Following are selected stories from each of the four issues from our Premiere Year (2006). A limited number of back issues are available for $4 per issue. Interested? Email us at: themotherhood@comcast.net
November 2006, Issue #4
THE "HOLIDAY AND FOOD" ISSUE
* ROLLING DEEPER THAN MOST
One mother’s headache is another woman’s entourage.
By HELENA HOLGERSSON-SHORTER
* TAKE YOUR MEDICINE
Visions of peace-on-earth from your hometown pediatrician.
A regular column in The MotherHood; DR. DONALD COTLER
writes regularly about healthy parenting.
August 2006, Issue #3
DON'T GO BACK TO SCHOOL
* IT ONLY TAKES A LIFETIME
Learning to the beat of a different drum by RICHARD LEE.
* DOULAMOMMA
Goodbye, good girl. Making a mark on your permanent record.
A regular column in The MotherHood; doula KIM COLLINS
writes about the state of pregnancy, birth and parenting in
the 21st century.
May 2006, Issue #2
THE TRAVEL ISSUE
* RAISING YOUR INNER CHILD
Disney World and the state of suspended disbelief.
A regular column in The MotherHood; writer
KATHY MONAHAN weighs in on the American cult of
parenthood.
* MOMMAS, DON'T LET YOUR BABIES GROW UP TO BE
UNHAPPY, REPRESSED COWBOYS
Becoming a parent forces you to examine your deeply held
beliefs and your prejudices. We want to teach our children
tolerance and love, but what if we suspect they might be gay
— can we practice what we preach? ANGELO ANDREATOS
wants to have a word or two with all parents in the hopes of
saving everyone a lot of heartache.
March 2006
THE PREMIERE ISSUE
* BECAUSE I SAID SO
One mother’s daily affirmation, by LISA DUGGAN.
A regular column in The MotherHood, written by a different
parent each issue.
* THE OPTIMIZATION OF THE AMERICAN CHILD
When families had ten children, it wasn’t so awful if some of
them turned out to be lemons. In today’s families of one and
two children, DAVID LINKH asks: can you tolerate a
mediocre kid?
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Rolling Deeper Than Most
by Helena Holgersson-Shorter
My perspective on motherhood changed a few years ago when my husband’s friend, Jeff, invited us to his beach house and my husband was on the phone trying to pick a date.
“How many are you?” Jeff inquired. My husband looked around the room: me nursing our baby, our 4 year old trying to climb the walls like Spiderman and my six year old drawing pictures at the dining room table.
“Five,” he replied, realizing that this number must have seemed like a large amount of guests to a childless newlywed. There was a pause before Jeff commented, “Damn, dude. You roll deep.”
Jeff, a successful music producer, was using a phrase popularized in a rap song, “Rolling Deeper Than Most,” which is about a guy who’s so popular that he’s accompanied by a large posse everywhere he goes. When my husband told me Jeff’s comment, I initially understood it as a hipper version of the oft-uttered, “You’ve got your hands full!” that I’d hear whenever I’d take my show on the road.
I suppose that during that first year of being the mother of three that I did feel slightly overwhelmed by the fact that I was no longer Helena but a synecdoche—a part representing a whole. Thus, the simple statement, “I’m taking Lailah to the eye doctor today” means that while Lailah is in the chair identifying slides of dancing animals, I am quietly trying, without using a chokehold, to restrain her sister from running up and down the halls of the office screeching and laughing, while simultaneously snatching medical instruments from the newly-walking baby who has dumped an entire tray on the floor.
Then there’s the no-food-in-the-house phenomenon, resulting in the inevitable, “I have to go to the grocery store.” You know what that means! The “I” implied by that statement is the center of the whirlwind, the “eye” of a storm in which the only child who wants to stay in the cart is too big for it and protests in loud and continuous whines; the free-spirited four-year old is outta there before we’ve even made it down one aisle and I resort to all sorts of shameful parenting strategies to get the walking-baby to remain seated. No you can’t have M&Ms now—okay here. Some more M&Ms? Here you go. You want this Dora video? Okay. And, of course, the “It’s not a party until someone has a tantrum” and draws “The Stare”, which is the ugly stepsister of “You’ve Got Your Hands Full.”
But once I survived that first year, I began to settle into my synecdoctal existence and view Jeff’s comment in a new light. You see, the speaker of “Deeper” isn’t bitching or lamenting, nor does he sound tired and stressed out, he’s actually celebrating his large posse, bragging about the fact that he’s never alone and people must go to great lengths to accommodate him! And then I began to notice that I too would frequently get preferential, VIP treatment! Arriving at a popular restaurant to pick up our take-out, all it took was 20 seconds of my entourage doing its thing and I was hustled right to the front of the crowd and was out the door within minutes! Sometimes those trips to the grocery store had their benefits, as my crew would result in a new checkout line being opened and us getting ushered right on through. Ditto showing up to fight a parking ticket—Dismissed! Whatever it takes, get the lady with the kids out of here!
Now, however, three is the new two and it’s the mothers with four or more kids who are the real rock stars. I want to send a “shout out” to all of you new moms out there and the moms of two who are working up their courage to have that third. There are some things you need to know to get the most out of your new life: maintaining a sense of humor about yourself and your kids is paramount because sometimes there just isn’t any downtime and there’s not going to be any alone-time for a long time. Do what you need to do, bring the kids along and enjoy the ride.
