Dear Mr. President,
Lately I've had a number of conversations with friends about the kind of people we want in our lives, and the kind of people we want to be ourselves. It comforts me to know that other people also struggle with their own conceptions of themselves and their desire to see the good even in the deeply flawed. Over the last three days I've spent time with my mother and with friends long-standing and brand-new. I've been reminded of the things I've always loved about them, or come to realize their magnificent qualities, in the smallest ways. Waiting semi-patiently in a tiny lobby for a table at a restaurant I've wanted to try forever with my mother. Group high-fiving with friends as we enjoyed an especially successful kitchen adventure. Sharing meals, or cupcakes or a few pitchers of beer. I've been remembering these encounters in a series of moments that don't mean anything but just make me feel happy. Happier than I've been in a while. Happier than maybe I believed I could be while so many other things are so uncertain.
This sense of connection with the people in my life calms my usual anxiety about what I'm doing with my life and if I'm doing it fast enough. Goals are important, (and I have them,) but pausing to enjoy the company of the many, many amazing people around me is also important. Maybe even more so. My inclination to feel like I'm alone or, at least, unforgivably messed up and strange, is beaten back by the affection of these incredible friends and family who seem to like me well enough anyway.
With this sense of elation comes an intense desire to see the best in others. Even President Bush just seems to have some severe Mommy issues. Those idiots who post angry comments on the White House facebook page (please, for the sake of your own sanity, never read those,) are just lonely and desperate and frightened. All of my peers who decided not to vote (even the ones in Washington State who only have to mail an envelope) were.... Ok, that did it, I'm back to my cynical mistrust for all of humanity. (Thanks, young voters.) Some things are actually just inexcusable.
But as my friend today so wisely put it, life is weird. We try to do the best we can, to make the right choices and to find the best in people and to appreciate those we love. The strange and the complicated and the rare moments of contentment just make it all worth it. And while talking heads might try to claim your trip to Indonesia and India as an unforgivable indulgence of a desire to see Diwali celebrations, I would be so much happier if I could believe you were actually relaxing and having fun. Mommy issues or no, President Bush spent most of his time on vacation. I think you've earned a few weeks of physical distance from the frustration of domestic politics. Whenever I'm happy and content and particularly pleased with the people in my life, the one thing I want most is for every one else to feel the same way. That's something that not even the apathetic, fair-weather-activist, youth voters can ruin, either.
Life is weird. Isn't it great?
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Showing posts with label mothers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mothers. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Day 187- Man hands
Dear Mr. President,
In high school, they called me man hands. It sounds cruel, but it was sort of an endearment. I do have big hands. The people who love me best still call me this, occasionally, and I love them for it. But it started earlier than that. It started when I was 4 years old and saw The Neverending Story. I promptly convinced my mother to cut off my long golden curls so that I could look like Atreyu. When my older sister told me Atreyu was a boy, I was pretty skeptical; I identified with the character enough to believe that he must be female, like me. After that, it was being the only girl on the soccer field at recess, or picked first for kickball because, as a 5th grader, my 5'+ frame and size 9 shoes made me awkward and strange, but damn good at kicking a ball. These days, I work in a physical, occasionally dangerous and adrenaline-filled job. While my supervisor is female, she acknowledged to me that I'm the first woman to apply in a long time. So, I suppose, she and I work what some would call a man's job. I don't want to be a mother and I don't want to be some one's wife, but I like romantic movies and make-up and Jane Austen novels as much as the next girl. What does this make me?
Abnormally masculine, according to Pediatric endocrinologist Maria New, of Mount Sinai School of Medicine and Florida International University. That my aspirations for a life outside of motherhood, marriage and so-called feminine traditions are traits some (ironically, female) doctors would attempt to prevent in utero is kind of horrifying. Considering my upbringing, watching my parents come home from the same work, with the same weapons and tools, knowing that my mother worked just as hard as my father, had more education, made more money than him, outranked him and still had to come home and be responsible for the domestic chores while he relaxed in front of the TV, maybe my abnormality isn't genetic so much as experience? Of course, my father and stepmother tried hard to break me out of my tomboyish tendencies, forbidding certain masculine clothing, encouraging and even emphasizing the importance of cosmetic beauty. But I never outgrew it. I'm not dainty or delicate. I don't aspire to be. I can't change this, any more than I could change the size of my hands. Even my handwriting (as the unfortunate readers of your mail must surely be aware) is undeniably masculine.
