Fairy Princesses and GI Joes

Image by Cayusa via FlickrI was reading a blog today by Candace Lindemann about our progressive move as a society to limit the choices of aspirational goal/hero for our girls and it set alarm bells ringing for me. I've long thought that the choices we offer girls is woeful. In no way is this the fault of parents. When there is little variety on offer, there is little scope for parents to make choices that don't disenfranchise their children from friendships or exclude them from the norm. And we all want to fit in. Next time you go clothes shopping, turn the aisle into the children's section and take a peek at what's on offer for girls. Though not a parent of girls, I do have a niece and do periodically wander bug-eyed and bamboozled through the array of attire for girls. I'm constantly horrified. If it's not pink, frilly and princess-like, then it's something that's too adult, too revealing and positively salacious. Something that in my worst, most critical moments I think of as appropriate work wear for a full-body masseuse. These are not the clothes I wore as a child. Especially since I was the classic tomboy, happier up a tree or playing with my train set or cars in the sand than playing at fairy princess. Don't get me wrong, I loved the idea of magic and witches, but I was always more attracted to the darker side - Macbeth is still my favourite of Shakespeare's plays and the weird sisters, Hecate and Lady M are my favourite characters. I love these women. They are strong and wilful and ambitious. They live their lives as they please (in the case of the witches) and don't let any men tell them what to do. But pink and frilly was never me... and low-cut, leopard print and lustrous nails are not my idea of the alternative.

Image via WikipediaSo having vented my spleen on the pitiful choices available for our young girls, let me turn to what's on offer for boys. I started my parenting adventure believing that I was going to be different. I would raise children who didn't feel the need to conform to the norm. I would provide my boys with as many alternatives as possible and nothing was off limits. The toy room was filled with cars, trucks, planes, soft toys and dolls. Many many dolls. Of many many skin colours and national dress. Despite the concerned looks from LomL and the obvious discomfort of the in-laws, I persisted. Thank goodness for a loving family that support me in all my mad schemes. My baby boys were dressed in bright, happy colours. Bright blues, greens, yellows, purples and even pinks adorned them regardless of the tutt-tutts and dire warnings of retinal damage from all the older Aunties in the community. Not a single pastel passed my boys' bodies. And I was proud of the start I was giving them. Vibrant, full of choices to be who they wanted, uninhibited by the demands of peer pressure or societal norms, accepted always. But the baby stage doesn't last long. Pretty soon my boys grew into toddlers and the cute baby suits in bright colours had to be replaced with more age-appropriate clothing. But what was on offer? Gone were the bright colours. Gone were the purples and pinks. Gone were the sex-neutral baby suits. Replaced with khaki greens, navy blues, browns, blacks and greys. The colour and wonder of babyhood was rapidly replaced by an increasingly dull, monotonous (and it really did look like one tone when you squinted), drab wardrobe. This was depressing for me. It made me wonder whether this would start my children down the path of becoming another depressed teen boy statistic. Is this how it starts? In tiny, drab, monotonous choices? Do we wear our boys into depression by making them wear the colours of it? Perhaps I'm being a little hysterical, but for me colour and music are always key catalysts for my mood.

And what of the choices of toys to play with? Gone were the options for dolls and soft toys. That was all very well when they were babies, but now it was time for them to be proper little boys. Flooding in came trains large and small, planes and automobiles. I held off on the weaponry for as long as I could, but it was like holding back a tidal wave. Once the first knife appeared, it was quickly followed by bows and arrows, spears and eventually my greatest hurdle, guns. I finally gave up on resisting guns in the house when my boys started making guns out of sticks, coloured markers and even toast. I had to admit defeat. They had been enculturated and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn't blame the media entirely since we didn't watch a lot of TV and what we did watch was almost exclusively on the non-commercial broadcaster or on video. But I realised quickly that I couldn't keep them away from the inevitable draw of the blinking box forever. So what was the alternative? Send them uncritical, unquestioning to face the onslaught of sophisticated and insidious marketing on commercial television? That was not an option I cared to consider. Instead, we've watched TV with our kids, commenting on the advertisements as they appear. We critique them, talk about how they make us feel, examine whether or not we want to buy the product and why. We talk critically about marketing strategies, times of the day that certain advertisements appear and why. We listen to the music used and explore why that choice was made. We talk about the choice of actors or characters in the advertisements. All in all we aim to make our children critical viewers of the media images they're exposed to.

I don't think it's realistic to believe we can shelter them from all advertising forever. So instead, I'd rather aim for developing a sense of critical viewing of the advertising and an awareness of what it's trying to do. I hope that this will equip them to protect themselves from being led, nose-first into making poor financial and life choices.

Some more personal writing

I'm working on many projects at the moment. This should come as no surprise to those of you who know me. I'm notorious for juggling many balls in the air at the same time... or as my mother would say starting a million things and never finishing anything.


So instead of my usual rant about a random topic, here's an unedited (very raw) section of a story I'm working on.