For example, when I brought my posse to the liquor store, an older gentleman looked at us and said with thinly veiled contempt, “Bringing the kids to get some booze, eh?” Briefly taken aback, I cast a glance at their beloved little faces and replied, “Actually, they’re the reason why I’m here!”
So, for all you moms giving it your all every day, celebrate your synechdoche—it’s not that there’s no more you, it’s that there’s two or three times the you! Below you will find a list of useful information about creating and maintaining your own posse:
Things You Should Know When Planning to Have Your Third
1. It will be approximately 14 years before you’ll ever go to the bathroom with the door closed.
2. It will be the same amount of time before you can carry a small, stylish purse that doesn’t have room for a diaper, sippy cup, bag of Goldfish, envelope of coupons, or water bottle.
3. Getting your downtime-in-a-bottle at the Wine Library
in Millburn can double as a trip to the Aquarium—they have a fabulous tropical fish tank on the second floor.
4. Bag your own groceries at the supermarket. This will prevent you from having to take all four kids to Home Depot on the way home in order to rent a forklift to unload the two bags into which the checkout clerk at Shop Rite has put all of your bottles of juice, gallons of milk and seltzer.
5. Only buy clothes at Old Navy. There, no matter how much baby weight you’re in the process of losing or gaining, their Special Sizing System—“Wow! None of my old clothes fit, but these new pants are a size six! Yeah, I got them at Old Navy, can you believe it!”—will make you feel good about yourself.
6. Say goodbye to your short-term memory. What else did I want to tell you? Oh yes, say goodbye to your short-term….I’m just kidding. Sort of. I really can’t tell you whether your car keys actually develop consciousness and begin hiding in different places, or you’ve been taking too many trips to the Millburn Aquarium.
7. By the third child, you’ll find yourself saying things you never would have said to your first born, such as, “What the hell’s the matter with you?”, and it’s okay.
8. If you play your cards right, in 1.5 years you may never have to animate another action figure or Barbie doll or play another game of hide and seek — they play with each other and this is, in my view, the best and primary reason to have multiple children.
9. If you have more than two children, to paraphrase Chris Rock, “Then one of the kids gets a kid.” This is similar to point #8 in that your five-year-old will suddenly become your right-hand-woman, personal assistant and approved Baby Wrangler. You can almost see the wisdom of pioneer women having thirteen: sometime around child #5, your life must actually start to get easier!
10. I forget #10. No, really.
Helena Holgersson-Shorter is a breast-feeding, home-birthing fascist hippie with a useless and mouldering Ph.D. in Comparative Literature, and keeps her three small girls bedecked in Hanna Andersson by writing high school English curriculum, and parenting memoirs when she gets a chance. This is her second contribution to The MotherHood.
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Take Your Medicine
by Dr. Donald Cotler
Most of us expect people everywhere to share a moral sense — a set of beliefs about what is right. Historically, this is often represented as the “Golden Rule” — to do unto others as you would have them do unto you — or the Old Testament mandate to “love thy neighbor as thyself.”
People may further assume that these moral injunctions are applied to everyone equally. But evolutionary psychology predicts otherwise and human history certainly bears out the theory that people will behave as if some “others” are more “other” than the rest. In a global culture, just who qualifies as “thy neighbor?”
In point of fact, most cultures practice some version of the aphorism “with my brother against my cousin, with my cousin against the infidel.” In an extensively referenced essay, scholar John Hartung gives an example of this from the ancient Israelites.* He demonstrates that the moral laws of the Torah were explicitly meant to apply only to other Israelites. He writes that Joshua, after killing 12,000 “non-believers” at the beginning of 170-year campaign that also “utterly destroyed” 400 cities, set down the laws of Moses without irony, including, of course, “Thou shalt not kill.”
The real question is how morality would develop at all in a Darwinian world. After all, what’s natural is often not right and vice versa. How does observing the Golden Rule confer fitness and therefore, survival, on its practitioners? Why should organisms be designed to help rather than hurt, one another?
A simple (wrong) answer is the concept of “group selection,” wherein groups of altruistic animals outcompete other groups whose members aren’t as nice to each other, resulting in a steady increase in the altruistic tendencies of the species. But group selection would only work if the group were completely isolated and genetically stable. Otherwise, less altruistic interlopers or mutants would quickly out-reproduce and replace the more self-sacrificing individuals. Besides the theoretical objection, it is common experience that people in all cultures do all kinds of things to prosper at the expense of the group.
A more satisfactory explanation for reciprocal altruism and the evolution of morality hinges upon the primordial social situation of humans. Based on studies of still extant hunter-gatherer cultures and other data, early humans are thought to have lived in fairly small groups consisting mostly of extended family. In such a group, helping your neighbor succeed (reproduce) also promotes the success of the genes you have in common. This would allow for “doing unto others” genes to become widely disseminated in the species. Thus, the basis for rudimentary morality could be found in small groups of kin, who help each other and fear the outsider.