If my parents had been given the choice, if they had been offered a pill to take with prenatal vitamins that ensured them a "normal" daughter, would they have taken it? How does a parent justify making decisions about a person's disposition, their preferences and temperament, the things that make up their personality, all without their consent? I think that science is pretty awesome, that genetics and the prenatal prevention of disease are important and fascinating fields. But reading about this research and the reasoning used to justify it, I can't help but wonder who gets to decide what is a problem, an abnormality that needs correction or prevention, and where the checks on that kind of power could possibly come from. What's feminine today is different than 24 years ago, and by the time children receiving this treatment reach their own adulthood, I'm sure it will be even more so. That 4 year old girl who looked back at me from the mirror as our mother cut our hair and turned us into a warrior, she could have grown up to be anything, a mother, a Supreme Court nominee, even a pediatric endocrinologist. So far, all she's become is a loss prevent agent and blogger, a chronically opinionated and ambitious young adult with giant hands. But I'd hate to think that, even before she was born, there could have been a medically sanctioned definition of what the correct choice would be.
Girls of all ages have a role model in Elena Kagan, so thank you for nominating her to the bench. I believe that her life's work is no less valuable than any children she might have born, instead. I am grateful for her and for all of the other abnormal women who have come before me. They have made the world safer for women like me, and improved it for all of us- even Dr. New. I'm not promising that I'll cut my hair to look more like her, but, if she gets a luckdragon name Falkor, it may be cause to reconsider.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
In high school, they called me man hands. It sounds cruel, but it was sort of an endearment. I do have big hands. The people who love me best still call me this, occasionally, and I love them for it. But it started earlier than that. It started when I was 4 years old and saw The Neverending Story. I promptly convinced my mother to cut off my long golden curls so that I could look like Atreyu. When my older sister told me Atreyu was a boy, I was pretty skeptical; I identified with the character enough to believe that he must be female, like me. After that, it was being the only girl on the soccer field at recess, or picked first for kickball because, as a 5th grader, my 5'+ frame and size 9 shoes made me awkward and strange, but damn good at kicking a ball. These days, I work in a physical, occasionally dangerous and adrenaline-filled job. While my supervisor is female, she acknowledged to me that I'm the first woman to apply in a long time. So, I suppose, she and I work what some would call a man's job. I don't want to be a mother and I don't want to be some one's wife, but I like romantic movies and make-up and Jane Austen novels as much as the next girl. What does this make me?
Abnormally masculine, according to Pediatric endocrinologist Maria New, of Mount Sinai School of Medicine and Florida International University. That my aspirations for a life outside of motherhood, marriage and so-called feminine traditions are traits some (ironically, female) doctors would attempt to prevent in utero is kind of horrifying. Considering my upbringing, watching my parents come home from the same work, with the same weapons and tools, knowing that my mother worked just as hard as my father, had more education, made more money than him, outranked him and still had to come home and be responsible for the domestic chores while he relaxed in front of the TV, maybe my abnormality isn't genetic so much as experience? Of course, my father and stepmother tried hard to break me out of my tomboyish tendencies, forbidding certain masculine clothing, encouraging and even emphasizing the importance of cosmetic beauty. But I never outgrew it. I'm not dainty or delicate. I don't aspire to be. I can't change this, any more than I could change the size of my hands. Even my handwriting (as the unfortunate readers of your mail must surely be aware) is undeniably masculine.
