Men Opposed
The weather forecast warned that
another winter storm was on its way. With all practicality and indication, the
storm had already descended heavily upon our valley neighborhood. Three
consecutive weekends of torrential rain had made me weak and depressed. I
attempted to continue watching television. However, the thought of vegetating
on the couch offered me limited solace from the bleakness of the day. There was
really nothing worthwhile to watch anyway. The shows that dominated the
airwaves ranged from the nap-inducing golf tournaments to the high-intensity
football games. Another weekend of macho programming ensued. There was really
nothing else to do on that wet weekend afternoon but to find something
worthwhile to spend my time in.
As I darted to my bedroom to escape
to dreamland, I saw my computer and decided to find company on the Internet
instead. I searched for possible cures for the winter blues. Shopping it
seemed, was the most popular antidote for boredom and despair. Nevertheless, I had
no intentions of turning an otherwise bleak afternoon to an expensive one! I clicked on a couple of women-related links,
still hoping to find exciting but inexpensive ideas that would have alleviated
my otherwise dull-drum filled day.
There was an interesting site about
ways of enhancing the memory after the age of 35! I certainly needed to know
useful tips regarding this matter, for it seemed that the ultra-photographic
memory I once thought I had, has gone on a steady deterioration mode! My brain
seems to be having a lot of difficulty retaining just about anything nowadays!
There were also a couple of links
to herbal treatments for anything that ailed parts of the woman’s body I didn’t
even know existed! And yes, there were also numerous links to websites that
were dedicated to anything relating to menopause. Oh pardon me, I stand
corrected not numerous, there were tons of them!
I was quite intrigued. I haven’t
been feeling like my “normal” self lately. According to one of the websites
that I visited, the symptoms of menopause can manifest themselves as early as
ten years before the actual occurrence. Ten years! Perhaps the hypochondriac in
me assumed, that I was being peri-menopausal! Somehow, an unknown powerful
force just guided me through the hundreds of links. Just as soon as I clicked
on one of the other highlighted links, my pre-pubescent son walked in and asked
about what I was reading. I said I was reading about MENOPAUSE.
“Why are you opposed to men?” my
son blurted.
I didn’t quite understand what he
meant, so I asked him to repeat what he just said.
He asked me again, “Why are you
opposing men?”
He then added, “Aren’t you reading
about MEN OPPOSED?
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
I realized that indeed, what I was reading about might have very well been
entitled, “Links to opposition to men in general!” Perhaps, it is quite fitting
that the two terms sounded so similar! Perhaps, menopause is a phase in a
woman’s life when she finally gets out of the confines of the male dominated
society that has forced a definition of a subservient sense of self. Perhaps, this was the stage in life when she
finally comes to her own. Perhaps, as her ability to procreate ceases, her
ability to recreate herself commences.
And so I pondered on how this stage of life has brought about a new
meaning in my survival as a woman. I traced the history of how I have been
defined in context to the MEN in my life.
To start with, on the day I was
born, I was greeted by the universal mixed feelings of a father who although
was ecstatic with his first born child, had a tinge of disappointment when the
doctor declared, “It is a girl!”
Like all men who have become a
father on every continent on this whole wide world, he secretly wished that he
had a son instead. Okay, perhaps, I am getting carried away. I guess in legal
terms, this statement is a hearsay, I don’t actually know if my father felt
that way but throughout my childhood, although I never doubted his dedication
to me, there were many times when I saw the pride in his eyes when he reveled
in the accomplishments of someone else’s son.
Case in point: my father was a
proud graduate of the most prestigious military academy in the country of my
heritage. My impression was, along with allegiance and service to their
country, each and every graduate of this elite military school had a personal
dedication to protect the integrity of their beloved institution. I always felt
that each one took on the serious responsibility of providing the next generation
of the finest marching military men. What a better way to achieve their goal
than to groom their sons to follow in their hallowed footsteps! This premise
explains the fact that in our household, it always became front-page news when
one of my father’s fellow alumni’s sons made it to the highly competitive
military school. There was a collective sense of pride when one of their sons
continued on the highly revered tradition.