But how do we make the leap to the idealized universal morality of the Judeo-Christian-Muslim models and other traditions? We know that moral laws “should” be universal. How do we raise children who feel this deeply enough to live it, despite the obstacles of biology and history?
One way to accomplish this is to raise our children in a truly diverse community – one with a number of languages, religious and cultural practices and with people of diverse physical characteristics — that truly represent the world. When we live as kin with all kinds of people, we are essentially fooling biology and teaching our children to love their near and distant neighbors alike. We are promoting a kinship with people all over the world who resemble their “fictive” kin from home.
I do not mean to minimize the difficulties involved in cultivating this universal kinship. But to be convinced that the upside is happening in our two towns, go to the Columbia High School All-School musical, for example, or read a student newspaper or go to any playground. (The author is referring to Maplewood and South Orange, New Jersey.- Editor.)
The face of America is changing. Within our lifetime, there will no longer be a majority race in this country. By 2050, 21 percent of Americans will be of multiple racial or ethnic heritage. The marketplace is acknowledging this “beige-ing” of America. Look at the indeterminate origins of spokesmodels for many large corporations. And have you checked out the latest multiracial Betty Crocker? Douglas Besharov of the American Enterprise Institute speaks for many scholars when he says that mixed-race youth represent “the best hope for the future of American race relations.”
This is an apt description of our children as well, whether from mixed-race households or the mixed-race “extended family” we have chosen for them. In my view, these young people are also the best hope for our future relationship with the many cultures and people that most Americans still see as the “other.”
* Love Thy Neighbor: The Evolution Of In-Group Morality
by John Hartung. See
http://www.lrainc.com/swtaboo/taboos/ltn01.html.
Donald N. Cotler M.D., FAAP, practices fatherhood and unclehood in Maplewood, and pediatrics in Millburn. He may be reached for comments or questions at themotherhood@comcast.net. (Columbia High School, class of ’71.)
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It Only Takes A Lifetime
by Richard Lee
The story goes that Picasso was sitting in a Paris café when an admirer approached and asked if he would do a quick sketch on a paper napkin. Picasso politely agreed, swiftly executed the work, and handed back the napkin — but not before asking for a rather significant amount of money. The admirer was shocked: “How can you ask for so much? It took you a minute to draw this!” “No”, Picasso replied, “It took me 40 years”.
As a young musician, I was very much influenced by this story and by the genius who believed he still had much to learn 40 years into his career. I believe Picasso was not referring to a method of schooling or apprenticeship but a mentality: one that requires you to undergo a constant renewing of the mind. To have a never-ending thirst for what is new.
My musical life has been continuous voyage thru a kaleidoscope of cultures, expressions, styles, and instruments. Now as a teacher, I want to impart to my students and my own children the same kind of learning — a journey of discovery that is never finished.
In my childhood, my father - a fine drummer and percussionist himself - taught me the basics by having me accompany him on hundreds of percussive instruments in many styles of music, often while playing alongside his LPs. He had a unique way of pressuring me to achieve: he would take me to clubs and concerts where we would both jam with the musicians! My parents furthered my musical “education” by taking me to countless concerts, and by playing music from a wide variety of countries and genres in our home on a daily basis. When the constraints of living in an apartment frustrated me from further exploring drums and percussions, I learned to play several of the instruments I heard at home — the guitar, mandolin and banjo — as well as a myriad of less reputable instruments such as the bagpipes, zither, and the portable harmonium. I also learned to sing.
Oddly, this rather un-academic formation worked and by my teenage years I was able to hold my own among accomplished musicians. I was fluent in contemporary western music (rock, blues, jazz, country, and folk) but also quite fond of and familiar with such varied music and rhythms as Afro Cuban, Latin American, Middle Eastern, African, Caribbean, Polynesian, Indian, and East European. To this day I incorporate elements from these cultures in my playing, no matter which style of music I’m performing.
I want my two girls, and my soon-to-be-born son, to learn Music Theory and to play an instrument for all the accepted “good reasons” – because it will enhance their reasoning performance; promote their higher brain functions; and help the development of their emotional intelligence. But mainly I want them to enjoy themselves! To be immersed in music is a fascinating and enlightening way to live. It fosters sensitivity, creativity and individuality, and hopefully, triggers a passion for learning more. I’ve been on that trip and never really came back.
This passion for learning is shared by the best musicians out there. Elvin Jones, Art Blakey, and Milford Graves all traveled to Africa and India to learn more from indigenous percussionists. The great tenor saxophonist Sonny Rollins is well known for having taken “breaks” during his career to re-learn his instrument and start anew. Likewise, I still seek and discover drumming and percussion techniques I haven’t heard, and young players that take my breath away.
I am hopeful that everyone can experience the kind of epiphany I had after hearing John Coltrane’s “Olé” recording. I had obstinately tried this tune and many other progressive jazz recordings before, but they had always sounded to me like
a bunch of random notes, sounds, and noise. But on one particular day I was listening to the tune over again and it clicked — I suddenly got it! In a fraction of a second I “re-heard” a lifetime of jazz and appreciated it for the first time. I literally thought my brain had doubled in size. More than finding a key to modern jazz, a mental barrier had broken down and I was being flooded with a new comprehension.