If my parents had been given the choice, if they had been offered a pill to take with prenatal vitamins that ensured them a "normal" daughter, would they have taken it? How does a parent justify making decisions about a person's disposition, their preferences and temperament, the things that make up their personality, all without their consent? I think that science is pretty awesome, that genetics and the prenatal prevention of disease are important and fascinating fields. But reading about this research and the reasoning used to justify it, I can't help but wonder who gets to decide what is a problem, an abnormality that needs correction or prevention, and where the checks on that kind of power could possibly come from. What's feminine today is different than 24 years ago, and by the time children receiving this treatment reach their own adulthood, I'm sure it will be even more so. That 4 year old girl who looked back at me from the mirror as our mother cut our hair and turned us into a warrior, she could have grown up to be anything, a mother, a Supreme Court nominee, even a pediatric endocrinologist. So far, all she's become is a loss prevent agent and blogger, a chronically opinionated and ambitious young adult with giant hands. But I'd hate to think that, even before she was born, there could have been a medically sanctioned definition of what the correct choice would be.
Girls of all ages have a role model in Elena Kagan, so thank you for nominating her to the bench. I believe that her life's work is no less valuable than any children she might have born, instead. I am grateful for her and for all of the other abnormal women who have come before me. They have made the world safer for women like me, and improved it for all of us- even Dr. New. I'm not promising that I'll cut my hair to look more like her, but, if she gets a luckdragon name Falkor, it may be cause to reconsider.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Day 129- Mom (part 2)
Dear Mr. President,
I wrote you yesterday about my mother's strengths and the many things she has taught me. Perhaps the most important lessons she has passed down are the ones she never intended to; the lessons I learned, not from her strength, but her shortcomings. My mother is not a saint. She is quick to anger, often hijacked by her emotions and was unable to prepare me for the same feelings that would take over, without warning, the despair and the rage and the inexplicable rapidity and intensity with which they would strike. She often became angry or emotional without warning or obvious provocation, and, as I find myself disposed to the same behavior, I have nothing from her to look to for how to manage it.
Growing up, she never sought to control us, something I'm sure was considered a weakness in a parent, though I think it granted her children somewhat more in the way of independence, if we occasionally lack in discipline and direction. This taught me to take responsibility for my actions; to do what I believe to be right, to question rules and limitations arbitrarily imposed upon me by others. While I might at times have wished for the ease and simplicity of being given the solutions, my mother seemed to believe it was more important for me to find my own answers, than to ensure that I arrived at the right one.
My mother's failings have taught me that it is acceptable to be human. To make mistakes. To succumb to emotion. To fail, apologize, and try again. She has allowed me to know and to understand her as a person, not just as a faultless maternal symbol. This acceptance of weakness and fault in another person is essential to develop compassion, empathy and self-awareness. I see this lacking so often in our society, be it in our feigned shock at the human shortcomings of our leaders, or in our lack of compassion for those who have made bad choices, regardless of the desperation of the circumstances. I suppose expecting a lot from other people is good, we do, at times, surprise ourselves by living up to the best of what other people expect of us; but demands for perfect must, inevitably, be only requests for deception or disappointment, two things most of us will encounter far too often, anyway.
And so, in that spirit, I write you today in order to praise my mother's faults, her errors and her eccentricities; her failures and her bad judgment. As my first, and most significant teacher, she has, though these errors, given me the ability to accept them in others, and in myself. In this time of such deep uncertainty, it is reassuring to know that I can still count on people, even when I find their perfection lacking.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
I wrote you yesterday about my mother's strengths and the many things she has taught me. Perhaps the most important lessons she has passed down are the ones she never intended to; the lessons I learned, not from her strength, but her shortcomings. My mother is not a saint. She is quick to anger, often hijacked by her emotions and was unable to prepare me for the same feelings that would take over, without warning, the despair and the rage and the inexplicable rapidity and intensity with which they would strike. She often became angry or emotional without warning or obvious provocation, and, as I find myself disposed to the same behavior, I have nothing from her to look to for how to manage it.
Growing up, she never sought to control us, something I'm sure was considered a weakness in a parent, though I think it granted her children somewhat more in the way of independence, if we occasionally lack in discipline and direction. This taught me to take responsibility for my actions; to do what I believe to be right, to question rules and limitations arbitrarily imposed upon me by others. While I might at times have wished for the ease and simplicity of being given the solutions, my mother seemed to believe it was more important for me to find my own answers, than to ensure that I arrived at the right one.
