Today is Blog Against Sexism day, which in my book makes it no different from any other day, but that’s okay, it gives me a starting point for this post. In celebration of the occasion, and because I am the Anecdotal Queen, I thought it would be fun to think about “The First Time I Experienced Sexism & Knew It*.” I’ll go first, then you guys can join in. (No, No, I’m NOT a lazy blogger, I like other people’s anecdotes, too).
I was in third grade, and playing on the playground at recess. I was not a monkey bars sort of girl (and, really, that explains EVERYTHING), so I was playing in the sand, alongside a boy. I suggested building some sort of sand structure together, and he said no. I asked why not, and he said, “Becaush girlsh have pushies and boysh have dicksh.” Unaware of the concept of speech impediments, I struggled with that all day. I reasoned to myself, “But, a boy’s penis is really something you could, more or less, push back and forth, and you can’t do that with a vagina ‘cause it doesn’t hang down. And, if boys do have “pushies,” then that might be handy in the sand moving arena, although I didn’t ask him to pull down his pants, and I’ve never seen anybody do that. They’d get in trouble.” I never did come up with what a “dicksh” was, and finally had to ask my mother, who set me straight on the whole thing, and I got to add pussy, dick, and LISP to my vocabulary. And, of course, my mom made clear that the idea that our "private parts" (yes, it was a Mr. Rogers sort of household) had nothing whatsoever to do with one's qualifications to play in the sand. Thank heavens, or I'd have been stuck with the swings and tether ball for the rest of my elementary career.
So, you tell me, what was your first time?
*I know there is a guy out there just itching to give me some example of horrible suffering he endured at the hands of the castrating matriarchy, so go ahead; but I take no responsibility for the “great setting straight” that will happen when you do that. I encourage those who may wish to bring up valid experiences when they recognized the privilege they gained from sexism, or, even, how the cultural view of men as irresponsible children whose backs hurt from the weight of following their dicks around, hovering in the air like a divining rod that’s found a ocean beneath their feet, is damaging and limiting.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
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Oh dear. I hope my brother never reads this. Because it was him. I don't remember exactly how old I was. Probably about 9, which would have put him at 7. For some reason, he decided to come up with a new derogatory nickname - Gynie machine. You can guess the root of "gynie", although I'm not even sure if I'm spelling it correctly. I've never asked him "So, how did you spell that hideously offensive nickname anyway?" That went on for a few years, until he grew up enough to stop.
I still get angry at him when I think about it.
Becaush girlsh have pushies and boysh have dicksh
You went to school with Sean Connery???
I'm not sure if this counts but at infant school we used to have mass games of 'cowboys and indians'. All of the boys were cowboys and all of the girls were 'indians'. I am not sure if this speaks more of our ill informed racism rather than a sexist view, except that it was all about noticing a difference between boys and girls and of course we thought cowboys were better...
Of course it also led to pleasantly confusing feelings when we took the 'indian princess' captive. Man, that crush stayed alive for a good few years...
I don't know if this is my first experience of sexism, but it's the first time I clearly remember being exposed to the concept of male privilege. When I was an early teen, thinking myself a very logical guy, I told my mother that I didn't think anyone (i.e. me) should be made to do house-cleaning against their will. My reasoning was that some people (her) wanted the house cleaner than others (me), and it was unfair for her to impose her cleanliness standards.
She calmly explained that because we live in a sexist society, anytime anyone came to the house and disapproved of its level of cleanliness, they would likely consider it a reflection on her, and not on me or my father or brothers (I have no sisters). I was speechless, having never thought of this - and to this day, it's the first thing that comes to mind if I'm asked for an example of male privilege.
This isn't a "first", because my privilege has insulated me from those "click" moments but my partner, who is on the executive team for a shelter for abused women and children, is currently fighting a battle over advertising with our public transit system. The shelter's ads depict abuse in its myriad forms, including a pregnant woman with an obviously bruised belly. The Toronto Transit Commission is balking at running the ads.
"Pornified to sell VOIP services? Sure no probs. Oooh, that ad isn't pornified and somehow implies that men cause domestic violence. Sorry, we have our standards to consider!"
On a lighter note, my 31/2 year old daughter believes that there's a lion living in the house down the street (hence the "No Trespassing" sign). She assured me with perfect seriousness that the lion only eats boys because "girls are faster!"