So how to send my own kids down this path? Ultimately, it all goes back to listening to music, all kinds. But do I let them freely wander thru the often dull and unimaginative music the industry offers, or do I push for the Beatles, Coltrane, and ethnic music?
I have no doubt that my passion for music and my ability to play in many styles really began one Christmas morning some thirty years ago. I found myself the ecstatic owner of a cassette player and some pre-recorded tapes. Next to the obligatory
children’s lullabies and fairytale tapes, my parents had thrown in a dozen or so others — among them The Doors, Julie Driscoll & Brian Auger, a Folkways country and bluegrass compilation, the Red Army Choir, the Dave Brubeck Quartet, Alan Stivell, and some Latin America music compilation. I didn’t like it all immediately, but I loved all of it, ultimately.
So I did something similar with my kids. While I listened patiently to Barney and The Wiggles, our car and living room remained my domain. In these places my kids went through the bluegrass sounds of the Stanley Brothers and (ahem) the freewheeling improvisations of Coltrane’s “Live at the Village Vanguard”! They came to many of my performances. And it seemed to work.
Yes, I do hear my 8 and 9 year-old girls play and sing-along to Hillary Duff and High School Musical; and yes, they still cringe at John Coltrane. But they also happily go to their piano lessons. And then go downstairs on their own to practice renditions of “My Favorite Things” and “Ode to Joy”.
I am ecstatic when they explain why they “Just don’t like Dave Matthews!” and would prefer driving around to the sound of Norah Jones. In fact, I am just about the happiest father right now, fine-tuning this article while my daughters are playing music upstairs: digging Clifford Brow, Mahalia Jackson, Ella Fitzgerald, and the Zion Harmonizers from the jazz CD I burned for my younger daughter’s Black History Month class project.
My goodness, my kids are learning and they’re…enjoying it.
Phew, that was close!
Richard Lee is a professional drummer/percussionist and instructor. He lives in Maplewood with his wife and two daughters, and is expecting a son in September. He can be reached at Richard@richardleedrums.com.
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DoulaMomma
by Kim Collins
This will go down on your permanent record — a phrase that can still strike fear in some of us. Most women were raised to be good girls: don’t make anyone angry (“tend and befriend” is the style sociologists point to); seek approval, especially from authority figures; study hard and fly right. All in all, the message is clear: Guard your permanent record. Some of that is not bad advice, but it can sure limit us, too.
I’m turning forty this year and I’m treating it like the Queen’s Jubilee, with trips and celebrations. On the day of, I plan to mark the milestone by getting a tattoo. I’m not some tattooed lady from way back—far from it. And I’m not doing it because everyone else is; I’m pretty sure they’re not, though plenty of friends have them. It’s a meaningful symbol I’ve thought about tattooing for over a year, and I like the idea of marking this event with ritual as they do in other cultures—it beats Botox, at least for now! This is me saying it’s OK to choose to put something on my own permanent record and mark my independence. To be a little less of a good girl.
I was recently telling a dear friend about my plan, and she said that for her, the independence would be about emerging from the birthing years. (She also has three kids, is turning forty, and is taking a celebratory trip with me.) I think there is some of that for me, but it goes further back. I grew up feeling an immense sense of responsibility. I generally would not put myself in situations that could get me in major trouble. I got really good grades, teachers liked me, I never had wild parties while my parents were out of town, and I was very careful to avoid limiting my future options. I certainly never got a tattoo. This is not to say that I didn’t do plenty of age-appropriate stuff. I just really needed to be seen as dependable, nice, and loyal. I also frequently broke into hives. The good girl in me is not entirely gone, and I still find myself volunteering to do things that I don’t really want to do or putting up with things I shouldn’t, but less now than before.
Is it any wonder that many of us continue this good girl behavior as we approach giving birth? Even the most self-possessed women can find dealing with their birthing caregivers anxiety-producing. Doctors are authority figures. They have seen us naked. Sometimes they represent a parental figure (and all the complexity that can entail). We want their approval. But how did they come to be our caregivers? Maybe we have been in their care since we got our first Pap smear or Pill prescription. Maybe they saw us through infertility or a miscarriage. In some cases we simply got their name from a friend or our insurance company. However we got there, we have a history with them, be it two months or twenty years, and for that we feel loyal.
Loyalty and personal history can bring much comfort. But sometimes these relationships no longer serve our needs. Coming to that conclusion can be hard for many women. Doing something about it can be even harder. To find a better fit means leaving what is known, and that can really bring up all those good girl issues of not wanting to hurt feelings or displease authority figures.
Some women feel best in the role of the innocent, preferring a care provider who is very authoritative. Others find that although they began a pregnancy that way, their needs have evolved and they now want to take more responsibility for decisions concerning their care. But how to make this transition?
I often hear from pregnant women that they don’t really love their caregiver, but feel it’s too late to change and will do things differently next time. To this I ask, “Are you in labor yet?” If not, there is likely time to change if you want to. Further, we don’t know what life holds for us and whether there will be a next time, so make this time count. What we can easily discover by looking at statistics is that our choices during our first pregnancy and birth can have huge impact on our future health, as well as birthing options. If increasing your odds of avoiding a birth by cesarean is important to you, then choose wisely with your first pregnancy, as VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) rates are declining due largely to fear of liability. If you are seeking a VBAC, then your choice of provider is essential; it must be someone who will heartily support, rather than merely tolerate, your goal. Numbers do not tell the whole story, but a care provider should be able to explain her statistics without anyone feeling defensive. When interviewing, probe subjective answers, especially if they don’t feel right. If someone says she only cuts episiotomies when necessary, inquire about what “necessary” means; you may discover that it means most first-time mothers, a practice that is absolutely inappropriate and is not the standard of care promoted by the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists.
