Monday, April 25, 2011

....Because I Couldn't Say it Better

"In general it has been the men who have done the raping and the robbing and the killing and the war-mongering for the last two thousand years... and it's been the men who have done the pillaging and the beheading and subjecating of whole races into slavery. It has been the men who have done the law making and the money making and most of the mischief making! So if the world isn't quite what you had in mind, you have only yourselves to thank!" - Julia Sugarbaker *aka-Dixie Carter*

On a rare occasion I'll succumb to what my husband refers to as my "man hater phase" and nothing Biblical can pull me out of it. It's usually spurned from too much exposure to testosterone, sporting events, Lifetime Movie Network... or all of the above. When this happens I must purge it from my soul by talking smack about the opposite sex - as I pose no great physical threat to men and attempting to beat one up would just get me laughed at.

For the most part, I love men. I am reasonable enough to understand why they exist and what makes them so desirable. A lot of them are really cute, cuddly, they fix things, kill pests and give great back rubs. (Mine even cooks, remodels, buys me fancy shoes and takes care of me when I'm sick :) But what stumps me is the fact that my own sex can be so misguided by men. I see women day in and out who fight tooth and nail for bums, who call each other names and catfight over sleezebags and try to get knocked up by jobless half-wits so they can claim they had "So and So's baby"! We claw one another to bits and turn our backs on each other. We turn a blind eye to domestic violence and sexual abuse and accept that because men are stronger and meaner that we are somehow unable to defend ourselves. Women in the Congo and Darfur have survived war, gang rapes, miscarriages, fistula, beatings, and atrocities so dark the mind can't conceive of the anguish! And yet these surviving women sit idly by in a hut shaped hospital, having their vaginas sewn back together, carrying babies on their backs, picking flowers trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces. It infuriates me that if I had a penis I could make $5 more an hour. I hate knowing that when I go for a run - if someone wanted to stop their vehicle, kidnap, rape, torture and murder me - I'd have damn near no way to stop it from happening. I hate that I'm raising a daughter in a world where more than 50% of it's countries still practice female genital mutilation. I despise the fact that religion touts virtue as a reason to treat women like dogs and keep them cloaked and docile, put to death and stoned for adultery. It's only the sickest and most twisted of man that can dream up something like having her father kill her for having sex before marriage. And yet droves of men have adopted and accepted this mind set and treatment of women.

When I hear a man say that women should "cover up" and not show too much leg or cleavage I automatically wonder what he's hiding. I realize that men are visual creatures and can often be stimulated by just about any amount of exposed female flesh. It's part of their charm... I too believe we as women should be somewhat discreet and help our daughters to understand the differences between sensuality and sexuality (i.e. it's alright to be confident and feminine, to show a little leg and be flirtatious - it's not alright to show everyone everything all the time because no one wants to see that shit). But if as a man, you can't handle seeing a woman in a dress without thinking sinful thoughts, then maybe the problem isn't the woman in the dress, but the man with the sin-filled head.

This rant is going nowhere and will likely offend... everyone. But it's my truth, my thoughts, be they right or wrong. It's what fuels me and makes me want to arm those Congolese women with machettes and watch them hack their brutalizers to death. I want women to pick up their battle axes and demand better treatment for themselves, for each other. By nature we are not violent. We are nurturers. We water flowers, raise babies, smell daisies and bake pies. But every now and then it would be nice if we could all, collectively say "We've had enough and will no longer stand for being made to cover up, keep quiet and take abuse." But until we demand respect for ourselves and show it to one another, how can we ever expect it from men?

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Valerie's Mother


Thirteen years ago tomorrow (April 6th) my daughter, Valerie was born. I was 19, jobless, living with my parents and scared to death. I had never even contemplated having children let alone having a real life. It all seems as though it was 100 years ago and yet hardly a day has passed in my heart. I've never thought of myself as the "motherly" type. I didn't come already programmed with a desire for children or any idea what in the world to do with one. But it just so happened that the first child I had was just the one I needed to help me figure it out. The night that Valerie made her entrance into the world was as ordinary as any other run-of-the-mill Wednesday evening. I am as ordinary as any other mother who's ever tiptoed through the halls of BMH.  But the world stopped turning - for a heartbeat of a moment when I laid eyes on Valerie for the first time and then it resumed it's spinning. I'm sure the moment was undetectable to anyone in the world but me... It was our moment, our first meeting. It was the blink in time that rearranged my world.


I don't know what, if anything I've given to Valerie by being her mother, but I know what having Valerie as my daughter has given to me. All that I've ever wanted or dreamed of being is realized because she's here. At the end of my life, if all I ever was was Valerie's mother - then you should know that's all I ever was meant to be.