"men as irresponsible children whose backs hurt from the weight of following their dicks around, hovering in the air like a divining rod that’s found a ocean beneath their feet"
I'm really not trying to be a troll or anything, and I mean this sincerely:
Why do feminists talk about penises so much? I mean, as a guy who sympathizes, but also has to control his own sexist thoughts, I can honestly tell you, it's not based on who has a penis. Any transvestite will tell you, cultural femininity is really a character trait, not a physical one. Sexist assholes are usually homophobic assholes too. I suspect this fixation on the fallus is what convinced Freud of the concept of penis envy, but I think he got it wrong. I think it's an object of ...what's the word...not hatred, but consternation. The hatred/fear (justified or not, that's not my point) of male dominance seems to be directed towards a physical characteristic of the opressor...
It always annoys me when people claim not to be a troll but then sign in anonymous. Anyway.
If I can toss in my two bits about the 'penis fascination', I think it comes down to simple human nature. Women are fascinated by penises because they don't have one, and men are fascinated by vaginas for the same reason. I think any attempt to make it more than that runs into Occam's Razor.
You know, the first thing, the FIRST thing that leapt into my mind, anonymous, was that I guess it's because it's the PENIS that the men usually rape us with (or a penis substitute) and it's based on the presence of a penis that we then assume at birth that a child is male, and confer upon them all the attendant privileges. Hence things like the murdering (by men)of biological women who live as men when their lack of penis is discovered.
Secondly, what leapt to mind was "PHallus."
Thirdly, I've yet to rely on Freud for more than some realtively silly jokes, so yeah, he's not my expert. But I'm not surprised he thought that all women wanted a penis, seeing as how the vagina has typically been viewed as simply "not a penis."
My father gave me a lifetime of examples of sexism involving such nuanced theories as "girls who have double pierced ears are sluts."
But the first time I remember identifying one of his statements as sexist was when I used the phrase "pissed off" and he told me that was no language for a girl to use. Puzzled, I asked "but it's okay for a guy to use?" "No," he said. But before I could be satisfied with that answer he just had to add, "not in mixed company."
Despite the fact that her husband beat her, robbed her, and abandoned his family, my mother raised my sisters and I to believe that our first, foremost, and, what the hell, only goal should be to marry a man, make him happy, and raise his babies.
I know! Isn't it astonishing?
I don't remember having a NON-patriarchal view of myself until 16 or 17, when my orientation became unavoidable. Not to make this a homophobia thread, but as a result of misguided idealism, I came out to my mother far too early, and unprepared. I am no longer welcome in her home.
To be fair to the males, my little brother suffered from this, too. My mother projected her anger at my father onto him, taught him to believe the worst about himself and his gender. He's actually a pretty good kid, the only one who still speaks to me. He doesn't quite get that he's had privilege along with the guilt, though.
I first became aware of sexism when I was in elementary school, and the teachers would ask, "and what does your Daddy do?" and I would say, "I don't really know (I didn't -- it all seemed so complicated then), but my mommy does ...."
And I could see the surprise. Trite but true.
Set the Way-Back Machine for 1961.
I was in the second grade that year. And in one whirling week of 'click' moments I learned-
1) I could not be an altar boy or hope to be a priest when I grew up. A fellow student (and theological scholar) informed me this was because 'God likes boys better'.
2) I was tossed off the kiddie baseball team, where I had taken my brother's place, for the cardinal sin of being a girl. That my brother hated baseball and couldn't hit to save his life mattered not at all. My prowess at shortstop mattered less. Girls did not play in the league.
3) I asked the school librarian for a book with a girl character who had adventures. I was assured girls didn't have adventures. Ever. And real girls didn't WANT to have adventures.
I have a vague recollection of having to go have a talking to by the school nurse the next day, and getting some weird questions about whether or not I wanted to marry a boy when I grew up. I remember being annoyed enough at having my various career dreams shot down that I replied I didn't want to marry anyone at all.
Relieved I was not a budding lesbian, my parents bought me a tea set.
I remember having issues as a young girl when male came addressed to Dr. and Mrs. Joe Smith. Why wasn't my mom's name there?
Then in grade 8, when signing up for classes for high school, we had to fill in forms with codes. The mail addressee had codes too: 1 for Mr. and Mrs., 2 for Dr. and Mrs., etc. There was no code for Dr. and Dr. or Dr.s (both my folks are professors), and that really pissed me off.
