(My) Social Class in the US

My family origins are rooted pretty firmly in the (North) American working class.  My paternal grandfather (in his lifetime) and my parents (in their lifetimes) managed to slowly work their way into the middle class.  When I was growing up, we could not afford to eat at restaurants.  Going to a fast food restaurant was a rare treat…and when we went, we ordered minimal food.

I went to the same restaurant with a childhood friend and her father.  She asked what I wanted.  I said a cheeseburger.  She asked if that was all…didn’t I want a shake, too?  I was like, wow, ordering a shake is an option?!!

We couldn’t afford many clothes or many haircuts.  Seeing as how I have a “white person afro,” this was traumatic for me growing up.  My hair is incredibly thick and literally, grows up and out.  But I digress. I am just trying to convey the conditions in which I grew up…and how they evolved over time.  Fast forward to a decade later and my parents, who by then both worked full-time, managed to increase their earnings to the point where we weren’t struggling anymore.   By the time I finished high school, their “extra” income was enough to send me to college.  My parents, literally, had never saved a penny for my college education, but they were able to pay for it out of each paycheck for the 5 years (oops!) it took me to finish my undergraduate degree.

Let’s see, so I grew up at the higher end of the working class, eventually made it to the middle class…achieved a level of education to firm up that identity…then took out loans to go to graduate school at one of the best universities in the country.  I was on my way to becoming an intellectual, a member of the academic elite.  But did I mention I had a baby and subsisted on post welfare-reform “welfare” to get by?  My son and I were on Medicaid, WIC, and food stamps?

When it comes to social class, I have no idea “what” I am.  I am a product of the USA, a country that is unique in the flexibility of its educational system.  We do not have to come from wealthy or well-connected families…or be brilliant test-takers to get a good education (although that helps).  I went to University with some of the wealthiest people in the country.  Thanks to the generosity of my friends and their families, I took frequent trips to “the city” (New York City).  We came “home” one night to find Steel Pulsesitting in the living room.  Oh, ok.  I took a trip to a small resort island in the Caribbean.  Those are the only stamps in my now expired US passport.

Through my work, I have travelled around the US, worked for well-known people, worked with the smart people behind the “smoke and mirrors.”  That’s where I am now.  I am one of the smart people in the basement (not literally, I am referring to someone in particular).  We are the “national researchers” who pore through inordinate amounts of data and “information,” integrate all of the information into our heads (especially the stuff related to what we get paid to do…we forget this sometimes), organize the information, perform numeric calculations, and present intellectual knowledge in a concise way to whoever needs it.  Our organizations stamp their names on our work and it becomes “public knowledge.”   We happily go back to the basement and typically don’t care if our name appears on the document(s).  We’re not in it for our egos. 

We are the minds behind the smoke and mirrors that make up well-known national organizations.  Our work helps define the parameters and content of national policy debates.  This all sounds so conceited to me that I can’t even write about it in the first person.  I am so NOT into my ego.  I don’t ever say these things out loud.  I have NO interest in distancing myself from regular people who do regular things for a living.  I contribute my skills and intellect to improve social policy in the US.

But, whatever status I have achieved via my education and whatever prestige I have earned by where I have gone to school and worked, I am just me.  I don’t have a problem blending in with everyone else.

Intuition, Dreams, and Deja Vu

Over the last two days, I’ve stopped to take pictures of deer twice – once in my car and once on my bike.  Neither of the deer ran away.  They just let me take their pictures.  I thought it was a little strange, but I don’t claim to be an expert on deer behavior, let alone deer behavior in woods within urban environments.

My son asked why the deer was not scared.  I told him that deer, like people, have intuition.  Maybe that’s why.  The deer knew we didn’t want to hurt it.  I asked him if he knew what intuition was.  He proceeded to tell me about deja vu.  I’m not sure if that’s a totally related concept, but he’s only 11, so I didn’t take the conversation further. 

This morning, I woke myself up with a brief scream.  That NEVER happens.  My son had woken up with a similar scream the morning before.  He imagined he saw a HUGE spider.  In my dream, someone was holding a mouse by its tail right in front of me.  I don’t have anything against mice, but it startled me.

As I was getting ready for work, I looked out my back patio door and there was the mouse…right in plain view of the entryway.  I let my dogs in and out of that door throughout the day and hadn’t seen it when I’d let them out 30 minutes earlier.  One of my cats got out with them and must have brought me a present.

Anyway, it was just weird.  Not that I’ve ever seen a (dead) mouse, but it was kind of like that deja vu feeling, except I CLEARLY remember having that dream a few hours earlier.

