Blogs Happen – And for Me, This Is How

Recently – okay, this morning, which is probably about three months before you will actually get to read this – I was lying about in bed. Because of the pandemic lockdown, as well as a dreary-looking day, I didn’t have much reason to get up.

The result was that I had plenty of thinking time, and as a consequence, two things came to mind: the idea of pretty, swiftly followed by the idea of feminism.

It started when I began thinking back to a blog I had written about dresses and why I hate to wear them. And I wondered when the last time I did wear one was.

My sister-in-law’s wedding, probably 20 years ago? My first trip to Wales at a posh castle-hotel 18 years ago? My brother’s wedding 12 years ago?…

No, to my horror, probably only about 5 years ago, on one of the river cruises Blue Scream and I took. It wasn’t for more than an hour, and I can’t imagine why I bothered. Probably because I packed the thing, and I like to wear everything in my suitcase at least once.

Then I remembered a friend’s comment on that blog, and how she disagreed with my assessment. She liked wearing dresses. They make her feel pretty.

Fair enough.

I presented my thoughts and feelings. I didn’t expect anyone else to conform to them. In fact, I’d be worried if they did.

But pretty – there it was again.

I’ve never felt one way or another about myself because of clothes.

Okay, I’ve felt uncomfortable in some clothes, either because they didn’t fit properly or because they didn’t fit the occasion for which I was wearing them.

But pretty? Ugly? Like a princess? Like a virgin – Oh wait, that’s a song!

No, never once.

I’ve looked at clothes and thought, That’s beautiful! Or, You could not pay me enough to touch that, much less consider wearing it.

But clothes have never transferred their beauty to me or how I feel. I guess that’s why I’ve never been a slave to fashion.

But as far as pretty goes, I consider it a false bill of goods women have been sold for centuries. Even though we’re no longer seen in society as purely ornamental, we’re still expected to feel ornamental.

“Oh, but doesn’t wearing sexy underwear make you feel sexy?”

Um, no.

Those lacy bits of butt floss that pass for underwear and padded, wired brassieres on someone who neither needs nor wants wiring or padding are simply uncomfortable. Even if I knew what “sexy” felt like, I couldn’t begin to have any notion of it while wearing such uncomfortable clothing.

Sell sexy if you like. I’m not buying it.

Which brings me to feminism.

Growing up, I always insisted I wasn’t a feminist. My rationale was that I didn’t believe in “girls are better than anyone.” I believed in equality. And I didn’t think feminism was about equality, but rather, about pushing girls to the fore, above everyone else.

I didn’t like being disqualified from doing things because I was, “just a girl.” I didn’t ask for it, so why should it be held against me?

My mother used to frequently say, “There may be people who aren’t as good as you, but no one’s better.”

She never said there were people better than me. I was as good as anyone else. (Irish mothers aren’t known for praising their children.)

Still, I did not see myself as the next Betty Freidan.

It wasn’t until the new wave of feminists, people like Emma Watson and Benedict Cumberbatch in the “I am a feminist” ads that I realized, That word doesn’t mean what you think it means.

I am a feminist.

It isn’t about girls being better. It’s about equality.

When I was first introduced to the word, I was still enmeshed in being disqualified. My brother, Rob, told me I would never be accepted to Penn State because I wasn’t smart enough – don’t even get me started on the fact that nearly all of my high school classes were what would now be considered AP classes. Then, when I was, in fact, accepted, he told me it was because I was a girl, and the university was trying to get more female students.

I proved I was as good as. But, to my mind, that didn’t make me a feminist.

“Women’s libbers” as they were called at the time were generally the ugly, long, unkempt hair, braless, paisley-clothes-wearing women who carried signs and didn’t know how to use their indoor voices.

I didn’t want to be one of those. Short hair, three-piece-suit with a shirt and tie and Oxford shoes was more my style.

At about that time, Janis Ian’s At Seventeen album came out. The eponymous single was the anthem of every girl from puberty to 30. Everyone of a certain age born without a Y chromosome could identify with the “ugly duckling girl like me” in the song, even the tall-thin-gorgeous women who hadn’t known an ugly day from their Gerber Baby beginnings to prom queen.

Yet, even though I strongly identified with the song, that was the only one on the entire album I never figured out the guitar chords to. I could sing and play all of the other songs a la Janis, which, in their own way, were feminist, but for some reason, I shied away from that one.

I suppose it was too close to the bone.

“To those of us who knew the pain /of valentines that never came/ and those whose names were never called/ when choosing sides for basketball…”

Maybe I wasn’t quite a feminist then.

Perhaps I was still seeking permission to be one.

Perhaps I should spend time lazing in bed considering things more often.

Pandemics and Other Disappointments

 A friend of mine was waxing nostalgic in a letter she wrote me in my birthday card. I suppose she was trying to put a hopeful spin on shelter-in-place.