But I didn't call myself a feminist until university. There was some No Means No campaign going on on my campus. Whatever. Who cares. But then there was some retaliation. I'll never forget walking by student residences and seeing banners hanging out windows that said, "No means fuck her harder" and "No means fuck her up the ass." How can you NOT become a feminist after seeing that? I just couldn't believe people existed like this - or maybe a few scary people in bushes, but not fellow students in my classes.
Life changing story.
Um... by "male" I mean "mail" - freudian slip or what!
I was about five years old, and my mom and my little sister and I were in a K-Mart or something. Mom was buying us new blankets and asked what colors we wanted. I have to note here that Mom was always pretty good at talking the talk, telling us that we could be anything we wanted, girls are just as good as boys, and specifically, all that pink and blue nonsense was just that. Anyway, my sister and I, for some reason, wanted the brown blankets, but mom wouldn't buy them for us because brown wasn't a color for little girls. My sister and I looked at each other with the pre-school-equivalent of "WTF?" expressions. Mom offered the pink blankets, but we refused. We ended up with yellow blankets. They were scratchy and horrible, and I think about that story every time I see them, nearly thirty years later.
I was about four, and I announced to my mother, proudly, that I had selected the boy I would marry when I grew up.
"Oh, really," she said, amused.
"Yes! I am going to marry Gregory." (I think he was my babysitter.)
"Well, what if Gregory doesn't want to marry you?"
My mom had a friend over, and by now she was laughing, too. I began to sense something was wrong.
"Then--then, I'll pick out someone else."
"You don't pick boys out," my mom explained between giggles. "He picks YOU out."
[me, all confused-looking, feeling slightly hurt over being laughed at.]
"You have to wait for the boy to ask you to marry him."
And from there it was me all wondering, then, what one did if the boy you wanted to marry wouldn't ask you, or what if the boy who asked you wasn't one you liked, or, or . . . .
I never understand how we can still be debating the existence of sexism when marriage proposals are so clearly set up to favor the dudes.
I am a 52 year old white male, college professor. I try to explain to my students (especially the conservative white-boys), that we are now, and always have been privileged. They don't accept it! They call me a politically correct liberal; they say they have worked for everything they have; and they now are saying that it's white males that are actually the ones being discriminated against.
I did not grwo up wealthy--I would have been considered lower-middle class. But being a white male has given me numerous advantages. I am just sorry I haven't been able to get this across to students! I plan to keep trying.
-I live in an urban area and can go just about anywhere, at anytime without fear.
-I never get snide or obnoxious comments about my clothes, hait, makeup, or legs. People leave me alone.
-I don't have to dress well. In fact, as a college professor I can actually dress pretty shabbily and people still respect me!
-I can stand at the bus-stop, next to a sexist, provocative ad, and I don't have to worry about my safety.
-I have always been able to go to a bank or business and people take me seriously.
-For my entire entire life, if I was in a tough spot, I grin and talk my way out of it.
-I have never worried about the police.
-In school, all the examples were about people just like me.
-As a kid, I was expected/encouraged to be a lawyer, politician, or professor. My sisters had to be happy with dolls and Easy Bake Ovens. Sadly, my nieces are getting the same treatment.
I can go on and no and on. I am just sorry I haven't been able to get this across to my male students. Thw wheels are greased in our favor, and they still are. There are so many things we don't have to worry about.
Sorry about the spelling errors in my previous post/comment. I really am a fine speller! I was just having trouble sending the comment and didn't do the proper editing before hitting the "publish" button.
I went to a Catholic grade school in a small town. One day the principal, a nun, decided we should get with the times and allow girls to serve at the altar instead of only "altar boys".
Names were drawn out of a hat, and one was mine. After serving my first Mass, I was surprised to have several boys walk up to me and say in a surprised manner that they "didn't think a girl could do it", like there's some requisite aspect of maleness involved. For the commenter who asked, it's bizarro remarks like that which make us speculate about penises -- when trying to visualize *some* aspect of a prepubescent male body that makes it more able to carry out the simple tasks of serving at the altar than that of a prepubescent girl body, there isn't much to choose from, so the speculation that the boys must think that ounce or two of genitalia is all that's keeping that cassock from pulling them over backwards is bound to arise.
Almost as freaky were the crabby old grannies who said I'd done a terrible thing.
