Growing up as a little girl I played with Barbie and little dolls. I almost never had action figures with the exception of ones from Aladdin or mermaids that I would play with when I took a bath. Now this was not because my mother had anything against action figures, I just wasn't interested in playing with G.I. Joe. There have always been very few female action heroes or action figures. As a child(and as an adult) I loved Xena so I was certainly open to the idea of strong women, I just didn't have the option toy wise, although I certainly had all of the little kitchen stuff and all that bullshit that was supposed to help train me to be a good little housewife. I am only enraged at toy companies and the propaganda they shove down the throats of American parents and their children, a wee bit.
Anyway, I was delighted to find that a line of toys seem to be coming out of female action heroes that have a positive message about females for both girls and boys. Girls are not the only ones who need to know that women and girls are capable of saving the day just as their male counterparts can. Having toys that allow both girls and boys to see female characters in a nonsexual, powerful role exposes them to a broader sphere of thinking, allowing women and girls to occupy roles that in the past (and in some cases presently) have been taboo.
Do I think that this new toy line of female action figures is going to save us all from ourselves? No. Do I think it is the step in the right direction? Yes. Do I think this is a genius way of making money? Yes. But all toys are designed to make money so I really don't care about that. I would rather toys that broaden a child's horizons than ones that reinforce gender norms and antiquated ideas that only serve to stunt a child's imagination. The more options we give children with play the easier it will be for them to develop into who they are. With that however, it is important not to completely throw things that are considered "girly" under the bus because that reinforces the message that the feminine and things associated with the feminine aren't as good as more masculine traits/toys. Little girls can certainly play with dolls (although Bratz dolls should all be burned. There is no redeeming those things) as well as action figures, trucks or whatever else they want. And the same goes for little boys. I hate the color coding and separate isles in toy stores. THEY ARE TOYS! They shouldn't be gendered. And the gendering of toys is the clearest case of money grubbing capitalism I have seen in a while. For an example, if you have a brother and sister this could easily happen "I can't have pink bat! I need a boy bat!" No. There is no such thing as boy and girl bats. This is as stupid as those pens for women that were purple but parents buy into the pink baseball bats because they're "cute". Sexism isn't cute. Gendering toys and other items is moronic. Besides if you want a baseball bat you should buy a Hannon Bat. Everyone knows that. *Yes, I just plugged my cousin's baseball business.*
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
History in my State
Today my home state PA became the 19th state to strike down the ban against marriage equality. I am so excited for my friends and family who can now marry the people they love in their home state. It is a shame that it has taken until 2014 for this to happen. The gross injustice that still goes on in this country that infringes on basic human rights is something I have never understood. Love between two consenting adults is no one else's business. And I for one have sat through enough straight weddings where I knew that the two people saying "I Do" were going to be getting divorced for whatever reason. If people who obviously are headed for divorced can get married because their genitalia happens to be an innie and an outtie then why can't two outties or two innies enjoy the same freedom if they love each other? Marriage is a legal binding contract with the state not just a religious ceremony. They are different. And quite a few religions allow for marriages that do not fit the narrow Judeo-Christian definition. And Christians are not being forced to allow gay marriage in their churches that is a battle I don't particularly care to engage in. Today is a day of celebration for human rights.
Sleep well tonight PA. You did right kid.
Sleep well tonight PA. You did right kid.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Passing
My skin is so white, it's amazing I don't glow in the dark. Looking at me there is no surprise that I have am of Irish, German and English descent. My skin has afforded me a certain amount of privilege, privilege that my father enjoyed but that mother was never allotted. Looking at my mother, you can tell that she isn't quite white and she is very proud of this fact. My mother's face betrays her Native American heritage. So much so that when she was growing up in the 1960's the kids in her school called her "breed". My mother has always embraced her Native culture and I was raised to do the same. Unfortunately, I went to an elementary school that wasn't just predominately white, it was completely white.
