For those of you who know me, you know that I have a lot to say. I mean, I was nearly awarded "most talkative" my senior year of high school, loosing only to a girl who talked more about everyone else than everyone else. So I like to talk. Fact.
But this year, I have decided to participate in GLSEN's dayofsilence.org campaign. I have men and women that I love who identify as LGBTQA, and until they are treated as human beings instead of mistakes or second-class citizens, I will participate in raising awareness and standing beside them for equality.
Now let's address the selfish aspect of this whole brouhaha: Have you ever noticed that when you don't talk to people, they automatically assume you are mad at them? I have had a class (speech class, nonetheless) and am well into my SGA office hours for the day, and am struggling with how I am being percieved by those around me. Worse than that, I can see the perception of other's reflected in my silence, and that is a huge burden **SPOILER ALERT: there will be a life lesson coming up that illustrates that...STAY TUNED**
There have been times when I have been given a platform for my words (literally, even) and so I feel that I know better than most the responsibility that words have. And when people expect that acting in your authority means to speak to them...and then you don't deliver...they get pissed off, for lack of a better term.
And dammit, I am funny! I have funny things to say. And I am smart! I have good things to add. But I can't today, and I won't today, because I am more interested in dedicating the impact of my silence to the plight of others.
So it makes me wonder...if my words serve the purpose of building others up and showing them how society perceives them, what do your words do? What have your words taught others about themselves today?
So here goes the global application of this:
It is 2012, and there are still, still, STILL people in our world, in our nation, in our schools who can not be themselves.
They live in fear of words slipping out of their mouths that will forever brand them as less-than.
They live as unwilling participants of a culture of judgement and unnatural expectations that love should be packaged in the right body.
They wait for the inevitable words that will chip away another piece of their identity, of their tenderness and their goodness.
There are so many who can't say what their hearts are screaming to say, and to honour them, I will give up my freedom of speech.
It's the least I can do.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Why every mom should shave her daughter's head at least once...
(Let's just pretend that those last four weeks of non-blogging didn't happen, eh?)
Flashback: Easter week. Genevieve comes home from 1st grade with lice. Not good. Boxes and tubes and cans of lice removal chemicals later...the lice persist. But not in any way that makes sense...nothing there, then *BAM* the boys are back in town, or hair rather.
Roll forward: End of school. Genevieve still has the bugs. And miraculously Izzy does not. Until...
Roll forward: Grammy's house. Lice everywhere. All over both of my little girls. Somehow, in the way that only the Florida ecosystem can, the bugs have multiplied and spread and are infesting not one but both of my princesses. And here is the rub: they have great hair. Not thin, straggly nasty left-over-from-infancy baby hair, like lots of kids do. They have thick, smooth, shiny, beautiful hair.
It's just...full of lice.
I have always thought that God has a special place in His heart for mothers. And if the coffee mugs/crocheted samplers/pot holders/ugly sweatshirts hold true, He really really likes grandmothers. Case in point...my mom.
Now not only has that woman had her circadian rhythm turned from that of an empty-nester to that of a mother of two school-aged children practically overnight, she has willingly chosen to dive head-first (sans helmet) into the endless laundry, demands, whining, mess, and nurture that those kids demand. She and my step-dad stepped up to take care of G and I for the summer so I could go to sleep-away college for the summer.
And what do I do? Unbeknownst to me, I send them not one but two girls with lice.
Fast forward: Dire straights. The shampoo isn't working. And since the girlies got my hair and not the thin crap from their other DNA contributor, this is where the rubber meets the road. Or rather, where the buzzer meets the scalp. After multiple internet searches (Who doesn't trust Dr. Google?) and frantic calls to the pediatrician, it's time to shave. And if you're wondering if simply buzzing to a #1 works, you're wrong.
Picture this: two tanned little girls, smiling, happy summer kids, with shiny, white scalps. Cue the tears, all the way around. My strong, seemingly unshakeable mother has to shave the hair off of her only granddaughters. No body is happy, even though this will surely signal the end of the infestation. (They still love her, if you were wondering. We are a family of tough broads, and nothing holds us down.)
