The Ever Changing Feminist in Me : Chapter one

 My childhood induction into the socialization of racism, prejudice,   sexism and gender inequality.  Chapter One. 

     When I began my journey in believing in equal rights I was 17 years old. A woman who had moved to town opened my eyes to the prejudices beliefs and bigotry that we practiced.  At the time our community was completely white except for one male who was black, one grandmother who was black, and the migrant workers who came to town and lived in little cement houses outside of town.

    

 “Mexicans” were something to be feared as they were dirty, and dangerous. (This attitude was directed at the migrant workers that came to our town.” We knew little if anything about African Americans. Interracial socialization was a huge NONO. What I heard was “Birds of a feather flock together.” And you certainly never see chickens breed with turkeys.” So never marry outside you r white European culture. Interracial marriage was really bad. And if for no other reason than “what about the poor children they had,.” those children would be picked on and ostracized their entire lives. Although I remember at age sixteen meeting a very handsome Spanish man and going out a date or two with him. I learned that he was no different then I , and his family was genteel and very nice. My father said “I do not want my grandchildren playing cowboys and Indians with real Indians.” And yet he claimed his grandmother was Native American and he was proud of it.”  

     Our prejudice’s s did not just extend to racial differences. It also concerned religion, sexuality, gender, and financial status. 

      Methodist did not inter-marry Catholics; Catholics worshiped statutes and prayed to those icons. So they were not following the bible and would go to hell.  .

      Homosexuality was a disgrace and certainly they were “pedophiles “that would hunt and injure your children.  Lesbians were just women that could not get a man, or was women who hated men.  They should be taught a lesson if a good man would just “Bed” them they would not be that way

Women’s status was that of housewife and mother. If a woman worked it was because she could not get a decent man. If a woman worked, and her husband stated home, well then either he was an alcoholic who could not work, or was lazy. “A woman could run faster with her dress up than a man with his pants down” This social belief indicated that most rapes were just women who got caught having sex with someone and screamed rape. The term Old Maid was common describing a woman who never married. It was never believed that she did not marry because she chose not to or she must be a lesbian.  

     As I set here today, looking back over the historical inequality issues, I find it unbelievable that people practiced this without thought to the injury they were causing other humans. Their white privileged status was openly practiced. “If you want to be a citizen you damn well better speak English.Att times we as young people received mixed messages of our ingrained socialization of inequality and beliefs.

     These beliefs and values sometimes conflicted with life. I remember mom crying when Martin Luther King was shot. And I remember dad saying that “those people had a right to vote.” That the violence against them was wrong, that they should be treated as human beings. My father a staunch republican voted for JFK. He said he was the first democrat that actually made sense.  But then dad said in the bible “those people were Hams children and were cursed by god.” My parents taught me violence against any human being was wrong. That Christ taught us peace and good will towards all men. That Hitler had been evil. But the Jewish people were still on our list of " Not white others"

 

A Womans Silence turned into a Scream

                                                                                          A Woman's Silence                                              

       I have stared at this blank page, wondering how to begin, and if I began to write and open up that door, would the words ever have an end. A strong women in my life told me once, that if “every woman; who was abused, would allow just one tear to fall.  The whole world would flood. Maybe then justice would be done”. 

 I claimed the silence as my bitter friend. Silence kept me safe .It allowed me to continue being a part of the family. Silence allowed my mother to live in peace, not torn apart because her children were at war. My silence allowed her not to make the choice of what child she loved more. Who would she believe if she were to hear  about the years of sexual terrorism I would have to tell to stop the silence. Would she believe the  daughter,  who was diagnosed with a mental illness, or a son  who she had spent her life protected because he was not like the other boys.  do I even have a right to destroy the family "good name" 

 

 Eventually the silence turned to a scream, it happened on the  day my daughter,  was turning four. I looked at her, and the clarity and reality of the abuse hit me like a runaway freight train. It opened up the scars and i began to bleed like the day they stole my virginity. I was at an age I did not know my ABC’s and had not been taught life’s stark realities.