Once you find the right fit philosophically, then I think it comes down to trusting your gut (and the gut of your mate, who will also be looking to this provider for guidance). Do you feel respected and heard? Do you want her there at such an intimate event? Most importantly, picture this person (and any partners) telling you something you really don’t want to hear, maybe something that you most fear: Do you trust them in your gut? You should be able to answer “yes” quickly.
As for feelings of disloyalty, I overheard another doula advise a client to keep her nice, long-serving doctor on her holiday card list, but switch if the she really felt out of sync with that doctor. That’s sort of flip, but essentially I agree. If you know that a care provider is no longer a good match for you, that also means you are no longer a match for them and you will be doing everyone a service if you move on. “Breaking up” does not have to be nasty. It can be done with respect and gratitude for past service. It can be done with explanation or without (as a new provider can just ask for your records).
We good girls owe it to ourselves to find a way to put our health needs, physical and emotional, above any need to be nice or please others. Besides, advocating for ourselves now is good practice for being a parent; if you can’t do it for yourself, do it for your child’s mother. Be woman enough to take care of your inner good girl by making powerful choices with confidence. To do so is to have a permanent record worthy of pride.
Kim Collins, also known as DoulaMomma, lives with her husband and three sons in South Orange. A “reformed” attorney, she now teaches childbirth classes, counsels on birth options, creates belly casts, & works as a birth doula. You may email Kim at doulamomma1@hotmail.com.
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Raising Your Inner Child
by Kathy Monahan
Every time my husband and I go to Disney World, we’re surprised by something new. Not obvious things like a new ride or show, just some weird little subterranean trend that somehow defines that trip’s experience for us. The Winter of the Cheerleading Contests. The Summer of Naked Babies Splashing in Fountains. The Springtime of Very Large People on Motorized Scooters.
This past November it was the Autumn of Little Princesses. For years there have been little girls who put on princess outfits to go to Disney World, but this time we were noticing them every few seconds. “Look, there’s another Belle. That little Snow White is blonde, I’ve never seen that before. Is that two Jasmines in the same family? Yikes, Sleeping Beauty over there is beating the heck out of her brother!”
In February we went to Disneyland in California for two days — yes, we did go to two Disney parks in the space of three months, why do you ask? — and this time we decided to count them. The first day there were only twenty-two, but the second day we counted thirty-four. We could have counted some of them twice — we didn’t tranquilize and tag them or anything, although that would have been interesting to try and explain to their moms. “Please stop screaming, ma’am, it’s a scientific experiment.”
I think little girls put on costumes to go to Disney parks because they’re afraid they won’t be allowed in without the proper attire. Disney parks are so large, so fully imagined, so totally immersive that you probably would feel more comfortable in formal court dress yourself, if you were six. The reason I know this is because I’ve been going to Disney parks all my life — a LOT — and that’s the way it was with me. Sleeping Beauty lives in that castle; that’s her house. I don’t want to go to the Haunted Mansion; it says that the ghosts will follow you home. Mickey and Minnie are at Toontown Fair right this very second!
I never wore a princess dress though; they didn’t have them in the Seventies. I only once wore a special outfit when I was at Disney World, and it was because I was getting married there. We didn’t go into the park or anything — we were just at one of the hotels, but all the little girls that walked by just about fell down from staring at my big white dress. You could see their little heads trying to process the information. Who was I supposed to be? Ariel wears a white dress at the end of The Little Mermaid, but she has red hair. My hair is brown like Belle’s, but she doesn’t wear white. Should they ask for my autograph? “Mommy! Who is that? She’s wearing the wrong dress.”
The Disney company has undoubtedly made a mint off this trend, which now that I think about it they probably started themselves. These days, you can get instructional DVDs for throwing a “Princess Party” and every Disney Store I’ve seen has a station where you can decorate your own crown. But with the exception of Jasmine and Mulan (who wear pants, so almost nobody bothers with them), all their princesses are either blonde or brunette Caucasians. And to put it bluntly, a media company failing to market to little girls of color at their most impressionable age is turning down free money.
Because the very young are literalists: very occasionally I’ve seen a blonde Belle or a Hispanic Cinderella, but little girls almost always seem to pick a princess that matches their ethnic type. This means you’re pretty much out of luck if you aren’t a blonde or brunette Caucasian; even redheads only have Ariel and it’s a bore to spend the day with a tail dragging behind you.
Do you believe I’ve never seen a single African-American little princess at Disney World? Is it possible that such a one-world, utopian kind of capitalist empire has ignored the fact that every little girl deserves a princess that looks like her?
So that’s my modest proposal to the Disney corporation: more ethnic princesses. You won’t be sorry. I will cheerfully accept remuneration for this brilliant idea in cash, stock or free vacations in perpetuity.