Blogging as Therapy

I started a blog several years ago, but didn’t keep up with it.  It was in the earlier days of blogs, before I had gotten used to the idea…and had enough trust in web sites to not lose my information. 

At home, I have been keeping my personal journal writing going back 20 years.  My writing has been sporadic, but somehow consistent enough over the years to add up to a significant amount of writing to sort through.  I am almost finished organizing it by year.

For years, I have wanted to write some kind of life history.  Now, thanks to technology, I have a single place to incorporate everthing I have ever written, if I so desire.  I doubt I’ll ever have the patience to data enter all of my old writing.  To be honest, it probably wouldn’t be worth it because most of it is not that interesting. 

Assuming my writing is now interesting enough to be worth reading, it’s because I’ve had plenty of practice writing.  Also, now that I have been an adult for almost 20 years, I have accumulated plenty of life experience to provide interesting content.  And finally, I have developed a strong sense of perspective, which makes writing even easier.

Facebook and Politics: Drill, Baby, Drill

I noticed a political dispute on facebook.  A woman had posted an article by Eve Ensler called Drill, Drill, Drill.  The Vagina Monologues was one of the many sources of inspiration for my blog triligy (Cindy, Dating, Cindy, Working, and Cindy, Living).  A man posted a response to the article that was…negative.  It wasn’t even clear what he was disagreeing with specifically…he was just offended by the article as a whole.  The woman ended up deleting his comment and then later wondering if she should have.

The man posted another response that was somewhat apologetic, even though he wasn’t totally clear about why his first response had been deleted.  Another woman posted a lengthy response that included the following:

We both read the same essay, but walked away with two very different ideas of what it was saying.  Yes, open discussion is a wonderful thing.  However, you may not have realized how your words would be interpreted given the fact that you are male.  On one level, yes, it is about Palin, McCain, Republicans, and Christians in general.  I know it’s hard to set politics and religion aside, but I hope you are interested in hearing about why your response was hurtful.

 

The essay is about the objectification of – and violence against – women, minorities, and anyone or anything else that can be treated as a commodity (including animals and the environment).  This objectification is a painful daily reality for women and members of certain ethnic groups.  Women and girls are molested, raped, prostituted, kidnapped, and/or sold into sexual slavery every day.  This is a horrifying reality. 

 

We (most women) are sick of being objectified.  We’re sick of cat calls, we’re sick of being afraid to walk alone at night, and we’re sick of being afraid to walk too close to vehicles with tinted windows for fear we will be abducted, raped, and tossed into a dumpster afterwards. 

 

We’re sick of living in a “boys will be boys” society (and world) where men get away with things like rape and sexual solicitation and the women are left with little or no recourse…or are put in jail (prostitutes).  In other countries, girls are disowned by their families if they are raped.  They are no longer “valuable” to the family and are discarded like trash.  In yet other countries, women carry the burden of wearing burqas in public…so as not to “tempt” men into lusting after them while they are outside their homes.

 

We’re sick of paying the price for men’s bad behavior.  Men have to go to war to develop Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.  We barely have to leave our homes.  Do you know how many of my friends were raped before they were 10 years old by family members?    One of my friends was raped when she was 6 years old by a male family member.  Another friend, who was adopted from outside the US at age 5…and grew up in Michigan, by the way, was used by the father as a sex slave until she was a teenager.  She had brown skin and was treated as less than human by her entire (white) adoptive family.

 

So, now we are living in an era where we (women) are minimally protected from predatory sexual behavior AND our right to control our bodies (specifically, our uterus) is in danger.  As women and mothers, we are offended when the earth’s resources are exploited for commercial gain.  Our hearts break when animals are killed for sport.  We do not promote violence; after all, it’s our children who will be killed…and it is us who will be raped.  What happens to women during war?  We are raped en masse.  We are either raped in our communities or we are transported to “rape camps” to be raped ad nauseam.

 

Last but not least, this essay was written by Eve Ensler, who created the The Vagina Monologues, which has been translated into 45 different languages and performed in over 119 countries.   We, women from all over the planet, take the plight of our vaginas and uteri very seriously.  The psychological damage cause by the ways in which our bodies are violated is immeasurable.  I suspect your intent was not to dismiss our collective experience.  Men have been dismissing our value and basic rights as human beings pretty much since the beginning of time.  Forgive us if we sometimes come across as being too sensitive.