My mother's failings have taught me that it is acceptable to be human. To make mistakes. To succumb to emotion. To fail, apologize, and try again. She has allowed me to know and to understand her as a person, not just as a faultless maternal symbol. This acceptance of weakness and fault in another person is essential to develop compassion, empathy and self-awareness. I see this lacking so often in our society, be it in our feigned shock at the human shortcomings of our leaders, or in our lack of compassion for those who have made bad choices, regardless of the desperation of the circumstances. I suppose expecting a lot from other people is good, we do, at times, surprise ourselves by living up to the best of what other people expect of us; but demands for perfect must, inevitably, be only requests for deception or disappointment, two things most of us will encounter far too often, anyway.
And so, in that spirit, I write you today in order to praise my mother's faults, her errors and her eccentricities; her failures and her bad judgment. As my first, and most significant teacher, she has, though these errors, given me the ability to accept them in others, and in myself. In this time of such deep uncertainty, it is reassuring to know that I can still count on people, even when I find their perfection lacking.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Day 128- Mom (part 1)
Today and tomorrow's letters are going to be connected, both because I think my mom is so awesome that I want to write two letters about her, and I'd like to spend tomorrow with her, not working. Today's letter will be completed before midnight and tomorrow's will be written just after, so I apologize for the short space between posts, and the relatively "fluffy" letters. I'll be back to real politics on Monday.
Also, check out the Mother's day event Michelle Obama hosted this week at the White House, if you're interested.
Dear Mr. President,
My mother is an amazing woman. She's raised three girls, worked her whole life to help others, for years serving our community as a police officer, specializing in helping children and victims of sexual assault. She certainly deserves more than just a day of celebration. I know you understand the important role that mothers play; I enjoyed your writing about your own mother in Dreams from my father, and your obvious respect for the First Lady shows how much you continue to appreciate the difficult job of raising children. My own mother has taught me countless things; she's prepared me for life as an adult by emphasizing self-sufficiency, education, and accountability. I think she would have liked to pass on more of her predilection for cleanliness and organization, but at least I got her eyes, her political leanings, and her sense of humor.
Tomorrow my sisters, brothers-in-law, and I are taking our mother to a baseball game. We don't get together as often as we should, even though we live relatively near one another. We all work, different hours and different days, we all commute, and my youngest sister has a young son to take care of as well. These excuses make it easy for us to go weeks, even months, without getting together. When I lived in DC, my mother would send me little cards every month or so; some had newspaper articles she thought I'd like to read, others were signed from all of the family cats. It made me feel close to her, despite the times zones that separated us. Now that we work in the same city, it's sad how little time we actually spend together.
My mother reads everything she can about you and your family, and especially admires your wife a great deal. I think she'd like it if I told you a bit about her. She's as remarkable as any woman; her story is unique and incredibly commonplace. She grew up in Michigan, the middle of 5 children, and wanted to become a teacher. She's great with children and animals, she's compassionate, brave, and sarcastic. Also, she can't watch the news without arguing with or yelling at the TV. I don't know her nearly as well as I'd like. She's made me the person I am today; I'm grateful to her for all of the wisdom and courage she's instilled in her children.
Mr. President, you've often spoken out for the importance of equal pay for women; you've worked to improve our education, health care and other social services, and you've appointed female role models like Hillary Clinton and Sonya Sotomayor. Thank you, for your commitment to our mothers, and the mothers of generations to come.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Also, check out the Mother's day event Michelle Obama hosted this week at the White House, if you're interested.
Dear Mr. President,
My mother is an amazing woman. She's raised three girls, worked her whole life to help others, for years serving our community as a police officer, specializing in helping children and victims of sexual assault. She certainly deserves more than just a day of celebration. I know you understand the important role that mothers play; I enjoyed your writing about your own mother in Dreams from my father, and your obvious respect for the First Lady shows how much you continue to appreciate the difficult job of raising children. My own mother has taught me countless things; she's prepared me for life as an adult by emphasizing self-sufficiency, education, and accountability. I think she would have liked to pass on more of her predilection for cleanliness and organization, but at least I got her eyes, her political leanings, and her sense of humor.
