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The F Word

Truth Thursday

It’s not what you think, although I am a renowned potty mouth.

And it’s not even what I’ve written about before in many ways – feminism. Although it is in some ways.

It’s about self esteem. It’s about being self conscious. It’s about life, and love, and what I wore.

It’s about being … fat.

I had been thinking about writing this even before the latest skirmish in the fat wars.  Not the "obesity” wars, which are all about keeping our children healthy, Michelle Obama, the war on food insecurity and food deserts, economic privilege and social gaps – all guised in the mantra that we are trying to be more healthy as a nation.

No, the fat wars. In which one complete and total bully, who is 61-years-old and still hasn’t figured out that words hurt, or that being the tallest, the skinniest, the most beautiful is not what our children should be striving for in this world, has decided that his clothing should not be modeled by anyone over a size Medium.

This is what Abercrombie CEO Mark Jeffries has said about his stores:  “We go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong.”

In other words, no one fat. No one who needs a Large or, god forbid, and Extra Large size. You will not find them at Abercrombie. He has been quoted as saying that he doesn't want fat chicks shopping in his store. Really.

The Still Point of the Turning World

Truth Thursday 

You inhabit the land of grief. You can’t run away from it, back away from it, ignore it. You can’t shroud it in euphemisms – “pass away” – when someone has died. They’ve died. They’re gone. Trying to make it sound easier, softer, gentler, does nothing. In fact, whenever I hear that phrase my body stiffens and I want to scream. 

My mother did not pass away. My infant son did not pass away. They did not “pass.” They died. Call it what it is. Run into it and face it down. It’s the only way to work through it.

“The Still Point of the Turning World” is Emily Rapp’s meditation on grief. Her infant son, Ronan, was diagnosed with the always-fatal Tay-Sachs disease in the first months of his life, even after she had had the requisite genetic tests. 

Rapp is sad. She is angry. She is full of questions, both spiritual and grounded. She uses words to process and delve and deny and question. She paints descriptions of her son’s first and only full year of life – of his body, of his eyes, of her pain and her husband’s pain watching him regress. 

She wonders about the hierarchy of grief. Who is more entitled to be sad? Who has experienced more pain? Those of us who have wandered in these hills understand these questions. My second son died when he was five days old, after a troubled pregnancy and five days of hope and wonder. I grieve his loss, and will to the end of my days.

Leaning In

Truth Thursday

I probably didn’t even need to read Sheryl Sandberg’s new book, “Lean In,” because by the time I actually picked it up, I had read so many reviews, and had seen so much commentary about the book and about her everywhere – and I mean everywhere – that I felt like I already knew its basic premise (but for the record, unlike some bloggers who have written about her, I did read it.) 

It’s essentially a 4^th wave feminism theory. It’s not that we need to burn our bras for independence (1^st 20th century wave.) It’s not that we have to dress like men with floppy bow ties and shapeless suits to make our way up the corporate ladder (2^nd wave.) It’s not that we have to be superwomen, balancing work and family seamlessly and pretending that it’s all rose petals and perfection, and at the same time, fight the backlash against women in the world, a la Susan Faludi (3^rd wave.)

It’s that we are still trying to find a way to be the working women we want to be, the moms we want to be, the spouses and partners we want to be, and the people we want to be. And we need tools and support to make that happen. 

It’s actually a really good message, despite its detractors. Sure, many have criticized Sandberg for being elitist, for being wealthy and white, for being high up on the corporate ladder where few women rest and therefore not being able to see down the rungs behind her, for being hetero-normative, for being married to a partner with the ability to be flexible and allow her to stretch her limits with a safety net, etc. etc. 

All of this is true. And there is the whole nagging other side of the question that she doesn’t really address – how the work world does (or does not) support and accommodate women and men and families. But none of this makes her message any less resonant in my mind. 

Senioritis

Truth Thursday

I experienced my first real dose of senioritis today. No, it wasn’t my son cutting a class (although he’s been known to do that this year), nor was it him joyriding, being huffy and non-communicative, or staying out past curfew. 

No, it happened when I was looking at his high school website, actually looking up something for my daughter who will be attending the school next year, when a page for seniors caught my eye.  It held several links to important information for seniors – about prom, about finals, and about graduation.

And that’s when it really hit me. He’s graduating. This year. 

And I started to cry.

Later, reading the health section of the Washington Post, there was an article about how we, as a society, should be thinking about how to better combat senioritis and create a more productive last term of high school for our American seniors. Aftrer eading that, I started to cry again. 

Anyone who knows me knows that I have spent most of this year, my oldest child’s final year in high school and at home, pretty much in the mindset of “don’t let the door hit you as you leave.”  My friends who have gone through this have told me that this is natural – our seniors’ behavior in their last full year living at home often is so atrocious, so mean-spirited and icky, that we want them to leave. 

But it’s really only their way of getting ready to leave. They need to push away, to create space between themselves and their parents, and their friends. They need to know that it’s ok to leave it behind – that they’re ready to launch. 

Revisiting: Ellen DeGeneres - The Generous Idol Worshipper

Truth Thursday

I've been following the Supreme Court hearings on California's Proposition 8 and the Defense of Marriage Act over the past two days with wonder and amazement. I believe that marriage equality is the civil rights issue of our generation. It took Obama some time -- some would posit too long -- but he has changed the course of human events in our country.

Earlier this week, NPR ran a great story about Ellen DeGeneres, which reminded me of a piece I had written three years ago about her and a conversation with my daughter, who was 10 at the time. Rereading it, it still says almost everything I want to say about this issue today (including the fact that I basically worship Ellen DeGeneres.)

So here's to the death of DOMA, the defeat of Prop 8, the growing understanding in our country that everyone should be free to love who they want, and that GLBT couples should be afforded the same marital rights and privileges (and headaches) as their straight neighbors.

 

And here's my paean to Ellen:

 

 

Sharing Saturday  

I was very excited about the selection of Ellen DeGeneres as the replacement for Paula Abdul on "American Idol" this season. I think she's hilarious and brave and beautiful, as well as a great foil to Simon.

My kids and I just discovered "Idol" last year – yes, I know we were about seven years too late, but never the less, it's great family entertainment. No cursing, no inappropriate plots, no kissing or yucky stuff, but just enough raciness and tension to keep me interested. And some decent music too.

When the selection of Ellen was announced, my 10-year-old daughter apparently heard her name as "Ellen The Generous." For a few weeks, she walked around thinking that Ellen The Generous would be the new Idol judge. For a lot of reasons, I love this moniker. But the best thing about Ellen's rise on Idol happened on our home turf.

My daughter and I were having a quick dinner after basketball practice, and we were laughing about the fact that she had thought Ellen's name was "The Generous." She asked who Ellen was. I told her she was a comic, and that she had her own talk show. She asked, "Like Oprah?  Like Tyra?" Indeed, I told her, and chuckled to myself because not too long ago she had trouble distinguishing between "Oprah" and "Opera" and she didn't understand why I also found that so funny.