As a straight white male I don't have any personal experiences on the receiving end of sexism, but I have a significant indirect one:
Back in '64 or so my mother arrived at a Baptist college in central Florida and announced her intention to be a doctor. She was informed that that was flatly impossible since girls' brains couldn't handle math or science, and went on to be a teacher, mother of two and textbook editor before she decided in '78 or so that girls COULD be doctors and she was by-God gonna; after a lot of premed studying, she was accepted to Texas A&M Medical School. Her class had a number of nontraditional students, including a few other mothers (who tended to hang out together for moral support and mutual babysitting) and "Dr. Bob," who had a PhD in biology and was now going into medicine.
So it was with great glee that my mom watched at a class picnic as one of the other mothers introduced her sixish son to Dr. Bob, and the lad blurted out in wonder, "You mean BOYS can be doctors too?"
(By the way, she graduated from med school, did her residency at the Mayo Clinic, joined the Air Force and spent three years in Okinawa, later moved to Virginia and worked in a group practice until a cerebral aneurysm caused her to reconsider her priorities, went to seminary outside of Pittsburgh and is now a bivocational Episcopal priest and practicing pediatrician. Pretty good for a brain that couldn't grasp complex subjects like math or science. Did I mention I'm in awe of her?)
Oh, killer story, Dave. I think I'm in awe of your mom too.
Dave--very nice, your mom totally rocks.
When my dad was 48, he quit a job he had hated for 18 years and announced he was going to nursing school. When my mother told my grandmother the news, she said, "You mean he's going to be a MALE nurse?" Yes, my mother said, all the signs suggest he's going to keep on being MALE.
As one of two men in his graduating class, my 6'2", 230 lb dad proudly wore hot pink scrubs, and for the little bit of life left him, he was happier than he'd ever been when he was an RN.
I love it when the cultural assumptions get all turned upside down.
"Yes, my mother said, all the signs suggest he's going to keep on being MALE."
That's brilliant.
Sixth grade. That's when my father told me I could no longer play tackle football with the boys.
I was heartbroken.
Thanks for this post and thread, very interesting!
I don't know when this happened, but I think I was probably about 7 or 8. My sister, who is a lot older than me, had babysat me and a friend and had somehow ended up in an argument with my friend's father, culminating in her calling him a "male chauvinist pig". I found out about it because after that pretty much every time I saw my friend's father (which was very frequently) he mentioned it and tormented me as a result. Of course I had to go find out what it meant, and I discovered that it fitted him to a T. It was the first time I realised that he wasn't like that because he was just strange, he was like that because he actually thought women were inferior. After a while in my family we simply referred to him as the MCP.
I also remember when I was about 12 yelling at the television everytime the advert came on for Nutragrain (an antipodean breakfast cereal). They still use the tagline "Iron Man Food" today, and it was the only thing I liked for breakfast back then, and I couldn't stand that it was supposedly an XY-exclusive food, so I used to yell "Iron PERSON" everytime the telly voice-over said "Iron Man" (about ten times per advert). I must have really driven my folks a bit dotty during that period.
This is a great idea for a post. I am a regular Pandagon reader, but this is my first comment over here.
I read a ton of Nancy Drew books when I was a kid, so I'm sure I got a lot of sexist undercurrents from those. But the first thing I remember that really seemed unfair was the tremendous amount of confusion it seemed to cause at my elementary school from the fact that my mom and I had different last names. (She was divorced when I was 5 and remarried when I was about 7.) Permission slips would be questioned, files would have to be checked, homes would have to be called--all because my mom was now "Mrs H" instead of "Mrs P."
Damn: these are just what we're recalling.
Raising boys, I am running constant interference on gender brainwashing. It's insane. Before I had kids, I thought maybe there was a biological argument for gender differences. That can suck my toes: gender lessons sneak in on the breakfast cereal and go all day from there, ending up in gender constructed pyjamas. We cannot in any way TELL if there's biological differences, because it's constantly taught: there are gender lessons on toothbrushes and yogurt, in toys and books and tv and bike helmets and pull-up diapers and oh my god.
Small example: My eldest (5) likes bugs - a very "boy" thing - but he also loves aesthetically pleasing bugs like butterflies. Which people CALL him on, or twist their faces up. How many times has he had to answer the question: Oh, you like *that*? Where *that* is a girl toy or a pink toy or a picture featuring some colour other than puke and dun. It's never mean, but it's always wondering, like "You can FLY?" And I live in a queer neighbourhood, so there's a hell of a lot more tolerance around. If I were in the suburbs? I might go insane.