 

I sincerely appreciate your attempt to make things right.  The world would be a better place if we could sort through complex and sensitive issues…together…as human beings.  Not as men vs. women, old people vs. young people, Christians vs. non-Christians, or Democrats vs. Republicans.  I suspect we ultimately want the same things out of life.

I Love Cesar Millan

I started watching the Dog Whisperer, a.k.a Cesar Millan a few years ago.  I had adopted two mixed breed dogs and was fostering a pit bull mix and planning to adopt a German Shepherd.  I was fostering the pit bull mix (Baer) to see if I could handle three dogs.  Baer was one of the most energetic dogs I’ve ever seen.  When he wagged his tail, his entire body wagged back and forth.  I took him out to the woods and let him run with my dogs for miles at a time.

Then, I found a beautiful German Shepherd on petfinder.com.  He was gorgeous.  He had darker coloring and was not crippled like the AKC-approved German Shepherds.  Perhaps because he didn’t confirm to this particular aesthetic standard, he had been abandoned.  When he was rescued by animal control, he was emaciated, had open and infected wounds on his neck, and had heartworm.  A rescue group that focuses on this breed ended up taking him in and spending hundreds of dollars and several months worth of time nursing him back to health.

I fell in love with him and drove 2.5 hours just so I could meet him in person.  The next 5 hour round trip was to pick him up to keep him forever. 

The homecoming didn’t go as I’d expected…not that I knew what to expect.  I was hoping to gradually introduce all of the dogs (Baer hadn’t found a permanent home yet) and Baer got out the back door and ran to the front porch where I had tied the Beast up.  The Beast immediately went into “kill” mode and tried to tear Baer’s head off.  I may be exagerrating slightly.  There wasn’t much bloodshed, but there was some.

One of the Beast’s rescuers thought he had been used as a bait dog.  If this is true, he had been tied up and had to endure attacks from unleashed pit bulls.  The other rescuer didn’t believe that.  What I do know is that the Beast really hates pit bulls to this day.  Even if he was never used as a bait dog, I’ve noticed that dogs sometimes “stereotype” particular breeds. 

Thanks to Cesar Millan’s show and books, I quickly realized that Baer was provoking the attacks.  This “puppy full of energy” also had an extremely dominant personality and continually challenged the Beast’s status.  Fortunately, we found Baer a home within a few weeks, before any more blood was shed. 

Thanks to the Dog Whisperer for helping me get through that situation and learning how to deal with my crazy German Shepherd.

What Does Feminism Mean to Women in Their Twenties?

I just realized my three blogs could have been on the subject of sex, religion, and politics.  Instead I blog about relationships, work, and life in general (this blog).  My intention is not to ignite controversy, but there is something I have been struggling with, particularly over the last few days.  Do young women fully understand the significance of the contributions made by feminists over the past few generations?

Is Roe v. Wade just an abstract concept to young women?  I’m not concerned about whether or not you think abortion is wrong.  I am talking about the right women currently have to control their reproductive tracts. 

Unfortunately, we live in a society – and world – that is dominated by androcentrism.  In other words, the world is dominated by a “male” perspective.  The vast majority of people in positions of power are men.  The vast majority of legislators are men.  Men still make more money than women, even for the same jobs requiring the same level of education.

The vast majority of murderers, domestic abusers, rapists, pedophiles and perpetrators of incest are men.  And our laws tolerate this behavior.  For example, about 6% of rapists ever spend a day in jail.  Meanwhile, 1 in 6 women will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime.

As of today, September 4, 2008, I have the right to control my reproductive tract…most of the time.  I could be the victim of rape at any time, which causes me to hesitate before saying I have control of my vagina, because I really don’t.  I have control over it unless a man rapes me.  My “consolation prize” is that I have the right to decide whether or not to carry a resulting pregnancy to term.  I can’t control whether I contract HIV or another STD from that encounter.  Not much of a consolation prize, huh?

If Roe v. Wade is ever overturned, I will no longer have rights over my reproductive tract.  Rapists will get the extra satisfaction of knowing that they can force pregnancy and child-bearing on women of their choosing…if they’re “lucky.”  Considering the fact that a large proportion of rapes (and murders) are committed by men women know, this could ultimately become a vehicle for the even-more-successful domination of women (as if the current spousal abuse and rape rates aren’t already high enough as it is).

Ever heard of human rights?  Feminism is the radical notion that women are people. 