She mentioned the fact that, because of the pandemic, high school seniors would miss the last events of their senior year, like sports awards ceremonies, dances, the prom and graduation. Her point was, that in the grand scheme of things, how important are those things to your future? Would it matter that you didn’t have a prom?

To her, what is really important is the friendships you form, the memories you have with those friends outside the formalities of school functions, over a lifetime.

I see her point.

But I also feel for those high school students. This is their lifetime, so far.

In my own life, my elementary school graduation was marred by my parents not attending. You might laugh. Elementary school? Who cares?

But it was the first graduation I’d ever had, and as I saw it, I wasn’t important enough for anyone in my family to come.

True, a couple of neighbors who wouldn’t ordinarily have come filled in for my missing parents. The point, to me, was that my parents didn’t attend.

A little perspective here.

Normally, the Catholic elementary school I attended had their graduation on a weekday morning, attended by everyone’s mothers. But the year I graduated, they decided to have an evening graduation.

And the evening they chose? The exact one that the local public high school was having their graduation, the high school my older brother was graduating from that same year.

I have always thought the Catholic school did this intentionally, knowing many of the eighth graders had siblings graduating from the high school. Many of us asked for our graduation ceremony to be moved, to no avail. I have always believed they did it to punish the parents who “weren’t doing their Catholic duty” of sending their children to the Catholic high school.

Still, it never occurred to either of my parents that one of them should probably attend my graduation. No, they were both going to see my brother graduate, without the slightest guilt over leaving me high and dry. They were going to see their son graduate from high school. Mine was only elementary school. Besides, I was only a girl.

I was left asking how I was going to even get to my graduation – skipping it was unthinkable, although a couple of my classmates did so they could attend their siblings’ graduation.

In the end, one of my neighbors took me. Grateful as I was for their kindness, it hurt that my parents didn’t think I was important enough.

And I never let them forget it.

When it was time for my high school graduation, I asked my parents if they were going to bother coming, or did I have to get a neighbor to bring me to that one, too? They did come, but I felt it had more to do with my brother graduating from college a semester early. Besides, he didn’t even bother going to his university graduation.

So, I understand the disappointments, and how huge they feel to the class of 2020.

What you do in high school affects your start in college. If you’re in sports, university scouts determine whether or not you get a scholarship. And there are the trophies that will eventually end up in the attic. But the celebration with your teammates is important.

For those not attending college, high school graduation is your farewell to years of education.

And prom is one of the important events of senior year. Although it became fashionable I the late ’70s to shun the prom, for most people, it’s the first formal event they’ll attend. It’s a time to shine, a time to show off the boyfriend or girlfriend.

As one of the nerds who had no boyfriend, I had to beg, plead, and scramble to get a date, just as I had for the junior prom. Both times (with different boys) I was disappointed that I had a date who didn’t want to dance, and spent most of his time talking to the other guys at the table.

But I wouldn’t consider not going. Not going would have been social failure. As a nerd, I wasn’t familiar with failure.

So, I understand.

It may not have been as momentous to my friend who, 40+ years later is still married to the guy she took to the prom. She also went to his prom, so another prom wasn’t that big of a deal to her.

Looking back over the years, my friend has children and a grandchild whose milestones are more important to her than her own. So many events have overshadowed the things she did as a teenager that she often doesn’t remember the details.

Maybe she’s more pragmatic, and better at putting things into perspective than I am.

I also find my university years have overshadowed high school. That was a time I came into my own and proved to people that I could accomplish at least some of the things that were important to me.

But high school mattered to me.

I get it.

Some of the friendships that were important to me in high school didn’t stand the test of time and distance. Others did. My friend, plus two or three others are still friends and we have at least weekly email communication. Her house or mine are available to those who come to our area to visit as theirs are to us.

We get together two or three times a year for what have become fixed gatherings, and try to find other times to reunite. We’ve been friends at least since the beginning of high school. Some of us have been friends far longer than that.

We can reminisce about high school or more recent events. But we have those memories.

The class of 2020 will have the memory of what didn’t happen. They’re not the first to be disappointed because of world events, and no doubt won’t be the last. And that’s not the end of the world that it seems now.

Still, it’s a shame.

And I get it.

Into the Future

Some of us remember a time, perhaps in the 1960s when the 21^st century was looked upon as the ultimate utopia.

We were told we would have refrigerators with computers in the door where we could check off grocery items as they ran out (rather than having to do something as old-fashioned as write a list!), and when we had enough items on the list, send it to the local grocery and our groceries would be delivered to our doors.

We were assured we would have robot maids, like Rosie from The Jetsons.

We would have flying cars.

We would have wrist watches that would allow us to make phone calls, as Dick Tracy could do.

Doctors would wave salt shaker-looking gadgets over us to get a comprehensive diagnosis of our well-being, just like Bones did on Star Trek.