I was in the third grade and very excited because my Mom let me wear one of her Native American chokers that she had bought at an event earlier that year. I felt very special because this necklace was particularly intricate. I proudly wore the necklace because it was so beautiful and because it showed I had earned a degree of trust from my Mom. Or perhaps I had just hounded her enough that she was decided to give in. I was set up to have a great day, until my one classmate, Jamie, pointed out my necklace in a less than positive way. When asked I simply said "It's my Mom's Native American necklace. She let me wear it." and then he asked "Why would you wear that necklace if you're not an Indian?" I explained that I was, in fact, "Indian". My classmate then continued to taunt me based on this saying "I'm Irish and I don't have a giant shamrock on my chest." If I had been as outspoken as a child as I am as an adult I would have fired back at him "Yeah except for St. Patrick's Day and the Fighting Irish jacket and hat combo you have!". Instead I just told him that I was Irish too, which by both my last name and my fair skin is obvious. It occurred to me that the problem wasn't that I had pride in my heritage. It was the pride I placed in the wrong skin color.
After that day, unless I had a class assignment, I did not tell classmates and sometimes friends about my heritage. People have asked me if I was adopted all the way up through high school because I do not share the same Native features as my mother. My mother accused me throughout school and well into college of turning my back on my heritage. It added salt to the wound that I embraced my Irish heritage from my father's side because my parents divorced when I was two years old. She thought my shame had more to do with her than with the kids at school shaming me out of identifying. It wasn't until I was in graduate school taking a class on Feminist Theory that I learned of the term "passing". My one classmate, who later became my roommate, was the one who identified my experience as just that. I have spent my life passing as white and enjoying the privileges that go along with that. And please understand, you're an asshole if you're white and living in America and you don't think you're enjoying white privilege because no matter how disadvantage you might be, you are still treated better than people who have more pigment to their skin. Racial slurs have never been thrown at you in a way that bring you back to a point of oppression. My classmate spent her life passing as well. Her parents are both immigrants but from different parts of the globe. She went to a rich all white school and she preferred to have her Mother seen, because she was paler, and her Father to be heard, because he spoke English more clearly.
We both had spent most of our lives playing what other people wanted us to be because it was easier. The Japanese have a saying "The nail that sticks out gets the hammer" and it applies in the States. I have spent much of my life denying that part of who I am and now it feels weird and pretentious to try and claim any sort of affiliation. I certainly have not been negatively affected by the stereotypes that plagued both my Mother and Native Americans. What I can do is simply embrace who and what I am. I think it is time that I put that necklace back on.
I was in the third grade and very excited because my Mom let me wear one of her Native American chokers that she had bought at an event earlier that year. I felt very special because this necklace was particularly intricate. I proudly wore the necklace because it was so beautiful and because it showed I had earned a degree of trust from my Mom. Or perhaps I had just hounded her enough that she was decided to give in. I was set up to have a great day, until my one classmate, Jamie, pointed out my necklace in a less than positive way. When asked I simply said "It's my Mom's Native American necklace. She let me wear it." and then he asked "Why would you wear that necklace if you're not an Indian?" I explained that I was, in fact, "Indian". My classmate then continued to taunt me based on this saying "I'm Irish and I don't have a giant shamrock on my chest." If I had been as outspoken as a child as I am as an adult I would have fired back at him "Yeah except for St. Patrick's Day and the Fighting Irish jacket and hat combo you have!". Instead I just told him that I was Irish too, which by both my last name and my fair skin is obvious. It occurred to me that the problem wasn't that I had pride in my heritage. It was the pride I placed in the wrong skin color.
After that day, unless I had a class assignment, I did not tell classmates and sometimes friends about my heritage. People have asked me if I was adopted all the way up through high school because I do not share the same Native features as my mother. My mother accused me throughout school and well into college of turning my back on my heritage. It added salt to the wound that I embraced my Irish heritage from my father's side because my parents divorced when I was two years old. She thought my shame had more to do with her than with the kids at school shaming me out of identifying. It wasn't until I was in graduate school taking a class on Feminist Theory that I learned of the term "passing". My one classmate, who later became my roommate, was the one who identified my experience as just that. I have spent my life passing as white and enjoying the privileges that go along with that. And please understand, you're an asshole if you're white and living in America and you don't think you're enjoying white privilege because no matter how disadvantage you might be, you are still treated better than people who have more pigment to their skin. Racial slurs have never been thrown at you in a way that bring you back to a point of oppression. My classmate spent her life passing as well. Her parents are both immigrants but from different parts of the globe. She went to a rich all white school and she preferred to have her Mother seen, because she was paler, and her Father to be heard, because he spoke English more clearly.