  Mom had bought me a new green dress, and pretty white tights, My brother Jug had left for college, and Red had became the oldest one in a world where there was just one girl. A world full of older boys  that controlled the outside world where mama could not see.   Jug was not there to hold my hand, and help me pick the flowers, keeping me safe from the all the boys who tormented me.   But you see my daughter turned four, and she looked like me I could no longer control my screams. Her laughter was so innocent, her hugs and kisses did not reflect what I had been brought up to believe. That my behavior provoked the boys and men , that I was responsible for the raw naked sexualization of me when I  was four. . I knew then that I had not been the reason the older boys  took away my innocent smile.  My shame had been replaced that day, with sheer and utter rage some  21 years after the day my green dress was wrecked, I spoke. I opened my mouth, and the tears, and rage, and awful pain, spilled like a broken water main. And Brother Jug heard the words, and tears run down his face. Then he said I am sorry for ever going away. For leaving you in a world I had to escape. His wife went to the store, and she brought home a cake, and on it she wrote, Happy Birthday. And we celebrated my 5^th birthday, only he put a number 1 on my cake. I still cherish the picture taken that day, as I see my brother’s eyes and all his pain. And he began to tell the truth, of how my brother Red always took the blame for the childish things the had done. That dad would beat him with the belt on any given day.  He told the stories I had not heard, the memories and the shame. He told of how I never walked until I was two, because he carried me.

 I told my mom, I told my dad, I told my brothers every one of them. Dobber he just walked away, I see him now again, and Oley, he began to tell and admitted it was true. Butch, he just held me, and said it would be okay, G--g he told his wife of feeling so ashamed. My Mom she cried, and walked into her room, and father he sat there unsure of what to do. Red he lied  and said he never touched me and that it was me and the other boys that started the sexual games. He never told of the playboys and husslers he gave the boys to read. He never told how we ran naked as he watched the boys tormenting me. . He was the oldest then, he never told what they and he did to me.  A few months back he almost died, from years of the hell he lived in. I called him on the phone that day, and for hours we talked of all the pain, and the apology was slow in coming, and I apologized too. I told him I was sorry too, and Brother Red, I forgive you. 

 The story of my silence finally stopped taking away my breath.  Sadly it would take many years from that day in 1985, before I sobered up. 14 attempts at suicide, 3 destructive marriages, I have lost count of the diagnoses, Doctors and Psychiatrists piled on me, or how many times they locked the psyche ward door, before I had enough.  It wasn’t until I chose to live, that life began again.

The Social costruction of Gender; Purple please

The Social Construction of Gender caused me to feel lost and in between two worlds and I could not live fully in either place and be safe.   The binary system of gender the patriarchal institutions created to maintain control demanded I be a female, submissive, quiet, a lady. I was suppose to want  to be A home coming queen, a mother, a lady, a housewife, a heterosexual being. The world taught me this first by dressing me in pink, with tights and a bow in my curly long hair and kept me there by utilizing everything from parental control to terrorism.   

In my world I lived in a place where being a male meant survival, meant independency, meant being free of sexual abuse and terrorism. In the world that surrounded me, being male meant being free. This forced me into spaces where both sexes discounted and discredited me. I was different, to masculine to be accepted by other girls and women, to female to be accepted by men. Being strong, fast, and aggressive and utilizing my intelligences, really meant survival for me. Being to feminine was dangerous.   I had to live in a different type of border lands than that described by Sandoval but in the essences of her world is there was a commonality. . In those spaces, in my negotiating from one world to another allowed me to find others like me in some ways, some commonalities brought us together. People like Naomi Bucan and Kris Lowe and the professors at MSU.  I also found women far more feminine then me, by definition but the abuse of men brought us together in places like Take Back the Night, or at the women shelter I lived.  I learned to live in the spaces and find people I could come together with in differential consciousness, to fight the oppression piled upon me.   

Momma gave me a dolly and daddy gave the boys the guns and the bow and arrows, so I stole them when no one was looking and in the spaces I created a female archer who could shot the squirrel in the tree. I created a space which meant I was not female not in the terms society wanted out of me. I learned to shot guns and became as good if not better then some of my own brothers,  My need for social acceptance and need for safety remained opposite of each other. Girls disliked me boys ran from me when I wanted to play. Few if any girls accepted me in my early years. I was too rough to mean, I beat up the boys that they pretended were the princes on the white horse.  

·         The space I settled in included things like deer hunting, fixing cars, and become strong and too masculine according to my mom. But this redefining of me allowed me to be safe. Yet still I wanted what the pink would bring, I wanted a boyfriend, I wanted some boys to notice me so I began to start wearing blue jeans and pink t-shirts, long hair in pigtails but no make up. I learned to pretend to be a girl, and practiced at being a boy.