And perhaps we would be able to beam from place to place from a transporter room rather than using planes.

We would have the option of living on Mars or a space station, and perhaps vacation on the moon.

There would be so much gadgetry to make our lives easier, it was almost inconceivable.     

Ah yes. The future.

In reality, there were computers – PCs and laptops, something they never predicted – and cell phones.

Yes, the fridge did catch up to the computer age. There are apps on our cell phones that allow us to order our groceries – and even our fast food – and have them delivered. We can even order almost anything from Amazon and have it delivered within a day.

Thankfully – especially living in New Jersey, where the driving is horrible and turn signals are optional – there are no flying cars. Indeed, people’s drones are bad enough.

We do have wrist watch phones, but they still need to be synced with cell phones.

Medicine hasn’t quite caught up with Star Trek – nor has travel – but there are big machines to do those diagnostics, and I’m sure one day they’ll be the size of salt shakers.

We also haven’t got our robot maids, for which I’m dreadfully disappointed. The closest we’ve come is the Rumba.

Vacations are still earth-bound.

But our advances haven’t been without drawbacks.

Remember Y2K?

And while nearly everyone has a laptop or tablet, and every child seems to have a phone, they haven’t made life easier, and they certainly haven’t made us a more civilized society.

It hasn’t made us freer. People are enslaved by their phones. They can’t tear their eyes from them. Walk down any street, and you’ll find pedestrians with eyes glued to the screen.

Try having a conversation with someone who is physically standing next to you. Even loved ones usually lose in competition with an incoming text.

And while some talk, most don’t want to talk to others. They prefer texting.

People call one another hoping no one will answer. Leave a message at the tone. Better yet, text.

Children don’t go outside to play. Good heavens, it might be too hot or too cold. Heat index and wind chill determine whether or not there is outdoor recess in schools. And the poor dears might not have hats and gloves. When I was in school, it was considered the parent’s responsibility to make sure a child had those things, and the child’s responsibility to wear them.

Besides, children would rather stay inside and “play” on their computers or phones, where their playmates are in cyberspace, not in the same room.

Adults “friend” people online, while actual friendships often languish in preference to the electronic.

And the negative result of all of these “futuristic” advances is that we have lost contact with being human – or at least being civilized.

You can be anyone online. No one need know your true identity. While many people are the same online as off, the anonymity of the internet has given people license to be horrific excuses for human beings.

If someone disagrees with your opinion online, rather than having a conversation to further understanding, or at least explain why you feel as you do, there is more likely to be an attack of insults. Snowflake seems to be the insult of choice. If you’re conservative, the worst you can say of someone is that they’re a liberal snowflake.

It doesn’t matter whether the person is a liberal, conservative, moderate or being from mars. If they disagree with the other person’s opinion, they are the enemy.

We have become such a rude, bullying society since the advent of the internet that tolerance has gone out the window. This bullying rudeness has, with the blessing of a variety of politicians, bled over into actual interactions in the real world.

Yes, this is a sweeping generalization not true of everyone in the world. There are decent, civilized people in the world. But they’re being drowned out by those who are incapable of admitting – or even realizing – there are valid opinions on the other side.

There is a feeling of anger and rudeness about the world that I don’t remember growing up. We had fears of an enemy, but it wasn’t your next door neighbor. It was the leaders of another country: The Nazis, the Communists.

We didn’t walk around with a chip on our shoulders, waiting for the person standing next to us to say the wrong thing so we could start an argument.

And we certainly didn’t live in fear of going places because we might not come home alive.

Don’t believe me?

When was the last time you thought better of beeping your horn at someone who sat at a green light because they might turn around and shoot you?

When was the last time you decided to order online rather than going to the mall because of a recent spate of shootings at malls?

Have you stopped attending religious services because of shootings in churches, synagogues and mosques?

Perhaps that hasn’t come home to roost where you are. Or perhaps you’re one of the ones who concealed carries “just to be safe.”

I have more than once swerved on a highway rather than beeping at someone who’s crossed the dotted lines because I didn’t know if they might be an angry person with a gun.

Maybe my reactions have more to do with the fact that I work in schools.

One day there was a threat by a student in one of those schools. He planned to shoot up people in the school. While they assured us he wasn’t in school that day, and there was significant police presence in the school, I had my car keys with me at all times, and knew the closest door to the outside everywhere I went. If there was a lockdown and the opportunity presented itself, I was going to run, not cower in a fetal position in the back of a classroom.

Maybe it’s the little things like that that keep me angry just below the surface.

I’m impatient with other drivers because I’m trying to get home, get to my safe place, before anyone can hurt me.

It’s a hell of a way to live.

Maybe that’s why I’m so anxious to retire. Maybe that’s why I’d prefer to live in another country – one without guns.