal congress, which meant that it now went to the states. It needed to be ratified by both houses in the states in 38 states in order to be added as an amendment to the Constitution. In no time at all, 30 states ratified it. Suddenly, support slowed. Support crept to 33 states. Then out of nowhere came Phyllis Schlafly and her anti-ERA campaign. By the deadline in June of 1982, only 35 states had ratified the amendment, it was 3 short, and the ERA was dead. Each year, the ERA is re-introduced in congress, and each year it fails to re-ignite. This needs to change. The time is now.

We are long overdue to guarantee the rights of all the people.

Feminism’s third wave began generating in the late 1980s, around 1988ish, but is often given the official date of 1993. A new generation of thinkers, writers, artists, and activists were coming of age. Having grown up through the machismo of the 80s, a decade where Feminism took a heavy hit, this new generation took the time to rework it, give it a facelift, and add their own touches. Feminism in the past had often been thought to pertain only to upper class white women. This newer generation brought to it the idea of women of color, immigrant women, lower class women, working women, and stay-at-home women: “Feminists” in all meanings of the word. Feminism was individually driven, looked at and considered on a one-to-one basis, and communicated on a singular level. 

Then we arrive at the controversial and much-contested "Fourth Wave". Has it dropped, people wonder. Are we living in the fourth wave? Yes, we most certainly are. As of 2008, this is a Fourth-Wave world. As each wave has before it, the Fourth Wave gathers strength from the previous three. The Fourth Wave is tech-heavy and inclusive. Third-Wave Feminists saw the inclusion of People of Color, immigrants, all classes, and all jobs. Fourth Wavers include all people. Those in the Fourth Wave understand that feminists include men, women, and the LGBTQIA community because it is all about equal rights. That's all a feminist wants. The Fourth Wave dates from the first generation who has grown up with the Internet as an integrated part of their lives; it wasn't learned after the fact. It was lived. This allows for a more inclusive life and more information to spread with the push of a button. 

Feminists are not plotting to take over the world. Feminists are not “man-haters” or anti-man. We are in favor of equality, of justice, of parity. The Equal Pay Act does not quite work. I still make less than my male colleagues, despite our matched qualifications. Males still tend to be promoted over females. These are facts. I cannot blame for this. People are raised a certain way and a certain type of thinking takes time to change. I can only educate and hope the general framework changes.

What is the point of this long-winded lecture?

Feminism isn’t a bad thing. Equality isn’t a bad thing. And you don’t have to be a woman to be a Feminist. Men need to take up the banner as well. Being a Feminist doesn’t mean that we don’t need the support of our men. We most definitely do. If any ideology is to change, it takes the support of the entire community, not a community divided against itself.

When I’m asked if I’m a Feminist, my answer is, “Of course I’m a Feminist. I’m all for equality. Why aren’t you?”

I love this shirt, despite the terrible grammatical mistake

Look Away

“The child supplies the power but the parents have to do the steering.” – Benjamin Spock

I read a blog post today about a man who witnessed a kid throwing a fit in an IKEA store. The child’s mom was so embarrassed by this tantrum that she gave in and bought the kid what he was demanding. The author’s automatic assumption was that the kid was a brat. He based this entirely on looks. He visually assessed the child: he looked healthy; he did not look as though he possessed any of the markers for autism, or any other special needs designation; he was not visually disabled. So based solely on this this visual examination, from 20 feet away, and from the mother’s reaction of giving in to the child’s demands, he decided upon the child’s age (9) and pegged him as the brat of the millennium.

There is no way he can say this. Autism doesn’t always leave visual cues. Meltdowns come with no warning. And even if there is no impairment on the child, those who are watching from a distance have no idea of the history that family unit is coping with. Maybe they are shopping for disposable furniture because they lost their home to fire and the stress overwhelmed the boy in that moment. Maybe the parents are going through a divorce and the mom is furnishing a new home. That could cause the boy to act out and the mom to compensate. But to an outsider, these scenarios are often not considered. Onlookers sit back in a pretty pink bubble of judgement and invoke their own ideas of what is right and what is wrong, what should be done, and what should not.

This caused me to think.

If someone didn’t know me, and only watched me parent from mere feet away, how would they judge me?

I have two great kids. They are smart. They are happy. They are thriving. They know I love them. How do they know this? Not just because I tell them all the time, which I do, but they know through my actions. I do not indulge their every desire; I do not give them everything they ask for. I set boundaries, limits. If I didn’t care so much about them, it wouldn’t matter to me what they did, or where they went, or what they ate, or when they went to sleep. I explain to them that it is because I love them that these limits have to be enforced. We have a routine. And yes, sometimes – of course – there are treats and surprises. Treats are fun. I love being able to surprise my kids.

Kids need to know what to expect from their lives. In an odd paradox, knowing what to expect from their lives allows kids the freedom to live. If they know bedtime is 9:00, they know how long they have to play. If they know homework is to be done as soon as they get home from school, there is no argument. It’s not “let’s do it this way today, and we’ll see how something else works tomorrow.” Routine is comforting to children, even if adults find it constricting at times. Naturally they’re going to push it, test it, try to get their own way. That’s how kids learn what the boundaries are. That’s how kids grow. It’s up to the adults in charge to hold the lines firm, no matter how embarrassed we may get at times, no matter the fits that get thrown, no matter the childish behavior on the part of the kids (they are children, after all…childish behavior is to be expected).

We have a rule when we go to the store. They are not allowed to ask me to buy them things. If I choose to buy them a treat, I will. I will either tell them to pick out a treat, or I will put a surprise in the buggy for them. They know that the consequence for begging for things at the store is no dessert after dinner. It’s not a harsh punishment, but they do love dessert. If they throw a fit in the store, which they haven’t done in years, I have no problem leaving my buggy and taking my fit-throwing child out of the store.

I don’t yell. I’ve never been a yeller. In fact, the more upset they get, the calmer I look because I refuse to give them a reaction. I wonder if this comes across as detachment to people who simply look at me? Or do they see me calmly speaking with my child? I talk to my children. I have always reasoned with them, even before they could understand reason.

Some people tell me I am too hard on my children. I’m not sure what that means. My children are mostly well behaved. They usually have good manners. Of course we have disagreements, but they are short-lived because I have taught my children how to talk things out. I’ve taught them that yelling, screaming, and pouting will not deliver what they want. Does that mean I’m too hard on them? I don’t think so.

But if someone were just watching me, would they see a militant mother who rigidly structures her children’s lives? Would they call me a bad mother for teaching my children to entertain themselves, for teaching them that I am not their playmate, not their friend, but their mother first and foremost?

The best thing I can do for my kids is raise them to be secure, honest, self-sufficient, and loved. Will I be judged for how I do that? Probably. It’s human nature to look at other people and say, “I wouldn’t do that” or “They shouldn’t do it that way”. Parenting is personal. It should be about making the kids the best they can be.

Tearing other parents down doesn’t make one parent better than another. Judging based only on what can be seen in one particular moment is so arrogant, as if you can possibly know all the history that encapsulates that specific instant. I am not a perfect parent. I make many mistakes. I hope I am not judged for the specific window of those mistakes but am taken on the whole of my effort.