I love who I have been, but I really love who I am becoming -- Dulce Ruby

Month: March 2021

Writing the Self Analysis – Disrupting Gender Binaries

Normative Narratives

From the time we are little, our families, culture and society as a whole tells us what it means to be male/female and what are the “norms” based on our gender. These gender binaries, teach us what is expected and acceptable such as men/boys being expected to be strong, active, athletic, handy/mechanically inclined, and tough while women are weak, inferior, nurturing, emotional and incapable when it comes to things mechanical such as vehicles or home repairs. Even everyday things that most of us don’t give much thought to such as the clothes we wear or our hairstyle are linked to these gender binaries as one of my classmates recounted in her blog when she expressed to her mother her desire to cut her hair short. These socially constructed stories, or normative narratives, are based on “Patriarchy [which is] the belief in the inherent superiority of men and male norms.” (Sensoy et al., 2017 p.103)

Gender binaries have a huge impact on who we are and how we view ourselves, especially when disrupting those normative narratives puts us in a position of possibly not being accepted or ridiculed by others. One of my classmates recounted in his blog a time when he was in line waiting to buy a Valentine gift for a girl he was crushing on. He described how he “…wouldn’t let [his] friends catch [him] dead in this lineup” and how he “…wondered what they would think if they saw [him] standing here…”. In the end, the potential backlash from his friends caused him to leave the line, without the gift.

In Accepting the New Norm the author shares a memory of a time in school when he overheard classmates “…making fun of [him] for showing [his] emotions about something that happened yesterday. Something a man “can’t do.”. In the documentary Tough Guise 2: Violence, Manhood and American Culture , Jackson Katz tells us how “Qualities like compassion, caring, empathy, intellectual curiosity, fear, vulnerability, even love – basic human qualities that boys have inside them every bit as much as girls do – get methodically driven out of them by a sexist and homophobic culture that labels these things “unmanly,” “feminine,” “womanly,” and “gay,” and teaches boys to avoid them at all costs.” (Earp & Katz, 2013, 19:21). None of us should have to defend ourselves, actions, or interests because they don’t ‘fit” with the socially constructed stories we have been told about our gender. But how do we get to a place where ourselves and our children feel free to make choices because they want to, not because of what society dictates they should based on their gender?

Creating Counter Stories

While we may think we have come a long way from where we were when our mothers and grandmothers were our age, the reality is that oppression is “…much easier to see in the past than in the present.” (Sensoy et al., 2017 p.104) and moving forward we need to understand “…that it can adapt and change over time, while still maintaining inequitable outcomes overall.” (Sensoy et al., 2017 p.104). The only way we are going to push past the normative narratives associated with our gender is to challenge them when we are presented with them.

I grew up in a house where my father insisted that his daughters learn how to do what some would consider “male” tasks such as how to change a flat tire, using power tools and basic home repairs. While these skills have served me well over the years, and saved me considerable money in not needing to hire someone for basic repairs, it has also put me in the position of having to face gender binaries and the normative narratives that accompany them. Luckily because of my dad, I have enough confidence in my abilities to take on these tasks, but to also stand up to anyone who may question my ability to do so. In a previous blog post I describe one such situation in a hardware store when a male employee made assumption based on my gender that I could not possibly know what part to get to fix a broken toilet, let alone that I was the one fixing it. Needless to say, by the end of our interaction I had disrupted that normative narrative and hopefully changed that man’s mind about the gender binary he was perpetuating.

We used to tease my dad that he had the best of both worlds, girls who knew how to cook and bake but who could also hang drywall and owned power tools, something that definitely disrupts the gender binaries of what a woman “can” do. As the mother of a young daughter, I know it is unrealistic to expect for her to never experience or defend herself against socially constructed limits that society has placed on her or that she will never miss out on something great because she is afraid of the potential repercussions of going against societal norms. That is why I am trying to raise her the way my parents did, in a way that she will feel confident and comfortable enough in herself and her abilities to stand up to those with whom try to make her “fit” into their mold of what someone of her gender should or shouldn’t do. I’ve never really thought of myself as a feminist, however I am starting to see myself as more of one as I watch my daughter grow up. After all, “Feminism is not about making women strong. It’s about changing the way the world perceives that strength.” G.D. Anderson

Sources:

Katz, J. (2013). Tough Guise 2: Violence Manhood and American Culture. USA; Media Education Foundation. https://uregina.kanopy.com/video/tough-guise-2.

Sensoy, Ö., & DiAngelo, R. J. (2017). In Is everyone really equal?: an introduction to key concepts in social justice education (2nd ed.). essay, Teachers College Press.

