Cedar, our conversations are a bit raucous with seductive prostitutes washing their feet outside in the warm sun, and at the same time, somewhat prim with talk of proper etiquette and gloved debutante hands.
Yes, I would say a bit of a dichotomy has been posed. Yes, sweat and gooey chocolate, and yes, even Leafy's cut tresses, cascading down...all seductive (and "freeing" in Warrior Leafy's case). Juxtaposed to staring straight ahead without looking down while descending a steep spiraled staircase with our back held straight, keeping our legs together, and extending out our gloved hand graciously to our escort.
I went to a Bridal Shower once in Vegas. We wore short white innocent veils and used raunchy penis straws. Now, there is a combo! Do you think the men were confused by the mixed message?
Then we have the Norman Rockwell idealized cozy All-American scene depicted my our fellow brave warrior, Cedar.
I want to live with you. Yes, I will clean my room and be good. Oh, my! Warm apple home-made pie. Who, among us, would not want a house that smells of cinnamon, warm apples, and a homey fire? When may I move in???
I attribute your homespun cozy hearth and home to....getting to bed at a decent hour! Yes, we fellow warriors who stay up late and speak of wild and bizarre happenings, is all due to lack of sleep and staying up too late.
I have greatly enjoyed talking about bordellos, fancy desserts, and tunics...anything to take my mind off of my fears. The later it gets, the more busy, and to quote a teacher term here...'off toplic' I get, the better!
Just joking. Even with a lot of sleep, I, sadly do not cook a lot these days. I used to...but, not anymore.
Cedar, you asked if I felt special going to etiquette and dance lessons. Yes and no. Yes, in that I was at the age where I was changing into a woman. I went each week to my dance lessons in cotillon. Then, once a month a HUGE fancy ball was held. My mother used to help me sew a beautiful dress of chiffon with, very alluring in a demure way, I thought, see-through sleeves! I wore a fake white ermine stole around my shoulders.
In the 8th grade, the boys were too young to drive. They would come to the door to escort me to the dance and their fathers drove. All very elegant and formal. Our chaperones seemed about 70...at the time. We would walk down the line of chaparones, and shake their hands....or did the girls curtsy?
Anyway, even as a young teen I thought that there must be a very valid reason why the girls had to wear white gloves. I thought that it was exceedingly inappropriate to have a young man dance with you and actually have your bare skin, yes bare skin, touch his.
Let's take a very quick flashback to Cedar's bordello scene of bathing proudly outside....naked...
Dichotomy.
I feel that our culture, not only just our parents, have negatively affected how we view ourselves.
I had to extend my gloved hand out to my escort so that he could gently, kindly lift me up.... What is/was going on?...
We are taught to not win in games...let the man win. Let the man walk on the outside of the sidewalk. Let the man open doors. But, the flip-side. Don't have him change a diaper, keep the house clean, wait until he calls you... Hmm.
I am not saying that it is bad, but it also works horribly against us. I was told once, by a minister, that there can only be one captain to a ship. My mother told me to keep the kids quiet, serve my husband dinner in a separate room, put on a 'fresh face'...I love that archaic colloquialism. ..after I told her my first husband had a violent temper. I was a Stepford Wife. I apologized if the whole lawn was not a perfect hunter green, I made brownies and we ran out of milk, or that...horrors of all horrors..he found a small hole in his pocket.
Yes, this was my husband. But, a child can see these cultural mores and use it against us. If there is something wrong with a child, whose fault is it? Usually, the mother takes on the guilt. Bad grades...mother. speech impediment....mother. Drug use...mother. Mental illness....you guessed it. More women talk about feeling guilty. Men that I have known, a very poor pool indeed, do not feel guilt. Or at least, never talk about feeling guilty.
We mothers do not love enough, or love too much, do not help enough, help too much...you have the picture.
I am not trying to bash men. I need to qualify my statements. If a man is on this site, they are not included in this group of men that do not feel responsible. You are here, so you do feel responsibility. This has been my experience. I am aware that some husbands take a more equal role, but not all. Again, if you are concerned about your child as a father, you were raised well.
With more women working full-time, it is very, very slowly changing. My 2 exhusbands were raised in cultures with stereotypical gender roles; first husband, Japanese, second husband, Cuban.
If our children grow up seeing these set roles, it empowers them to treat their mother the same way. Yes, when violence is viewed it is passed down through the generations.
But, fellow warriors, I speak of the understanding that if their life, or meals, or clothes, or homework, or...you name is not right, they not only seek us, their mothers for help, but EXPECT us to fix it! It is often on us, ladies.
It is not always that culture has given this guilt, but culture has taught us to take and own this guilt ourselves.
Yes, some of us do not have this dynamic, true. But some of us, sadly, do.
See what talks of bordellos and cotillon bring on???
I felt cherished because my mother bought special fabric and we sewed together my gown. I could use stockings with garter belts, shave my legs, and wear perfume and scented lotion. Yes, I got asked to dance....probably the dichotomy set up with the prim white gloves and the luxurious 'fake' ermine stole. Or, much more likely, their mothers made them!
But, down deep, I was already feeling juxtaposed with a Dr. Jekyl/ Mr. Hyde feelings. My exterior was calm, collected, yet just inside I was screamimg, "Can't you see what is going on??? My sister wants to kill me...!" as I danced my Fox Trot holding my dance partner's hands with demure white-gloved hands.
Yes, life is full of dichotomies. Our child's past...present, their good behavior...bad behavior, our hopes we had for their futures...what we needed to slowly accept as their, more likely, futures.
Yes, brave warriors, two sides always at odds with each other... March on!