My son's best friend is female; and whenever they're out with me and people offer them stuff, which is a lot because corporations love to seduce the kids with Stickers! and Toys!, I have to do this balanced negotiation of the people's gender expectations - which the kids totally absorb - and the kids' own interests, and my own feminism, which is an expectation in and of itself. So I have a kid who likes books and trucks and cars and bugs and blue and pink and cute kittens and butterflies, and I think we're doing well. He's not in school yet, though.
Anyway. Boys Can Like Pink. Fuck you, world.
As a kid, though, the moment for me that it settled into my bones was when I was told, in Grade 7, that I could not join the auto-shop program but had to take sewing. I'd been working on cars for years, and driving on farm land. I loved mechanics. Then again in grade 9: no Shop for you. When I complained and sat in the office, I was finally "met half way": only if you get another girl to join.
Of course, it was too late to convince anyone, and then the following year I didn't have the pre-req, etc.
My sister, on the other hand, marched down to the shop room, grabbed the distributor cap/pencil holder on the teacher's table and explained to him what engine it was from, and became the first girl allowed in shop. She and my mom are both my heroes; neither ever seem to notice what they're told they can't do. I give up too soon.
I'm Gen X. I'm still surprised that it happened to me.
Growing up, I'd always known I was kind of... different. My parents never really understood why I wasn't interested in make-up and boys and clothes (I just wasn't, I'd rather be reading), but it never really hit home until I turned 16.
I've always been the practical type, so thusly I didn't carry a purse. I knew I would lose it -- the many instances where I was carrying a purse and did lose it was example enough. So, I took to carrying around a men's wallet with all of my ID's and things in it in my back pocket. That way, I knew where it was (on me) at all times, and it's hard to forget something that's in your clothes.
Well, one day during gym class, my wallet got stolen, so my mother offered to take me to the nearby JC Penney to get it replaced. She went to go return something and left me to browse. I picked out a simple brown leather wallet with enough pockets to carry my stuff in. She came back and asked what I had picked out, and I showed her the wallet.
She looked at me with the strangest look in her eyes, and said "That's a man's wallet."
I responded: "Yes, I know. It goes in my back pocket so I don't have to carry a purse around."
She eyed me suspiciously for a moment and then asked, "Lindsey, are you a lesbian?"
It was in that moment I realized that no matter how well-thought out my preferences were, and how well I could defend them, there were just certain people I'd never be able to reach.
Growing up, my father intended to treat the girls and boys the same. He used to say “I paint you all with the same brush.” He took a lot of flack for it by busybodies that thought he was too permissive with his daughters. The reality did not quite live up to the ideal. My three older sisters were resentful of the extra attention I got because I was a boy. I remember one year Dad bought a painting of football players and hung it in my room. Man, did I hate that stupid painting. Money was tight, we all knew it and he was buying me original art. WTF. My sisters let me have it for that one. The kicker was I didn’t like football. I still don’t. So from a very early age, I knew I was in a privileged position on the basis of my gender.
I can’t say now I became a feminist then, though I did say that in college. *Nice guy* is more like it, because I had a lot of resentment and internal conflict. At least I got better ideas in my head eventually. But resentments are self-defeating; one day maybe I won’t have any anymore.
Second grade, recess: a male classmate came at me with a karate chop motion aimed at my head/shoulder region. I held up a length of two by four that I'd found in the schoolyard. I did not strike him with it, I merely held it up still and horizontally so that it blocked him. The karate chop came down upon the wood, as opposed to my person. He ran crying to the teacher, wringing his hand, because he hurt it on the wood (but not seriously). I was punished for protecting myself. I guess I was supposed to just absorb the force of the blow? Rather than deflect it back. Bite me, second grade teacher who punished me.
I must have been 6 or 7 years old. My parents had given in and bought me a Nintendo for Christmas, which meant I could finally rent some of the games I'd been coveting every time we went to the video store.
That particular day, two older boys were browsing in the same aisle. One of them reached over my head, picked up the hot pink Barbie cartridge, and said, "Is this what you're looking for?"
I looked at him like he was offering me a handful of dog shit and said, "Heck no. That game sucks." Then I reached past him to grab the last copy of Contra, spun on my heels, and left.