Tomorrow my sisters, brothers-in-law, and I are taking our mother to a baseball game. We don't get together as often as we should, even though we live relatively near one another. We all work, different hours and different days, we all commute, and my youngest sister has a young son to take care of as well. These excuses make it easy for us to go weeks, even months, without getting together. When I lived in DC, my mother would send me little cards every month or so; some had newspaper articles she thought I'd like to read, others were signed from all of the family cats. It made me feel close to her, despite the times zones that separated us. Now that we work in the same city, it's sad how little time we actually spend together.
My mother reads everything she can about you and your family, and especially admires your wife a great deal. I think she'd like it if I told you a bit about her. She's as remarkable as any woman; her story is unique and incredibly commonplace. She grew up in Michigan, the middle of 5 children, and wanted to become a teacher. She's great with children and animals, she's compassionate, brave, and sarcastic. Also, she can't watch the news without arguing with or yelling at the TV. I don't know her nearly as well as I'd like. She's made me the person I am today; I'm grateful to her for all of the wisdom and courage she's instilled in her children.
Mr. President, you've often spoken out for the importance of equal pay for women; you've worked to improve our education, health care and other social services, and you've appointed female role models like Hillary Clinton and Sonya Sotomayor. Thank you, for your commitment to our mothers, and the mothers of generations to come.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Day 65- AWMS awareness month
Dear Mr. President,
I'm not a big fan of "history months." For one thing, I've never met any member of a group whose history is celebrated for a dedicated month who appreciates it. March is "Women's history month" which should incline me, as a woman, to make an effort to remember those who came before me, those women whose legacies are the rights and opportunities I'm lucky enough to possess. And they're pretty great. Today, however, I'd rather write about a woman who I feel embodies the complexity and contradiction of modern feminism, and who does so while daily under direct personal attack. She is a hero of my own, the First Lady Michelle Obama.
Mr. President, clearly I'm a supporter of yours. I worked to see you elected in 2008, and I intend to do so again in 2012. But, let's be honest, you wouldn't be President without Michelle. She's an amazing woman who is widely admired for her abilities as a wife and mother, but she's clearly brilliant and politically savvy, as well. She's remarkably able to balance the satisfaction and importance of being a devoted and talented mother with the demands of her intellect and professional pride. My own mother reads pretty much any article she can find about the First Lady, and often calls me up afterward just to tell me, again, how much she admires her and, by extension, you. Every time some moron in the media tries to paint your wife as a terrorist-fist-bumping-black-nationalist-radical-feminist-America-hater, I'm sure that my mother's TV gets worried about being struck by flying projectiles, and the Democratic party gets another flood of donations from her and similarly-minded individuals.
I'm not just writing this to be a gushing fan. While it is an unfortunate reality that the First Lady's accomplishments make her a target for attack from the disgruntled old world order of men and even women who don't see her role in our society as appropriate, I was particularly upset by an e-mail that was recently forwarded by a CEO from Tennessee. This man may have apologized, insisting it was "political humor," but I, personally, hopes that he continues to suffer the loss of friends and clients as a result. There is nothing political about his attack. It is, among other things, blatant sexism. Secretary Clinton can probably recall equally offensive attacks during her own time as First Lady. (I don't know of similar examples for Laura or Barbara Bush, but then, I feel as though the right has often been more swiftly critical of a First Lady.) Why are men like this CEO so threatened by women like the First Lady? My roommate and I have attributed this partially to "angry white man syndrome", a condition we see often, which manifests as chronic complaints about the difficulties of being white and male and unable to qualify for the perceived "special treatment" that women and minorities receive. This fear is certainly not something that a national history month will undo. I think that women would gladly rename March "Men's history month", if it gave us half of the seats in congress and equal pay in the professional world, or raised realistic expectations for a man's participation in domestic life. I'd sacrifice having doors opened or getting drinks paid for on my behalf, if it meant that I didn't have to worry about seeming too smart or too strong.