Every day of Sumi’s childhood was laced with some mention of Amma’s dream. It could be as innocuous as Amma showing Sumi how to cook fish molee and throwing in an unconscious comment about how she would cook that dish for her husband one day. Rarely did Amma overtly say to her girls that she expected them to have an arranged marriage. It was assumed by everyone in the house. So much so that Sumi had not even thought to fight the idea. She had always assumed that that was how her life would pan out. She never questioned that that was what she wanted too.

Sumi had never disappointed her parents. She went to Bharata Natyam classes because Amma had not had the opportunity in her childhood. As it turned out, Sumi excelled in dance class. She quickly became the teacher’s pet and with Amma’s strict overseeing of her practice sessions, she learned more and more complex dances. She learnt to swim because Amma had not. She went to Carnatic singing classes because Amma had missed that opportunity. She learned the violin at school because Amma had always wanted to learn a musical instrument. And in all of this, she was expected to bring home nothing but As on her school report. Acha was a teacher and had been a brilliant student in his time, so he would accept nothing less.

She had started uni with high expectations of continuing her demonstrated academic performance to date. She hadn’t expected to be distracted by boys and knew she was perfectly capable of having a friendship with a boy that didn’t automatically transform into a relationship. She’d watched friends fall into and out of some teenage approximation of love all through the summer holidays and knew it wasn’t for her. She was a sensible, practical young woman and had no intentions of finding herself entangled in some tawdry, love-lorn liaison. But then, she had not expected to encounter someone quite like Michael.

A Quick Sunday Haiku

TV, sound up
Boy watches mindlessly
Does not engage

An indulgence

Excuse my indulgence today. This came to me and I felt the urge to write it down. It feels right, so I'm going with that.

One Way Love

Their eyes met, her heart beat a little faster, “hi” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“You’re the one. The one I’ve been searching for all my life,” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“Don’t you feel the same? Don’t you feel the ache of it?,” she breathed.

He smiled quietly.

“You’re kind and sweet and gentle. I think I love you. No, I’m certain of it,” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“We’ve waited long enough. We’ve waited too long to find each other,” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“Let’s make the most of every second. Let’s dance and sing and love,” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“I’ll give up everything I’ve built for you. I’ll move, I’ll change,” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“I’m happier than I’ve ever been. My dreams have finally been realised,” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“Can life get any better? Is it greedy to want more?” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“You seem distant now. Have I asked too much? Is it me? Is there another?” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“When did it start? Who is she? Am I not good enough?” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“How could you do this to me? After all I’ve done for you? Is there no hope?” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“Is there nothing you can say in your defence? Can’t you be braver?” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“You’re not the one I thought you were. You’ve lied to me all this time,” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“I can’t continue with this charade. Let’s end it and go our separate ways,” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“How can you be so impassive? So heartless? So untouched? So cruel?” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“How could I ever have loved you? What did I see in you? Why did I let myself fall?” she said.

He smiled quietly.

“You’re unkind and cruel and heartless. I think I hate you. No, I’m certain of it,” she said.

He smiled quietly.

Their eyes met again, for the last time, filled with emotions old and new, words never said.

Her heart beat a little faster, “goodbye” she said.

He smiled quietly.

Friendships: New and Old

Image via Wikipedia

It's been an interesting year so far, this 2011. Here we are mid-way through March and it's shaping up to be the year of relationships. Perhaps all those crazy rabbits (B1 included since he was born in the year of the rabbit too) have been running a little too amuck. Perhaps there have been a few too many full moons already. I don't know what it is. Relationships have been waxing and waning with irritatingly persistent frequency of late. Interestingly, some of the relationships that have been re-ignited have been with old friends.

Friends I had lost contact with more than 20 years ago are suddenly, surprisingly, deliciously popping back into my life. Bringing with them a tingle of excitement at the prospect of revisiting memories, the mild nervousness of facing the reality of now widening and sagging bodies and the joyous expectancy of forging new friendships with these old friends, on new terms, with new-old bodies and more learned minds. This has been a wondrous experience for me, this forging of new-old friendships. Knowing each other as we did as teenagers, but having missed so much of our growing and learning, having missed marriages, children, separations and so much of the waft and weave of our lives since then, it is an extraordinary journey that we now embark on.

There is less of the circling of each other, sniffing out what's appropriate to say, how much is appropriate to reveal than in the making of new friendships, and for this I'm immensely grateful. I've grown impatient with the process of developing new friendships. Though I remain polite and even congenial to people I meet, I really can't be bothered with engaging in social niceties or feeling out the emotional lie of the land. So I'm enjoying this new kind of friendship. I know who these women were and I'm loving who they've come to be. I'm excited at the prospect of knowing them into old age and of intertwining our families.

And I'm immensely grateful and appreciative of all my friendships that nurture me, sustain me, inspire me and push me into the world, more confident of who I am and who I can be.