And, er, if you would like to start a trend where grown women could dress up when they go to Disney World too, I could finally get rid of my wedding dress.
Thanks!
Kathy Monahan is a freelance writer who lives in Brooklyn, New York with her husband and cat. She can be reached for comments at themotherhood@comcast.net.
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Mommas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Unhappy, Repressed Cowboys
by Angelo Andreatos
WHAT IF you start noticing that your son always washes his hands, or desperately wants to soon after getting them dirty? What if all the men of your family gather talking in one room, but your boy always winds up in another room, with the women? What if your ten year old son asks if it’s okay to love his friend Kennie? What if your son goes to the football game with his older male cousin and, when the girls in the stands form a kickline, he joins in and kicks just as high (or even higher) than the girls? And he has a blast doing it, because he’s too young to be conscious of gender issues?
What if you suspect your child is going “over the rainbow”? Could your love follow? What is it like to have a gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender child? My mother told me when I was quite young: “Mommy and Daddy will always love you, no matter what — you can come to us with anything and it’ll be ok.” And: “There isn’t anything you could ever say to us that would make us stop loving you.”
I first came to grips with being gay a little more than twenty years ago. I started dating my first boyfriend when I was twenty-two, although I didn’t verbalize my sexuality to my family for several more years. But I brought my boyfriend to their house anyway. I was proud of him, proud of me. I was happy to be bitten by the love bug. When I did come out it was dramatic — like when Scarlett pulls the carrot out of the ground and declares, “I swear I’ll never be hungry again!” (Or was it something about birthing babies?) In any event, I was Scarlett, and it definitely was a scene.
Since then I’ve been told by these same parents, the people who are supposed to love me the most in the world, that (1) I’m abnormal, and (2) my partner is not on an equal level to my sister’s husband. In fact, on several occasions they have described Stephen — my partner of fourteen years — as a “friend of the family.”
In my mother’s eyes there is a pre-gay Angelo, and he’s only a memory to be conjured up when reminiscing about loved ones who have moved onto the next world — the world of the dead. The “straight Angelo” is mourned by my parents, and possibly my sister.
Does my family really believe there is a pre-gay Angelo? I’ve come to realize that if parents have spent any time at all with their child – even one day – they will know their child is gay long before the child figures it out. Whether or not the parents choose to accept that reality will determine how much pain everyone will feel — how much therapy & Edy’s ice cream will be needed.
WHAT IF my parents had chosen to accept the fact that I was gay? What if I had the chance to tell them how they should have treated me when I came out to them, and how they should treat me today? Perhaps the tears my parents and I cried don’t have to be in vain, and will serve you. Perhaps there don’t have to be so many tears — perhaps none at all.
Well, this article is my chance. So here goes:
Don’t love us any less. That’s my plea.
Don’t grieve for yourself, or your child. Love your child no differently than you did before you realized they were gay. All children need these things to grow: unconditional love, respect, acceptance and support. The unconditional part is most crucial. A child’s need for unconditional love is just as basic as the need for food and water.
Love your child.
Never treat your gay child differently than you do your other children. Instruct your other children not to change the way they treat their gay sibling. Tell all of your children that as long as they live under your roof, you’ll put up with no less. And while you’re at it, let your extended family know that you will not tolerate any mistreatment of your child. Your child’s emotional health should be more important than what any of these other people think.
Just love your child.
I know you mean well, but don’t pressure your boys to play baseball, or football, or hockey, if they don’t want to. It’s not the end of the world for you, or them. Support them in participating in any school activity or civic organization that they do like.
Remember that your child is not sick and does not need to see a shrink. If you’re having a problem dealing with your child’s sexuality, take yourself to a therapist.
However, you may ask your son or daughter if they would like to see a therapist. Not because they’re crazy, but as a means of support in navigating a cruel and biased world. Explore with your child the many support groups that exist, like The Gay/Straight Alliance and P-Flag (see below for contact information). Explain that they need to start forming their own support networks. When they come out to the world, they might start losing friends. Let them know that you will always be there for them. Mean it.
Love your child.
Stay strong, be a role model for your entire family. It’s not easy growing up with very few positive gay role models, although there are more today than ever before. But love from one’s parents will always mean more than anything a role model can provide. And you could wind up being a role model for another friend or family member facing a similar situation.
Parents, family members — you did not make your child gay. Your child is not gay to spite you or the rest of your family.
Which brings me to my final point, on the question of choice. As a gay man the only choice I’ve ever had was the choice between accepting my sexual orientation and denying it. And to deny it would have been tragic and suicidal. I could have gotten married — fought over who was going to wear the dress, had 2.5 children — and totally screwed everyone’s life up.
Parents: love your children. Proudly, whole-heartedly.
Tell them to hold their head up high and think no less of themselves because of their sexuality.
It’s not going to be easy. But what’s the alternative? To lose your son or daughter forever?
Just love your child.
LOCAL AND NATIONAL SUPPORT
There are many local and national support groups for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender teens and families. In fact Columbia High School in Maplewood has their own internal support group, called Spectrum. It is a student led group moderated by a teacher-advisor.