I appreciate the steps you've taken, Mr. President, to promote education, equality and recognition for the girls and women in our country and across the globe. A man benefiting from the love and support of a woman like Michelle must clearly have an appreciation for all of the roles a modern woman is expected to take on, and the importance, to society as a whole, of equal opportunity for women. Our nation is lucky to benefit from her wisdom as well as your own, and our country is stronger, your presidency improved, by her contributions. She is certainly not the only First Lady to have served her nation as well as her husband, and our country is in debt to many remarkable women who deserve so much more than a month on the calendar.
I hope that the First Lady continues to be an example for all of us to strive toward, even as her accomplishments make her a bigger target for those who fear her. Happy Women's History Month. May the sentiments that made such a month necessary be quickly outgrown.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
I'm not a big fan of "history months." For one thing, I've never met any member of a group whose history is celebrated for a dedicated month who appreciates it. March is "Women's history month" which should incline me, as a woman, to make an effort to remember those who came before me, those women whose legacies are the rights and opportunities I'm lucky enough to possess. And they're pretty great. Today, however, I'd rather write about a woman who I feel embodies the complexity and contradiction of modern feminism, and who does so while daily under direct personal attack. She is a hero of my own, the First Lady Michelle Obama.
Mr. President, clearly I'm a supporter of yours. I worked to see you elected in 2008, and I intend to do so again in 2012. But, let's be honest, you wouldn't be President without Michelle. She's an amazing woman who is widely admired for her abilities as a wife and mother, but she's clearly brilliant and politically savvy, as well. She's remarkably able to balance the satisfaction and importance of being a devoted and talented mother with the demands of her intellect and professional pride. My own mother reads pretty much any article she can find about the First Lady, and often calls me up afterward just to tell me, again, how much she admires her and, by extension, you. Every time some moron in the media tries to paint your wife as a terrorist-fist-bumping-black-nationalist-radical-feminist-America-hater, I'm sure that my mother's TV gets worried about being struck by flying projectiles, and the Democratic party gets another flood of donations from her and similarly-minded individuals.
I'm not just writing this to be a gushing fan. While it is an unfortunate reality that the First Lady's accomplishments make her a target for attack from the disgruntled old world order of men and even women who don't see her role in our society as appropriate, I was particularly upset by an e-mail that was recently forwarded by a CEO from Tennessee. This man may have apologized, insisting it was "political humor," but I, personally, hopes that he continues to suffer the loss of friends and clients as a result. There is nothing political about his attack. It is, among other things, blatant sexism. Secretary Clinton can probably recall equally offensive attacks during her own time as First Lady. (I don't know of similar examples for Laura or Barbara Bush, but then, I feel as though the right has often been more swiftly critical of a First Lady.) Why are men like this CEO so threatened by women like the First Lady? My roommate and I have attributed this partially to "angry white man syndrome", a condition we see often, which manifests as chronic complaints about the difficulties of being white and male and unable to qualify for the perceived "special treatment" that women and minorities receive. This fear is certainly not something that a national history month will undo. I think that women would gladly rename March "Men's history month", if it gave us half of the seats in congress and equal pay in the professional world, or raised realistic expectations for a man's participation in domestic life. I'd sacrifice having doors opened or getting drinks paid for on my behalf, if it meant that I didn't have to worry about seeming too smart or too strong.
I appreciate the steps you've taken, Mr. President, to promote education, equality and recognition for the girls and women in our country and across the globe. A man benefiting from the love and support of a woman like Michelle must clearly have an appreciation for all of the roles a modern woman is expected to take on, and the importance, to society as a whole, of equal opportunity for women. Our nation is lucky to benefit from her wisdom as well as your own, and our country is stronger, your presidency improved, by her contributions. She is certainly not the only First Lady to have served her nation as well as her husband, and our country is in debt to many remarkable women who deserve so much more than a month on the calendar.
I hope that the First Lady continues to be an example for all of us to strive toward, even as her accomplishments make her a bigger target for those who fear her. Happy Women's History Month. May the sentiments that made such a month necessary be quickly outgrown.
Respectfully yours,
Kelsey
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