I never experienced much gender discrimination as a kid, though. My parents were more interested in fairness than gender roles, and they encouraged me to do whatever I found interesting.
I hated to wear dresses as a very small child. A young lady had to sit quietly and prettily instead of running and playing. I was probably about 4.
In the first grade, a couple of boys and I were teasing another little girl about being a "Bluebird" --but I was the only one to get in trouble since I was a girl and the boys, well, they'll be boys. I actually had to get up in front of the class and apologize to the other girl.
I now have a son, and it's fun buying him boy-toys, because I never got to play with toys like that when I was little. The oddest thing--had I ever ASKED for a construction set or a garage, I probably would've received it, but I'd REALLY internalized that those toys were 'not for girls' so I didn't even ask for them.
I make sure to buy my son girl-toys and gender-neutral toys.
had I ever ASKED for a construction set or a garage, I probably would've received it, but I'd REALLY internalized that those toys were 'not for girls' so I didn't even ask for them.
That was me! That was totally, completely me!
Sure I could have had Legos. I loved Legos. But I didn't ask for Legos, because that would have been weird. "The new Superstar Barbie, please." That's what I'd ask for.
Wild. I thought I was the only kid who had done that.
Um... I'm a woman, first of all... and I'm sorry, but I can't think of a single instance! Even reading through all the comments didn't help. I was captain of the "Juniper Tree" team in our playground wargames. I was captain of the starship when we played Star Trek. I've never even had a car mechanic ask me if he could talk to my daddy (which would have been only fair, I know nothing about cars and my daddy knows a lot).
It's not sexism per se, but I did face sexual assault in fifth grade. A little boy from another homeroom walked up and grabbed my crotch. I was too shocked to respond for a moment - I didn't even know him - and by that time he had walked away. I had one of my friends who was in his class issue him a challenge for the next recess, and proceeded to whup him under the juniper trees - didn't hurt him, just knocked him down until he stopped trying to get up and admitted defeat. (Note to any of you who happen to be teachers - a large juniper tree is a perfect place to do things teachers don't approve of. This one had an outside circumference of about twenty feet and the space inside was nice and open and completely concealed.) When I got home I wrote about the incident in my diary, wondering what on earth he'd been thinking.
I'm 38 now, and I still haven't faced much sexism. I've gotten into flame wars on boards with guys who usually make terribly rude comments to women, and they don't make them to me. Online roleplaying games, same deal. I don't know what my secret is, other than that I'm tall and muscular and naturally good at things like math and science, so I guess most people don't try to fit me into a stereotype.
Oh hey! I said I couldn't think of one, but then I did.
Fifth grade again. Juniper trees. My second-in-command and I were walking back from recess following a victory in our wargame (which was basically an elaborate game of tag and capture the flag) with our arms around each other's necks. We were laughing and having a great time.
The teacher called us into the office and told us our behavior was inappropriate - we weren't allowed to touch each other, and we really shouldn't play together - it would be better if I played only with other girls. In a couple of years he and I would have a crush on each other (unfortunately he killed himself at the age of 13, but that's another story) but at the time we were both furious. We were PARTNERS. We worked together. We were a good team. How dare anyone misconstrue our perfectly innocent behavior and accuse us of behaving inappropriately!
One of the annoying things about this incident was that the teacher was my favorite teacher who had been a personal hero of mine up to that point. She knew me, and the other kid, very well, and had no real excuse for not understanding what was going on.
I think with me it was obsessing over language. I was five and I'd just discovered all those words ending in "-ess" and I kept wondering: why do the female words have an extra bit (with pronouns too, and with Mr and Mrs)? Like, being a boy is the normal thing, and being a girl is something different and odd? Maybe it's good. Maybe we get the -ess to show that we're special? But it doesn't feel very good. And we sang Molly Malone in class, and "the girls are so pretty" and I thought, is that a good thing, that girls are allowed to be pretty and boys aren't? But it just doesn't feel right. And also, why do they always put Peter's name first in the Peter and Jane reading books? Why does he get to do the fun things? In the stories about the two cave-children, why did the boy discover fire and the girl discover cooking? And why is there only one girl on all the cartoons? Like being a girl makes you different, just like all the other characters on cartoons are different from each other, but then does that mean if there were two girls they would both be the same?