Present moment: The strong Florida sunlight is coming through the window, falling on the delicate white hair growing on Izzy's shoulder. And it isn't just growing like any old hair. Nope, this hair grows in intricate patterns and swirls and designs more beautiful than any tapestry or paintbrush stroke on the most priceless of canvasses.
Did you know that body hair has cowlicks and follows hairlines and contours too? You can almost see where they were knit together, along each seam of hair that is normally invisible. Covered by bangs, little bits of the last day's worth of food clinging to the lengths of hair, all concealing this amazing beauty. I had no idea that they were built so delicately; to look at their summer bruises you would never know that each inch of their heads, faces, shoulders, and backs were so beautiful in design and so unique.
I feel like I have fallen more in love with them as little Bald Eaglets. I can see their strength and unwillingness to be defined by their hairstyles as they go out in public with 'boy haircuts'. They are dumbfounded when the lady at the gas station (who is short of hair herself, mind you) asks, "Are they little boys or little girls?".
My girls have been forced to break other people's stereotypes in our fight against lice. They aren't defined by other people's expectations of gender presentation. And I dare someone to speak against them.
After all, we know a few thousand lice looking to move...
Flashback: Easter week. Genevieve comes home from 1st grade with lice. Not good. Boxes and tubes and cans of lice removal chemicals later...the lice persist. But not in any way that makes sense...nothing there, then *BAM* the boys are back in town, or hair rather.
Roll forward: End of school. Genevieve still has the bugs. And miraculously Izzy does not. Until...
Roll forward: Grammy's house. Lice everywhere. All over both of my little girls. Somehow, in the way that only the Florida ecosystem can, the bugs have multiplied and spread and are infesting not one but both of my princesses. And here is the rub: they have great hair. Not thin, straggly nasty left-over-from-infancy baby hair, like lots of kids do. They have thick, smooth, shiny, beautiful hair.
It's just...full of lice.
I have always thought that God has a special place in His heart for mothers. And if the coffee mugs/crocheted samplers/pot holders/ugly sweatshirts hold true, He really really likes grandmothers. Case in point...my mom.
Now not only has that woman had her circadian rhythm turned from that of an empty-nester to that of a mother of two school-aged children practically overnight, she has willingly chosen to dive head-first (sans helmet) into the endless laundry, demands, whining, mess, and nurture that those kids demand. She and my step-dad stepped up to take care of G and I for the summer so I could go to sleep-away college for the summer.
And what do I do? Unbeknownst to me, I send them not one but two girls with lice.
Fast forward: Dire straights. The shampoo isn't working. And since the girlies got my hair and not the thin crap from their other DNA contributor, this is where the rubber meets the road. Or rather, where the buzzer meets the scalp. After multiple internet searches (Who doesn't trust Dr. Google?) and frantic calls to the pediatrician, it's time to shave. And if you're wondering if simply buzzing to a #1 works, you're wrong.
Picture this: two tanned little girls, smiling, happy summer kids, with shiny, white scalps. Cue the tears, all the way around. My strong, seemingly unshakeable mother has to shave the hair off of her only granddaughters. No body is happy, even though this will surely signal the end of the infestation. (They still love her, if you were wondering. We are a family of tough broads, and nothing holds us down.)
Present moment: The strong Florida sunlight is coming through the window, falling on the delicate white hair growing on Izzy's shoulder. And it isn't just growing like any old hair. Nope, this hair grows in intricate patterns and swirls and designs more beautiful than any tapestry or paintbrush stroke on the most priceless of canvasses.
Did you know that body hair has cowlicks and follows hairlines and contours too? You can almost see where they were knit together, along each seam of hair that is normally invisible. Covered by bangs, little bits of the last day's worth of food clinging to the lengths of hair, all concealing this amazing beauty. I had no idea that they were built so delicately; to look at their summer bruises you would never know that each inch of their heads, faces, shoulders, and backs were so beautiful in design and so unique.
I feel like I have fallen more in love with them as little Bald Eaglets. I can see their strength and unwillingness to be defined by their hairstyles as they go out in public with 'boy haircuts'. They are dumbfounded when the lady at the gas station (who is short of hair herself, mind you) asks, "Are they little boys or little girls?".
My girls have been forced to break other people's stereotypes in our fight against lice. They aren't defined by other people's expectations of gender presentation. And I dare someone to speak against them.