Do young women realize that overturning Roe v. Wade would also open the door to the possibility of outlawing contraception of any kind?  If Roe v. Wade is overturned, the debate will then shift to the question of precisely when life begins.  Some folks, at one end of the spectrum, believe that preventing pregnancy is wrong.  What if consensus is reached that life begins prior to conception?  Does that sound outrageous?  When I was in my twenties, the possibility of Roe v. Wade ever being overturned, let alone in my lifetime, was outrageous to me.  Now?  I’m scared.

Better Moments on Public Transportation

Until last night, I hadn’t taken public transportation since my last post.  I’ve been driving more, but I still ride my bike a lot…that assuages my guilt.  I don’t mean to be a nerd by using big words, but sometimes they pop into my mind and it seems silly not to use them.

I stayed at work late last night because I wanted to get caught up on my blogging.  By the time I’d finished, it was almost completely dark outside.  This wasn’t great since I had ridden my bike to work.  There is a stretch of road between my work and house that is too spooky (not to mention unsafe) to take by bike.  Although I live in an urban area, this stretch of road feels like the middle of nowhere.  Then I remembered that I can take my bike on the Metro after rush hour, so I took the Metro halfway home and rode my bike the remaining way.  I still had to cross through some woods, which is totally spooky when it’s pitch black, but my bike has lights and the adreniline rush is kind of fun.

The point of this post is to include a good experience on public transportation.  I’m still not a fan of the bus, but the ride on the Metro (train) last night was nice.  First, it was fairly brief.  Second, I was facing two men, one younger and one older, engaged in a lively conversation about their relationships with their mothers.  They were sitting next to eachother, smiling, and using a lot of hand gestures.  Apparently the younger guy was complaining about his mom not approving of something he was doing.  The older guy was trying to explain that over time, you can become friends with your mother.  The younger guy indicated he would NEVER be friends with his mother.

The older guy said his mother passed away 5 years ago and that the younger guy was too recently out of the house to have that kind of relationship with his mother.  The older guy spent a few minutes trying to explain how, even if it seems impossible, things can gradually change over time.  I couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but I certainly enjoyed seeing these two men smiling and engaging in lively dialog.

Living Green

I’ve been environmentally conscious for quite a few years now.  In other words, I’ve been green since long before it hit the mainstream.  I’ve been driving a fuel efficient car for the last 7 years.  I usually run errands once a week to minimize what would otherwise be multiple trips.  I walk and ride my bike often.

Sometimes, I take public transportation.  I don’t happen to live near the Metro, which is the best way to get around the area in which I live.  Yesterday, after a year and a half of living in my neighborhood, I ventured on to a nearby bus.  I thought it would take me to a nearby Metro stop, but it was going to one that was not convenient to get to work.  The bus driver was nice, though, and suggested I stay on the bus and transfer to another bus, which would take me to the Metro.  I did that.  I ended up getting to work in an hour, which isn’t bad for public transportation, although it is much quicker to drive.

The second bus I took was pretty full.  I saw an ‘empty’ seat between two women.  They were both on the larger side, but I sat down anyway.  My hips were touching their hips for the next 10 minutes.  That was kind of weird.

On the way home, I took a different bus.  I found a bus that goes from where I work almost all the way to where I live.  I just have to walk 10 minutes from the bus stop to get to my house.  And the bus is cheaper – only $1.25.  I ended up sitting across from someone who apparently had Tourette’s.  He had a lot of unusual, jerky body movements.  During the bus ride, he periodically reached into his pants to…I guess, scratch his balls.  I’m not sure what he was doing.  He was down there for long enough to make you wonder.  I prefer to think he was scratching and adjusting himself rather than doing anything resembling masturbation. 

At one point, between scratching episodes, he began picking his nose.  This was no subtle nose picking.  He was digging for gold.  I had to look away.  A few moments later, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him wipe his finger on the seat.

As my friends from Iowa sometimes say, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!

I’m trying to be frugal and environmentally friendly, but taking the bus is no easy task.  Hoping this experience was a fluke, I took the same bus to work this morning.  I would like to say I didn’t see any of the same behavior.  I saw a guy grab his crotch, apparently to adjust himself.  At least it was brief.  And he ‘only’ did it once!  Here I am feeling grateful that I only saw a guy grab his genitals once on this particular bus ride.  Unfortunately, the same man in question, only a few seats away, had body odor.  I kept getting whiffs of it during the bus ride.

It was really disgusting, but for the sake of self-preservation, I tried to tune it out as best I could.  But now, here I am, feeling somewhat traumatized and needing to write about the experience.  Why does taking the bus have to be such a nasty experience?  Undoubtedly, there are freaks on the Metro, but there seems to be a higher proportion of freaks on the bus.