Perhaps, it was because I could
never be one of those sons that I felt sensitive about this particular aspect
of our family life. I knew some of those venerated sons and compared to me,
they were nothing but sloppy, pimpled faced and academically inept male
individuals. All these embodiment of the textbook definition of losers had
going for them was the proper alumni last name! I felt that I could have taken any of them
down, emotionally, academically and some with all modesty, perhaps even
physically.
Although, I always thought that
“all that I was” deserved a little more credit, in reality they didn't have to
be more than just a boy to deserve the much coveted adoration from the
generation that sired them! In essence,
short of having an actual sex change, the truth was, there was nothing I could
have ever done or could ever do that would change the fact, that my mere gender
disqualified me from having given my father his shot to fulfill the goal that
each and every military man of his beloved alma mater so desperately wanted to
achieve!
Even my name had to be that of my
father’s choosing. I was named after my grandmother, his dearly adored
mother. Like millions of generations of
women before me, I carried my father’s last name, the very name passed on by
his father before him. My father was the junior son of a senior father. The day
after I was born, my parents started planning on having a child who could be
named with the Roman numeral “III” attached to it! Unfortunately or perhaps by
mere coincidence, the siblings never came and I grew up as an only child. I
never heard it said out loud, nevertheless, on numerous occasions, it was
inferred that with me, the last name would go into eternal oblivion!
My elders counted their potential
progeny as a direct proportion to the number of grandsons they had, as if
granddaughters didn’t actually count for anything! There was an unmentionable
truth that boys were generally more welcomed than girls. Ironic though, that in
my family where the majority of the four generations of the women earned
graduate degrees, in most cases, more educationally advanced than their male
counterparts, there was still a thin veil of an unspoken feeling of inadequacy.
I felt that there was a collective sense of inferiority complex, not due to
anything that was directly related to academic excellence, but because we as
women, will bear children who will never carry the much-revered family name.
Through my teen-age years, I grew
up with numerous rambunctious male cousins who were allowed to just be who they
were. After all, boys will always be boys. Another of those unmentionable
truths that hyperactive boys were generally more tolerated than the dainty
girls. I was personally offended by the rules that applied exclusively for
girls. The boys were never questioned about coming home at late night hours. I
resented the fact that although I had as much energy as the boys and had always
wanted to play outside as long as they did, like any good girl in the
neighborhood, I was required to go home way before the sun set. As much as I
was popular with the other kids in our neighborhood, I was only known as the
younger girl cousin of the pubescent boys who by then, had the reputation to
mesmerize the girls at the same time terrorize their parents!
The concept of boys was a
none-issue in the all-girls Catholic grade school I attended. In high school
though, my mother had the great sense of sending me to a co-ed institution
thinking that it would provide me a more psychologically balanced adolescent
experience. She enrolled me in a school with a highly academic advanced math and
science programs. I competed with the smartest of the smartest, regardless of
gender! Even then, there was an underlying inequality on how girls were
perceived. The intelligent girls were always labeled as studious, hard working
and bookish. As if girls were endowed with only half a brain that they needed
to study harder than their male counterparts to compensate for the dumber half!
The few boys who landed on the honor
roll however were tagged as brilliant and borderline geniuses! Even though it
bothered me that girls were always afforded a secondary billing, I never
complained, for at that time, I had begun to start liking the boys too much to
argue about their worth!
The story remained pretty much the
same as I transitioned to the college campus. By then, my academic success was
directly proportional to whether I had a significant relationship during the
semester or not. I had to redefine educational excellence not only with regards
to my family’s expectations of me, in addition, I had to inject into that
equation, my perception of how valuable my success was, in relation to my
significant other’s meaning of it and how it affected his life.
As a woman in her 20’s, I contained
my existence to the search for Mr. Right, or so it would seem. Although my descendants
will never be able to carry the family name, they were highly anticipated,
nevertheless. An appropriate wedding was
to be a part of my foreseeable future.
The fact that a marriage was to be a part of my destiny was a foregone
conclusion and I didn't have any control over being able to transform it to a
hopeful assumption! An inescapable requirement to fulfill! As a result, I ended
up always second-guessing myself. Although the flames of ambition burned
through every fiber in my being, I was always cautioned by my elders to be wary
of being too successful, in the fear that too many professional accolades
traditionally scares the good men away!