We both had spent most of our lives playing what other people wanted us to be because it was easier. The Japanese have a saying "The nail that sticks out gets the hammer" and it applies in the States. I have spent much of my life denying that part of who I am and now it feels weird and pretentious to try and claim any sort of affiliation. I certainly have not been negatively affected by the stereotypes that plagued both my Mother and Native Americans. What I can do is simply embrace who and what I am. I think it is time that I put that necklace back on.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
OMG SHOES!
59 Pairs of shoes
16 pairs of heels- 10 of them 4+ inch heels- and if you can't walk or stand in them you don't wear them
2 pairs of wedges- which I never wear because I hate wedges
4 pairs of flats
4 pairs of sandles
5 pairs of boots (one set of steel toed hiking boots which I never wear when I hike)
3 pairs of slippers none of which I bought. Everyone just thinks I need them for my freezing feet that I like to slide onto unsuspecting family members and friends in the dead of winter.
And lastly a pair of water shoes that are strictly for showering at the gym.
Let me be clear. I love my shoes. Feet are not my thing. I like mine enough because they get me where I need to go but I don't have a fetish for anything foot related. About a year ago my roommates at the time started telling that I had a shoe "problem" when my beauties started spilling out from my room into the living room. Their constant taunting of my shoe hoarding forced my confession. Something I had never told anyone before, the origin of my shoe love.
When asked about my shoes I usually just say "I got it from my mama!" to the beat of that song and laugh. The truth is far less lighthearted. When I was 9 I was at school and I remember I was kicking a ball and my tennis shoe just fell apart at the toe, peeling open like an oyster to reveal my soaked toes. I didn't think much of it figuring my mom would fix it later. The school taped up my shoe and I went about my day. When I got home however, my mother told me that she didn't have the money to buy me new shoes. I was horrified. I placed my hands on what would eventually become my hips and yelled back "but I NEED shoes!". I can't imagine how much that night hurt my mother. But the next morning she used the masking tape from the junk drawer and taped up my shoes and sent me to school.
Friday soon came and my mom took me shoe shopping, not just for one pair but for five. That's when my mom told me she used to always buy shoes whenever she was sad and that her shoe purchases would make her feel better. I think that day she was trying to buy away both of our sadness. So today when I sit huddled closely to my 118 shoes, it's because I've had a lot of sadness to buy away and because I promised that 9 year old girl that she would never feel the sting of shoeless poverty again.
16 pairs of heels- 10 of them 4+ inch heels- and if you can't walk or stand in them you don't wear them
2 pairs of wedges- which I never wear because I hate wedges
4 pairs of flats
4 pairs of sandles
5 pairs of boots (one set of steel toed hiking boots which I never wear when I hike)
3 pairs of slippers none of which I bought. Everyone just thinks I need them for my freezing feet that I like to slide onto unsuspecting family members and friends in the dead of winter.
And lastly a pair of water shoes that are strictly for showering at the gym.
Let me be clear. I love my shoes. Feet are not my thing. I like mine enough because they get me where I need to go but I don't have a fetish for anything foot related. About a year ago my roommates at the time started telling that I had a shoe "problem" when my beauties started spilling out from my room into the living room. Their constant taunting of my shoe hoarding forced my confession. Something I had never told anyone before, the origin of my shoe love.
When asked about my shoes I usually just say "I got it from my mama!" to the beat of that song and laugh. The truth is far less lighthearted. When I was 9 I was at school and I remember I was kicking a ball and my tennis shoe just fell apart at the toe, peeling open like an oyster to reveal my soaked toes. I didn't think much of it figuring my mom would fix it later. The school taped up my shoe and I went about my day. When I got home however, my mother told me that she didn't have the money to buy me new shoes. I was horrified. I placed my hands on what would eventually become my hips and yelled back "but I NEED shoes!". I can't imagine how much that night hurt my mother. But the next morning she used the masking tape from the junk drawer and taped up my shoes and sent me to school.
Friday soon came and my mom took me shoe shopping, not just for one pair but for five. That's when my mom told me she used to always buy shoes whenever she was sad and that her shoe purchases would make her feel better. I think that day she was trying to buy away both of our sadness. So today when I sit huddled closely to my 118 shoes, it's because I've had a lot of sadness to buy away and because I promised that 9 year old girl that she would never feel the sting of shoeless poverty again.
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