After all, we know a few thousand lice looking to move...
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
(dis)connection
Have you ever felt like someone has grabbed you by the back of the neck and transported you from the group you identify with, to a whole different plane?
I'm pretty sure that happened today.
Things I have identified as possible causes:
1. PMS. (I thought this was a legit excuse until my Psyc of Gender class today, empirical evidence has proven that this is in fact a myth. Don't believe me? Look it up.)
2. The suspicious piece of fish I ate in the Caf today. I hereforth renew my vow as a Vegetarian and promise never to stray again. After all, I get transported to a universe filled with strange guttural noises and constipation when I do.
3. The growing beastly desire to take a bubble bath. Seriously...it's all I wanna do these days.
4. The squirrels. Those b@st@rds follow me everywhere I go, and I am starting to feel slightly paranoid.
So tomorrow I will try to (gently) insert myself back into the community and hope that I will be well received. If not, I will grab the neck of a fellow Scholar and take him/her along for the ride. An alternate reality must be more exciting with a buddy, right?
I'm pretty sure that happened today.
Things I have identified as possible causes:
1. PMS. (I thought this was a legit excuse until my Psyc of Gender class today, empirical evidence has proven that this is in fact a myth. Don't believe me? Look it up.)
2. The suspicious piece of fish I ate in the Caf today. I hereforth renew my vow as a Vegetarian and promise never to stray again. After all, I get transported to a universe filled with strange guttural noises and constipation when I do.
3. The growing beastly desire to take a bubble bath. Seriously...it's all I wanna do these days.
4. The squirrels. Those b@st@rds follow me everywhere I go, and I am starting to feel slightly paranoid.
So tomorrow I will try to (gently) insert myself back into the community and hope that I will be well received. If not, I will grab the neck of a fellow Scholar and take him/her along for the ride. An alternate reality must be more exciting with a buddy, right?
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Straddling
Since you and I know each other more than we did previously, I suppose it's time that I admit my first (and let's face it...only) flaw to you. Sometimes I procrastinate. A sad fact clearly demonstrated by the lack of bloggage over the past two days.
May I bow and scrape and somehow earn your forgiveness? I CAN?!?!?! Thank you.
Now if I were one to point to excuses, I just may indicate the fact that I have no less than three intense writing assignments spinning like plates on a stick at any given time. That's exhausting. And to be honest, I had been using the blogosphere to find my voice, which has helped me find my voice in my academic writing...so there is a little less of that urge to verbally purge, if you know what I'm sayin.
So today is the third day in the first week of classes. Thankfully there was no actual class scheduled today, but instead we had an Enrichment Session. I know what you are thinking..."B-O-R-I-N-G."
You are sadly mistaken, my friend. Blown out of the water as a matter of fact.
Today's session was a conversation with Professor Robert Midkiff about straddling. Standing between the world of the working class poor and the middle class academic. All of the differences that most attribute to sex, gender, race or ethnicity, age...those really have their root in socioeconomic status (SES). And whether we like to admit it or not, that SES has its ugly fingers and vine-like implications around nearly every choice we make. Our responses, our desires, the things we set up to get in the way of us and make us fail when we don't feel like we really belong where the course of our life has placed us...SES has a powerful influence on that.
But I get all of that. I am, after all, running hard after Sociology, and these are not terms that I am unfamiliar with. But one thing did leave me reeling, and I suspect it will serve to challenge and make me question my values, priorities, beliefs, strengths, and the parts of myself that need changing.
Prof. Midkiff posed a question to us...just what will you have to give up in the process of your education? And I find myself both exhilarated and terrified of the answer.
Exhilarated to have an excuse to change some things that cannot be refuted. I mean, who is going to say (who in their right mind, rather) "you are wrong, things need to stay the same. Don't challenge yourself...those ideas were meant for someone better/smarter/higher/richer than yourself...YOUR COLLEGE IS WRONG." (Yes, I know people say this nonsense, but just LET them say it to me.)
Terrified to see what will be asked of me. I have given up a lot throughout my life, and while it has always served to better me and my life and my family, it hurts like hell in the process. Terrified that in order to fully achieve my potential, to realize who I am, I will in the process become someone that makes others too uncomfortable with who they are, and I will become isolated. I don't want to lose the people in my life that I love...but what if they are here for a season and not for the long run? It takes a strong man or woman to stand beside someone and truly truly cheer for them and serve as their foundation and remind them why they started this journey in the first place.