In my late 20’s when neither an
engagement nor a wedding had been announced on my behalf, the elders began to
show a heightened sense of anxiety. It
really didn't matter if I had become the youngest and only female engineer in
my department. Never mind, that I managed to break pass the barrier of the
proverbial “glass ceiling”. There was never a mention of any expression of
pride for a job well done! There were no celebratory events to express any
appreciation for one hometown girl who seemed to have conquered the highly
competitive and intricate engineering world. There were numerous references
however, on cousin’s weddings and friends’ children’s fiances!
I was especially amused and rightly annoyed
when my mother would add and emphasize the “younger than you” qualifier, as if
getting married was supposed to be a chronologically scheduled event!
When finally I found the Prince
Charming who would put an end to my perceived miserable single life, everyone
rejoiced! Or should I say, everyone heaved a heavy collective sigh of relief!
Never mind if I was in the midst of an important project, the completion of which would propel my career to heights I
could only imagine! I finally had an engagement to announce and a wedding day
to look forward to. Apparently, according to the elders again, those were the
two major milestones a woman my age prepared for and focused on her whole life,
everything else came secondary!
The highly anticipated wedding day
finally came and on that day, I officially became the Mrs. of Mr. Right.
Although I was content in just keeping the name my father handed on to me,
surprisingly my mother was the one who said that if I did, I would be
disrespecting my husband’s family. Taking on the name of the man you married
apparently was a sign of allegiance, a symbol of dedication to the new family
you are seeking membership in. As if pledging my whole life and my entire
future to this man weren't enough, I had to suffer through the pains of changing
my name on all pertinent documents that society required me to identify myself.
Just when I thought I had finally gotten comfortable with “who” I had become as
a person, the so-called societal etiquette forced me to take on another
identity!
I had to change the only name I
ever known and responded to ever since the day I was born! To this very day,
when people call me as a “Mrs.” used in conjunction with my husband’s last
name, I still do not respond, partly because I still haven’t gotten used to it,
partly because I still think people are referring to my mother-in-law instead!
The months following my wedding
day, everyone in our family meticulously monitored the pattering of “little
feet”. After the announcement that I was
finally on the “family way”, my parents focused on the arrival of the anxiously
awaited grandchild. Once again, it didn't seem to make a dent on my family’s
psyche that I was being groomed to become the main engineering manager at work.
A feat only few brave women have dared to pursue!
As it is always the case when an
intersection in life is reached, multiple paths suddenly become available for
passage! At that point in my life, the ultimate reward for a lifelong work of
servitude to my chosen profession was being compromised by two little words:
maternity leave.
For some reason as soon as everyone
found out about my impending motherhood, the professional expectations suddenly
diminished. I was looked at by my peers not as an equal, but a walking excuse
to express the pent-up “oohs and ahs”, they desperately needed to get out of
their systems. Even my superior, whom I admired because of his tenacity,
suddenly became so fatherly. The boss that I respected with all the integrity I
had left in my bulging body, had been transformed to an expectant grandfather
figure, all giggly and goo-goo eyed!!!
In a world where the feat of
bearing a son was enormous, the respect that is afforded to someone who had
actually given birth to one is completely over the top! Giving birth to a
first-born son was indeed an ultimate achievement. With the birth of my child,
I was alleviated to a higher level of regard. I had delivered the descendant
who would assure the continuous survival of the families that brought my
husband and I into this world!
Perhaps it was the hopeful elation
of becoming a mother that I gave me a strong sense of redemption from my past
transgressions. Most likely though, it was the surge of post-partum hormones
that gave me the feeling of renewal. I felt that I was forgiven for everything
wrong that I had ever done in the life. Having borne a son was my all-purpose
eraser to clean out my slate. All of the frustration that anyone ever felt
about me suddenly vanished! I was after all, the mother of an heir-apparent to
all the good that was ever garnered by the two families that genetically merged
upon the conception of my son!