·         Daddy taught me how to climb a tree, because I was his tomboy, mommy wanted me to make the cookies. Dad took me along the construction sights, and had I run the line to level the block and carry the nails. Later I would set the block and lay the grout in. Coming home in blue jeans and work boots.  . Mom only gave me one doll and I became a brownie, but never made it into the green uniform of a girl scout I was not a little lady.

·         I meet Naomi, who liked me wore the jeans and worked on the farm caring for horses and breaking them to ride. Naomi was not accepted by the other girls because of her poverty and she was sent to the Special Ed classes due to a learning disability. We would spend our days fixing fences and riding horse when we had leisure time. I replaced the girls who would not allow me in their world by spending my time writing poetry and pros about the sadness, and the pain. I excelled in creative things. I also found my space with boys who respected me for being a little rough.  Usually the males were far older then I that wanted to date me. Naomi and I talked about talked going to prom, getting married and having babies and what we would name them. I think we understood in our world there was little room for us if we did not accept the female identity.  

By the age of 15 I worked as hard and did the same work as my brothers on the farm I also swung a hammer, carried sheets of ply wood and two by fours without the assistance of a man.  No one ever offered to help the girl. Physically I was as muscular as most men, few if any boys ever challenged me after I became a teenager. I also had the figure of a woman by the time the 5^th grade began, standing 5 feet 8 with 34-22-36 measurements, the kids starting calling me swivel hips and the older men began to make passes at me thinking I was older.   Driving a pick up, according to mom I sure was no lady.  Hoping someday I would grow up and want to stay in the house and cook and clean. Yet every once in awhile I saw her smile when I went out the door to change a tire, or fix my car when it had an oil leak.  Maybe underneath she kind of liked my independence but she never said a word to me. Instead she went to work turning me into a lady.

·         I lived in the spaces In high school I was sent to Home Economics and the boys were sent to Shop class, Mom signed me up to run for homecoming queen and I was sent to a lady who sold makeup and she  taught how to apply it not to much just enough to make me cute. Dad laughed a lot and told my mom I would never be a lady, I was too independent and too intelligent to settle for anything like that.  Mom went on a shopping spree and bought me a baby blue dress, nylons and high heeled shoes and for the first time I went to have my hair cut and styled in a more feminine fashion.   I wanted to hate the transformation but underneath maybe I knew I would never be good enough at being a lady to fit into her world. The fact that the girls in my class would never let me in them disliked me anyway.  So that day I sat across the street as the other girls practiced waves and smiles and I just smoked a cigarette to see what the judges would do.  Mom was mad because I lost and the neighbor girl became the queen, besides the fact I had embarrassed her so I was grounded to my room.  I thought I won the battle and had fought hard enough mom would leave me alone , just like the boys had done when I got strong enough to kick the crap out of them. Yet the underneath of me really wanted to learn to be a lady

·           But in the end on graduation day, Dad turned on me too, and took away my masculinity he  had signed me up for secretarial classes at the local vocational school cause after all; I would marry and have children so employment was only secondary to me becoming a lady. David my brother had gone on to college, he works at IBM in the development department.  Drove nice cars, married and had 3 children. I was supposed to learn how to type and answer phones until I married, then my husband would support me.

·         The space I settled in was working at the State hospital with the handicap, and quitting vocational school within three weeks.  I excelled and became a supervisor within 3 years but had married and became a mother by the time I was 19. My income was secondary, my home and family came first you see. I worked at work and worked at home. I had learned to negotiate being female, cooking and cleaning, raising babies and talked to other mothers who did the same. I would wear a dress now and then and dressed my daughter in pink. Giving her dolls and girly things. Fearlessly protecting her from boys. Wanting her to fit into the places in femininity I never could.

·         My husband left me after 6 months of marriage and I became a divorcee, pregnant with a second child a slut according to the men who came to my door, thinking I was lonely and no longer a lady. According to society I was suppose to be a lady and stay married.  The divorcee label instantly gave me another place intersected with the dichotomy of gender.  