I had all these deeply earnest questions inside, but I just thought I was probably a bit crazy so I never actually asked them, because nobody else ever seemed to have these questions. Also when you're five or six you don't exactly have the vocabulary to express stuff like that to other people; it was hard enough to express it to myself, and eventually I gave up trying.
I can empathize with the writers who tell stories of childhood sexism, but there is another side that is often overlooked. Yes, its true, boys often benefit from assumed male privilege, but many people, males and females, fail to realize the underside from this assumption. To put it in its simplest term, what seems to an "outsider" as privilege is experienced by an "insider" as a straitjacket, a rigid requirement of someone of your sex. As a boy, I was a bookish type, more interested in reading, writing and music and less inclined to sports and outdoor activities. My sisters were never asked why they weren't playing outside, why they went to the library in the summer, and why they liked music, but I was considered a sissy and an outcast because of these interests. My lack of sports accomplishments was a clear disappointment to my parents and they didn't take trouble to hide it. This opinion was shared by all my grandparents and aunts and uncles too, and their children, my cousins, never socialized with me.
When I was 10 my mother signed me up for a summer softball league, determined to make a "real' boy out of me. While I was interested, my lack of experience showed and the other boys wouldn't have much to do with me. No one had ever taught me how to swing a bat, or the rules of the game, it was just expected that boys knew these things. After attending twice and being openly humiliated by the coach I refused to attend again. My mother woudn't give up until I shouted "Why? Why do I HAVE to play softball?" She didn't say anything but her openly contemptuous look is burned into my memory. Later she discussed it with my father, and they agreed something was wrong with me.
Through high school, it was expected that boys knew sports statistics, how to fix things, saw wood, the rules of football, basketball, etc. I ran up against these expectations all the time, but no one ever explained how I was supposed to know them. I looked at my sisters with envy, because it seemed they were not pushed into a narrow range of interests and behaviors. I didn't want to be like my sisters, I just wanted to be left alone, but my parents, teachers, relatives and neighbors all had the opinion that something was wrong with me. My parents were embarrassed when their friends asked about me. When they would have to admit to others that I wasn't a "high school jock", not a typical boy, NOT THEY BOY THEY WANTED, I would feel their sense of shame to the marrow of my bones. My mother, a lifelong football fan, was disgusted that her 5'10" 180-lb. muscular and broad-shouldered son preferred classical music to the Green Bay Packers. I was never in doubt about her disappointment, shame and contempt for me. My sisters, with their more typical girls lives, were adored and spoiled. Our family photo albums are filled with pix of their parties, first dates, new dresses, proms, etc. but there are no records of my piano performances or any other interests, only my annual school picture.
Perhaps some who participate in this discussion might consider that reverse side of male privilege is a narrow idea of male adulthood. Men are supposed to be strong (strong enough to deny pain and neglect themselves, dying of preventable causes 7-10 years before women); men are supposed to be stoic, rational, unemotional (holding it all inside, leading to physical outbursts, higher suicide rates, higher rates of antisocial behavior at all ages); men are supposed to be always ready to be sexual ( even during the teen years, when they hardly know their own bodies, leading to unrealistic expecations about sexuality throughout their lives); men are supposed to be successful and make lots of money (and sacrifice themselves and their family lives for this goal without question).
The men who fit these expectations enjoy respect, friendship, attention and honors throughout their lives, but at what cost? And men, like me, who don't fit the mold... does anyone give a damn? the subject of male privilege is hardly black and white.
steveindepere, I just caught your comment (sometimes the email throws things randomly into junk mail, and I don't know why).
My oldest son is 16. He isn't one bit athletic, he's shy, bookish, sensitive, and completely uninterested in sports, auto mechanics, or any other traditionally male activities. While I'm not bothered by that, it was very difficult once he reached about 5th grade and it became obvious that the "real" boys were athletic, not smart, and tough, not sensitive.
One of the central arguments about patriarchy and sexism is that it's bad for both women AND men, which is exactly why your peers wouldn't accept your differences. It's absolutely tragic that a parent should be disappointed in a child for not conforming to tradtional, limited stereotypical roles.
We have taken great pains to allow our eldest to be who he is, even changing from a public high school to a charter school for the arts, where even PE is disguised as something different than sports. I certainly wish that had been your experience as well, and hope that you've found people in your adult life who support and love you for the very fine man that you are, instead of condemning you for being who you are. Thanks for commenting.
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