With the utmost of pride, I had
provided my mother her much anticipated and much deserved “bragging rights”
every grandmother was entitled to. More importantly, I had provided my father
the right to enliven the hope of having to redeem his stake on having a
descendant in the roster of graduates of his much-adored military school.
There was even more emotional
accolades bestowed upon me when a little less than 24 months after, I had given
birth to another son! And like the British line of royal succession, I had
provided a second male heir. For that reason alone, I was officially regarded
and treated with the entire royal trappings of being a “Queen Mother!”
After the princes came “barging”
into my life, even I had a change of heart. The desire to shatter the glass
ceiling was replaced with enormous yearning to carefully not shatter baby glass
bottles! I too, wanted to forget the long hours of satisfying professional
banter I had become very familiar with. I too, wanted to turn my back on the
years of sweating deadlines, the very source of much-needed excitement in my
life for what seemed to be a whole lifetime! Suddenly, the complicated had
become trivial and mundane. Fulfillment came in changing soiled diapers and
burping babies! My brain which endured years of highly technical training to
decipher intricate engineering jargons could no longer comprehend beyond the
words: “Once upon a time!”
Perhaps, looking back, I admit to
having issues about being afforded accolades that were dependent on the value
given to my life by the male species that surrounded me. Perhaps, the irony of
now finding “myself” amidst the lives of three men is nature’s ultimate
expression of humor and hopefully, gratitude. Perhaps, having sons are nature’s
way of providing a generous commendation for a life lived in boring obedience
to all that was expected and all that was deemed by society as right! Perhaps,
having these two wonderful bouncing baby boys is the world’s sign of approval
for all of the times I was tempted by the exciting and dangerous life of
disobedience but never found the courage to give in to any of it!
After a lifetime of asserting my
place in the world of men, I have been given an opportunity to help define the
lives and times of two of the most precious male creatures that ever graced
this planet!
Perhaps, having been given such
honor, I no longer find myself in the realm of being fearful of the expectation
of the people I share the same last name with. I no longer feel accountable to
anyone for all the failed expectations that were associated with being a born a
girl. Two of my highly acclaimed achievements have now overshadowed all of the
others that I thought were ignored while growing up! I no longer mind all the “never minds” that
have been the generic reaction to my accomplishments. I am now the mother, in-charge
and in-control of the future of two valuable male heirs. And although I was
never acknowledged for being worthy enough to chart the course of my life, the
fact that I was able to deliver two sons have transformed my elders to hand a
bequest of undying trust and confidence for maneuvering the course of their
beloved grandsons’ lives!!!
I have come full circle in this
quest for definition of one’s worth. The little girl who once felt rebellious
of the extra amenities that the boys automatically got just by being boys, has
grown up to be the mother of two sons, trying her very best to afford her sons
the extra amenities that boys automatically get just by being boys! There is a
certain level of wisdom attained in being able to live the other half of an argument
that I so vehemently fought against for so long!
Indeed, it is payback time, for the
first time, I am able to define myself outside the context of the men who have
been present in my life. I now find myself in a position to define some of their
lives in the context of mine. Perhaps, indeed, the onset of middle age has
allowed me the perspective to be MEN OPPOSED, to finally stand outside the
shadows of the men whose very title have deprived me to be known for the total
person I am. Perhaps, it is time to stop allowing society to accord me
recognition only in relation to those male figures in my life. Perhaps, it is
time to acknowledge that I am no longer just the female being that has been
marked by the male dominated world as an existence in apostrophes: father’s
daughter, boy’s girlfriend, man’s wife and son’s mother. Perhaps, it is time
that I declare my own name and identity sans the possessive extensions…just me,
just a woman, worthy, no more, no less!
Menopause is traditionally defined
as being the cessation of menses. Perhaps, as I approach this glorious stage of
life, I am now able to find myself in a position where absolute wholeness is
obtained from the cessation of my dependence to the senses of men!
As the
afternoon progressed, the torrential rain ended and the storm was on its way to
a new destination. I peeked through my window and saw the sun setting through
the horizon. A dramatic glimmer of orange light has replaced the dark shadowy
sky. I felt very graciously hopeful. Indeed a new beginning has begun!