I hope they can keep up...but my heart questions that very possibility, and it leaves me apprehensive.
May I bow and scrape and somehow earn your forgiveness? I CAN?!?!?! Thank you.
Now if I were one to point to excuses, I just may indicate the fact that I have no less than three intense writing assignments spinning like plates on a stick at any given time. That's exhausting. And to be honest, I had been using the blogosphere to find my voice, which has helped me find my voice in my academic writing...so there is a little less of that urge to verbally purge, if you know what I'm sayin.
So today is the third day in the first week of classes. Thankfully there was no actual class scheduled today, but instead we had an Enrichment Session. I know what you are thinking..."B-O-R-I-N-G."
You are sadly mistaken, my friend. Blown out of the water as a matter of fact.
Today's session was a conversation with Professor Robert Midkiff about straddling. Standing between the world of the working class poor and the middle class academic. All of the differences that most attribute to sex, gender, race or ethnicity, age...those really have their root in socioeconomic status (SES). And whether we like to admit it or not, that SES has its ugly fingers and vine-like implications around nearly every choice we make. Our responses, our desires, the things we set up to get in the way of us and make us fail when we don't feel like we really belong where the course of our life has placed us...SES has a powerful influence on that.
But I get all of that. I am, after all, running hard after Sociology, and these are not terms that I am unfamiliar with. But one thing did leave me reeling, and I suspect it will serve to challenge and make me question my values, priorities, beliefs, strengths, and the parts of myself that need changing.
Prof. Midkiff posed a question to us...just what will you have to give up in the process of your education? And I find myself both exhilarated and terrified of the answer.
Exhilarated to have an excuse to change some things that cannot be refuted. I mean, who is going to say (who in their right mind, rather) "you are wrong, things need to stay the same. Don't challenge yourself...those ideas were meant for someone better/smarter/higher/richer than yourself...YOUR COLLEGE IS WRONG." (Yes, I know people say this nonsense, but just LET them say it to me.)
Terrified to see what will be asked of me. I have given up a lot throughout my life, and while it has always served to better me and my life and my family, it hurts like hell in the process. Terrified that in order to fully achieve my potential, to realize who I am, I will in the process become someone that makes others too uncomfortable with who they are, and I will become isolated. I don't want to lose the people in my life that I love...but what if they are here for a season and not for the long run? It takes a strong man or woman to stand beside someone and truly truly cheer for them and serve as their foundation and remind them why they started this journey in the first place.
I hope they can keep up...but my heart questions that very possibility, and it leaves me apprehensive.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
the eve before...
Tonight marks the last day of 'freedom' before classes really begin. I worry about my ability to juggle the work, the awesome people here, and finding time for myself.
We had our first house meeting tonight, and learned that 1. sexual assault is heavily frowned upon (as well it should be) 2. Under no circumstances shall we crash any of the various weddings that will be held on campus this summer 3. Most of the group wasn't sure what exactly a ropes course is 4. See pic below...
For those of you not schooled in the art of reading backwards, a la daVinci, it says there will be no hot water on Tuesday. Not cool. I wonder if someone did that in response to my shower complaints..."haha she thinks there is only one way to save water in the showers? We will show her!!!! Make it freezing and see who wastes water now, sucker". I stand corrected.
I bought a newspaper to read today, and as there is only 41 minutes of today left, I had better get to reading. No one likes old news...
We had our first house meeting tonight, and learned that 1. sexual assault is heavily frowned upon (as well it should be) 2. Under no circumstances shall we crash any of the various weddings that will be held on campus this summer 3. Most of the group wasn't sure what exactly a ropes course is 4. See pic below...
For those of you not schooled in the art of reading backwards, a la daVinci, it says there will be no hot water on Tuesday. Not cool. I wonder if someone did that in response to my shower complaints..."haha she thinks there is only one way to save water in the showers? We will show her!!!! Make it freezing and see who wastes water now, sucker". I stand corrected.
I bought a newspaper to read today, and as there is only 41 minutes of today left, I had better get to reading. No one likes old news...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