They meet one to two times per month and discuss a
variety of topics not limited to sexuality. The group’s main focus is achieving self-acceptance. They also seek to move society to celebrate, not just tolerate, all personal differences.
To learn more, email chsspectrum@yahoo.com.
Here is a partial list of the many other support groups that exist.
All the following information was found online by typing in “gay support groups, New Jersey”.
IN NEW JERSEY
Gay and Lesbian Youth in NJ (GALY-NJ)
South Orange Chapter
First Presbyterian & Trinity Church
111 Irvington Ave.
South Orange, New Jersey 07079
Meets 1:30-4:30 p.m. on Saturdays.
Lambda Families of New Jersey
PO Box1385
Maplewood, NJ 07040
973-763-8511
www.lambdafamiliesofnj.org
webmaster@lambdafamiliesofnj.org
Pride Center of New Jersey
www.pridecenter.org
New Jersey Gay & Lesbian Coalition
www.njlgc.org
NATIONAL
Parents, Families and Friends of Lesbians
and Gays (PFLAG)
www.pflag.org
Gay-Straight Alliance Network: a youth-led organization that
connects school-based Gay-Straight Alliances (GSAs) to each other. Spectrum is a part of the Gay-Straight Alliance Network.
www.gsanetwork.org
Gay Parent Magazine
www.gayparentmag.com
IN NEW YORK CITY
Center Kids at the Lesbian and Gay Community Svcs Center
208 West 13th St., NY, NY 10011
212-620-7310
www.gaycenter.org
Angelo and his partner Stephen reside in Northern New Jersey. They are the proud parents of Taylor the cat. Angelo may be reached at themotherhood@comcast.net.
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BECAUSE I SAID SO
Because I’m The Primary Caregiver, That’s Why!
by Lisa Duggan
“Stay-at-home mother.” The first time I heard that phrase I pictured Frank leaving for work, followed eagerly down the sidewalk by me. “Lisa! Stay...stay...good girl!”
I wanted to become a mother and I wanted to be good at it. I thought it would be impossible to continue working full time and be the best mother I could be. Being a good mother is itself a full-time job, right? So, I would just quit working. For at least the first few years, anyway. I would change my wardrobe and acquire all the necessary accessories, and Sha-zam! I would become A Good Mother.
Wow! Was there ever so wide a gap between expectation and reality? I knew it would be hard, but I was prepared for hard work. I knew there would be sacrifices, major changes in my life — but I thought I would have a natural ability as a mother, and I thought I was going to like it much more than I do. And this was a huge surprise to me. I worked so hard to become a mother! I did, along with thousands of other women in my generation. Women who ingested, injected, in-vitro-ed, prayed, miscarried, carried, adopted, resigned, cut-back and pumped — all in the pursuit of motherhood.
As Carrie would ask: When did becoming a mother go from being a given, to being a goal?
Somewhere between my mother’s generation and mine, I guess. I envy my mother’s generation. They were in some ways protected by the rigid definitions of their time and place. Society’s expectations for women and their own inner expectations were more closely aligned. I, living on this island of liberated, educated, career-wise women, feel estranged not only from my mom, but from my own inner vision of motherhood. Technically, I’m staying-at-home to raise my daughter, the way my mother did. And yet, I’m rarely in. (You can reach me at Starbucks on my cell.) I employ babysitters and cleaning people on a regular basis. Frank and I both do the laundry — I rarely iron. We often eat at restaurants, or order in. I spend nights away from Alice, leaving her with her father. I outsource! My mother never did those things. Being mommy meant doing it all, and loving every minute of it. (Or pretending you did.)
So what defines a mother today?
If you find you’re not lovin’ all the 24/7 tasks associated with raising a child, does that mean you’re not a mother? Furthermore, if you hire someone else to perform these tasks, so that you can pursue the things you do love — things that bring you fulfillment and intellectual, emotional and financial rewards — are you still a mother? If it’s a good thing to realize that Alice needs more than just mommy in order to have a fulfilling life, why is it wrong for me to discover the same thing about myself?
The media swears there is a war going on; stay-at-home mothers vs. working mothers. It’s a war of labels! It’s nonsense and, I suspect, mostly a marketing tool. I am not a euphemism. I am mommy. As a mother, I’ll be choosing my daughter’s menu, her clothes, her friends, her neighborhood, her schools, for a long, long time. I can certainly choose a competent, compassionate person to provide care for her while I do different work. And remain, always, Alice’s mother. Her Primary Caregiver!
You don’t stop being the person you were before parenthood. You cannot tivo your old self and return to it when the kids are grown. It is this notion — that you have to give up everything you were to become a mother — that can tear you apart. There is most certainly an ongoing battle between women who work inside the home and those who work outside. But it’s largely happening inside each individual mother’s head. No matter her educational background, upbringing, or position in life, no mother is immune to mother-guilt. Every woman I know is doing the best job she can as a mother — most are doing excellent jobs. Still, they are never entirely satisfied with themselves. They are always striving to give more, do better, in all areas of their lives.
What better gift can I give Alice? What better model for her than to be a mother who knows her child and knows herself, equally. A mother who loves her child and loves herself, equally. A Good Mother.
Lisa Duggan is Publisher and Editor-in-Chief of The MotherHood; a job she finds to be infinitely easier than being a mother, and almost as joyful. She can be reached for comment at themotherhood@comcast.net.