·          I found a space with Kris a woman who did not care what others said about her.  She fixed her house; she drove heavy equipment on a road construction crew, she was divorced, and repaired her home and other women’s homes that lived alone. She took me to bars without a man, the beer not poured in the glass but drank straight from the bottle. Being a female and sexuality was talked about freely and I could ask her anything. It was the first time I heard the words “lesbian and it not be something bad. And the sexual double standard did not have a name yet we talked about how men we knew would sleep with whomever he chose and still be considered a man, proud of his accomplishments. We talked about how women had to hide behind her hand if she talked about being sexual and having more then one partner. How we became a slut and bad and they became a better man.   

·          According to those in my small agricultural community I was supposed to wait patiently for husband to walk in the door and hand him that martini. I was not suppose to walk into a bar ( unless my husband brought me ) or, a mechanics shop,  (unless a man sent me) The hardware store to buy a hammer, nails or 2 by 4s ( unless I was carrying  a list a man had written for me)) I wasn’t suppose to understand what a male and female coupling was ( not sex , but for my household plumbing job)  I was  suppose to laugh at the jokes the salesman told to me about how the male slips into the female piece and would I like to go for a drink on his dinner break. Then be called a bitch when I did not laugh with him.  

·         I found a space married to a man who enjoyed my ability to milk the cows , fix the fence, clean the house, cook the meals, go to the hardware store without a list, fix the tractor as well as the car. I found a place but I was still living with “Susie learn to be a lady” By Twenty two I knew how to negotiate the spaces in between. Changing cloths from dresses to jeans, changing language from soft and gentle to strong and loud. Changing from submissive to domineering (but only in certain places) I still belonged to places only men allowed me to be.

My second husband left me when alcoholism over took him. Alone with 4 little children I married a man who believed in traditional values. He wanted his wife to be a lady so around the age of 27 I decided to become a lady and left behind the masculine part of me. I took the kids to school and cleaned out the toilet stool.  I took the kids to church and taught Sunday school. I worked at the hospital and came home and took care of my mother-in-law who was coming to the end of her life. I embroidered, and sewed. I never swore and I never fixed a pick up again.  I gave him my paycheck and he gave me black and blue bruises.  Everything I did was trying to fit in. It lasted for a little while but masculinity kicked in. I left him in the middle of the night and began to search for reasons I was never good enough. After three husbands I began to believe I would never be good enough. . Dr’s called me mentally ill and filled me full of pills, I found solace in alcohol and wild mean in the bars. I lived in places no one should ever be.  12 years later, I tossed the pills down the toilet along with the booze and fears of never fitting in.

·          I found a space in college classes, wanting something more maybe wanting to name the place I had lived that kept me so unhappy. .  I found other women who had similar experiences or different ones, but each of us in some ways paid a price  all caused from the world of Blue and Pink.  . . Gender, oppression, double bind, became words I spoke easily when I talked about my life. And in the space I finally found and came to understand the spaces and the intersections were all a part of me and the locations that I lived. Created by the isms that patriarchal meant. In those intersections I meet oppression and privilege in many different ways. Some of them that held the whiteness of my skin, my femaleness, my financial status and many different things. But always there was the violence of oppression even in the privileges someone gave to me. And many privileges I would never have because of the social binary system of gender that meant that someone was on the top.   I lived in the spaces because I did not fit into the created female- ness I was supposed to be. I began to hear, and speak a language that so long was hidden from me.  I began to dream.

·         The space I would love to be is not outside the blues and pinks where I have to live right now, but the entire world made purple Combining of the two that happens in the spaces between the pinks and blues. I wonder, if this world was not described in binary system of gender, would I have found a space that did not require me to negotiate the intersections so carefully just to survive. All those spaces including those which held oppression and gave me privileges in the same breath like white women, heterosexual, and middle class. If the entire world were purple, would I instead be free to live inside the circle, instead of spaces in-between negotiating between the two worlds so opposite of each other.  Would then there be a place of freedoms that did not live inequality.  If the binary system of gender was not divided into good/bad, strong/weak, independent/dependent, authority/submissive. Would I have had to fight back just to survive? If Pink and Blue did not represent what I was to be, would I have been able to live in my purples without hiding the blue from her so she would accept me as a friend and the pink from him to stop him hurting me and would the purples that I seek allow for  the fathers from oppressing me.      

Sandoval said it best In the Article Mestizaje as Method  when she stated that  “And in this place new forms  of identity, theory, practice, and community have become imaginable.” (359)