Not Rocket Science

As I opened the door of the hardware store, the distinct sound of the model train on the track above my head greeted me. “Good morning Cheryl”, a familiar voice chimed as I walked past the tills. “Good morning Francis” I acknowledged as I rounded the corner toward the plumbing section. I love the comfortable, welcomed feeling I got every time I came here. I headed down the plumbing aisle, feeling slightly overwhelmed at all of the parts before me. This is not what I needed to be doing this morning but plumbers are expensive and really how hard can it be?

Slowly and methodically I perused the multitude of products, searching for the one that needed to be replaced. Who knew there was so many different options for getting a toilet to flush. As I continued my search, I was grateful I had the foresight to remove the broken part and bring it with me, making it much easier to find what I needed. I found the part that matched what I had in my hand and began to turn to head toward the till when a deep, male voice commented, “Are you sure you have the right part? Here let me look at that for you?. Oh no see this isn’t what you need. Here I’ll help you.”

Slightly taken aback, I stood there frozen for a moment. Who is this guy and how on earth does he know what I need without even asking? And better yet why is he assuming that I’m not capable of figuring it out for myself? I mean really, its a simple home repair and I managed to diagnose the problem and remove the broken part all on my own. “No thank you. I found what I needed” I said as I snatched the package back. “The man chuckled, “Uh ok lady, I’m trying to save you an extra trip when your husband tells you you bought the wrong part but it’s your choice.” as he turned and began to walk away shaking his head.

Oh no he did not….

Fuming, I followed him around the corner “Actually FYI I am the one doing the repair and while you have made it very clear that in your mind a poor, helpless woman like me is somehow incapable of actually getting the right part let alone replace it, I have news for you. I am more than capable because lets face it, if a small-minded man like you can figure it out, then I will be just fine”. The man stood there looking like a deer in the headlights, his gaze only broken by the chuckle of the older gentleman standing beside him. “Well she put you in your place now didn’t she?” the other customer commented smiling at me. I smiled back before heading to the till, feeling proud not only for standing up for myself but for having the confidence in my own abilities. I mean really it’s replacing a toilet handle, it’s not rocket science.

Not REAL

“Bye mom!’ I shouted as I ran out the front door in the bitterly cold January morning. I couldn’t wait to show my friends what I had gotten for Christmas. I clutched my treasured gift under my arm and broke into a full run. As I rounded the corner, the familiar sight of my school broke through the heavy snow and I could see my group of friends waiting by the climbing tires, just as we had planned. My heart pounded in my chest, partly due to the run but mostly due to excitement. I was the only one of my friends who didn’t have one, but that was all in the past now!

“Look what I got for Christmas!!” I gasped, trying to catch my breath and holding out my most prized possession. Her hair was red, tied with a white ribbon into 2 ponytails, her white cotton dress, covered with a yellow petty coat with matching shoes and socks. Her body soft and smelling like fresh baby powder just like our bathroom did on bath night. She was perfect. “Her name is Elizabeth!”

“She’s really cute, Cheryl.” one of my friends said. “I love her red…” but before she could finish her sentence, one of the other girls in our class, Susan came over. “What are we all talking about?” she asked looking at the doll in my hands. She pointed at Elizabeth and gasped with a look of horror on her face, “What on earth is THAT?” with a look of complete disgust on her face. “It’s my cabbage patch doll. I got her for Christmas. I named her Elizabeth.” I said. Susan burst into to hysterical laughter. Tears streaming down her face as she doubled over with laughter. “THAT” she said “Is NOT a cabbage patch doll.”

I knew that she was right. No my Elizabeth was not a real cabbage patch doll. My family couldn’t afford the real ones. But my parents knew how badly my sister and I wanted one so my mom spent countless hours making us ones and I loved her just the same. “It’s not even a good fake one.” Susan continued as she snatched Elizabeth out my hands. “Her clothes don’t even fit her properly, her hair is all rough, she doesn’t have a diaper, and look…” she pulled down my dolls underclothes to reveal the missing tell-tale signature. “Give her back!” I yelled. Before Susan could say anything else, the school bell rang signaling the start of the day. My friends all began to walk toward our classroom as Susan and I stood there staring at each other. “Give her back” I said again. Susan took one look at my doll, looked back up at me and said “And you wonder why no one wants to play at your house, your parents can’t even afford REAL toys”. She began to walk toward the classroom door, casually tossing Elizabeth into the snow.

I ran toward my doll, hot tears now streaming down my cold cheeks. I picked her up, dusting the fresh snow off of her. “I’m sorry Elizabeth. She is just mean. I love you even if you aren’t a real cabbage patch.” I told her as I hugged her tight, standing on the abandoned playground, cold, sobbing and completely heartbroken.

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