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The Optimization of the American Child: Can You Tolerate a Mediocre Kid?
by David Linkh
“I’m thinking the Air Force Academy—with flight training, of course, but then medical school after a few years of flying. Being a fighter pilot is really a young man’s game and I’ve always wanted to have a doctor in the family.” My neighbor merely smiles at me as I smirk to suggest I’m only kidding. I am talking about my two-year-old son, who hangs from the bars of a jungle gym several feet away. But am I really kidding? Does my jest, perhaps, reveal the true extent of my expectations? Is it possible David, my son, might feel the oppressive weight of those expectations?
On Walton’s Mountain, everyone had a niche: John Boy was to be a writer, Mary Ellen a nurse, etc. Were these just one-dimensional characters or did they represent the freedom to pick and choose that large families bestowed? Have our dwindling broods saddled our children with a responsibility to do all that their unrealized siblings might have done? The athlete, the scholar, the comedian, and the baby all wear the same sweater, but now it is never handed down. Are we encouraging children to be “well rounded” or rationalizing our imperative for children to participate and excel in everything? Are children overscheduled to the point of exhaustion in spite of their parents or because of them—and whose interests are being served? What happens when the butcher is the baker and the candlestick maker?
Growing up, I was “the funny one,” my brother Frank “the smart one,” and my brother Jim “the baby.” I don’t recall any of us being athletic and aside from Jim’s brief foray singing in a heavy metal band, we weren’t musical—or artistic, socially conscious, or otherwise well-rounded. Does the world demand that much more of us than it did 30 years ago? Or is this about fewer children meeting the needs of parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles and great aunts and great uncles? Are we witnessing the reinvention of the child as both commodity and sideshow attraction? “Step right up, see the child!” “Can he juggle and swing from a trapeze, join the chess club, letter in track?” “Yes folks, he is getting shot out of a cannon!”
While in days of yore children were an asset, supporting parents in the pre-Social Security era and helping to work the farm, industrialization made them a liability, especially as child labor laws and compulsory public education changed the nature of childhood itself. Now, we are finding creative ways to re-commodify children as accessories and status symbols. In this competitive arena, the single-talent kid just doesn’t cut it. We don’t just want to have it all; we want to have them doing it all. We need children of arts and letters, equally comfortable in the classroom and the athletic field and, of course, immersed in the social milieu. Well-rounded kids need social skills and the right circle of friends. Bad actors, nose-pickers and other riff-raff need not apply.
Why do the best colleges continue to stack the deck of submission requirements, considering only prospects who make the honor roll, excel in multiple sports, volunteer in the community, chair the yearbook and the school newspaper, speak French fluently, fly airplanes, play the cello? Are compulsive joiners with boundless energy better candidates for higher education — and what does that say about the rest? Are they consigned to aimless drifting, a life of crime, and reality TV?
On the other hand, we do want to expose children to different experiences and we want our children to be “well-rounded” — we associate this with achievement and positive adjustment (as defined, needless to say, by achievement-oriented upper-class professionals). We don’t want our children pigeonholed, pre-determined, dare I say “tracked.” This is the very thing that the “evil” Russians of my Cold War youth did. By urban legend, it was well known that if you were found to have talent in a particular sport, you were spirited away by the Sports KGB to some Olympic training complex, never to see your classmates or parents again. Forced to train day and night for the greater glory of Mother Russia.
At least those poor souls weren’t expected to medal in everything. As a parent, I am expected to be a coach, a headhunter and a talent agent, bringing along a promising new candidate to compete in the global marketplace. Can I afford to let him watch TV? To play in the dirt? Could his multi-talented, multi-tasking contemporaries be passing him by and would it be a disservice to let him indulge in such unproductive activities?
Where is the joy in just being — not competing, not achieving, not constructing or creating, inventing, or learning, but just being?
My son has a seemingly innate propensity for having fun, for being in the moment. He has a gift for abandon and delight that transcends rationality and achievement. Now six years old, he literally squeals with delight during certain activities — almost always in the context of “free” play. I admire his ability to experience unbridled joy. Could this be a talent? And is it my parental duty to modify or transform it into something that will appropriately pad his resume? I like him just the way he is. Not a very fast runner, but an increasingly adept reader and something of a rapscallion.
It’s not that I don’t want my son to be a success. I just want to consider the implications inherent in that and weigh the cost. Is this a life of privilege and opportunity — or obligation, pressure and insatiable demands. My compulsions of achievement, exercise and multitasking shouldn’t dictate his. In this grand fraternity of ours, I’d like to stop the hazing.
Let’s refuse to socialize our children into the same habits and roles we find so hectic, fragmented and unsatisfying. It would not be unpatriotic, or an act of betrayal, to inculcate the very balance that we lack and to teach our children the art of just being in the world, with satisfaction, grace, and joy.
Major Dave Linkh has a Ph.D in Social Work and works as the Chief, Family Advocacy Policy and Research, United States Air Force, Office of the Surgeon General. He and his wife live in Alexandria, Virginia with their son David, six, and daughter, Danielle, 27 months. You may reach him at themotherhood@comcast.net for comment.
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