The other day on NPR, Susan Roesgen discussed Michelle Obama’s desire to be “First Mom” and seemed to find it unbelievable that a Princeton and Harvard Law School graduate might actually decide to forgo pursuing a high powered career to focus on her children. Having to give up a career, she said was the dark side of his winning the presidency and her becoming first lady.
I have to admit, given the bias of my book, that it seems absurd to hear a giving up a "career" -- so you have time to nurture your children -- referred to as the dark side. It may be the side that involves the most sacrifice and the greatest investment; however, dark side seems a bit overstated.
Google the words "Dark Side," and 40,900,000 hits will appear.
The term "darkside, although I could not find the origin of the term in the dictionary, refers to something negative -- the dark side of man -- our propensity for evil.
Responses to Susan Roesgen's statement fell into two distinct camps:
(1) “First Mom” is the best and most appropriate title for a First Lady with young chldren. I didn't support Obama for President, but I will applaud if his wife remembers her children are far more important than anything else.
(2) It is disappointing to see Ivy League women sell out to patriarchy and become economically dependent on their husbands. Like it or not, a stay-at-home mom is subordinate to her husband. I know it is hard to raise children. However, it should be a “call to arms” to demand family-friendly workplaces, and end to discrimination against wage-earning mothers, and most of all, husbands who take equal responsibility for housework and childcare. I voted for Obama, but already I am disappointed in his “pale male” administration. American feminists need to demand that Obama follow the lead of Chile’s Michele Bachelet and Spain’s Louis Zapatero and ensure that 50% of his Cabinet members are feminist women. I don’t like Michelle’s “First Mom” comment. However, First Ladies don’t get paid anything and Michelle needs to insist that if we expect First Ladies to “be active,” then America needs to pay them. Nov 8th, 2008
These comments raise several points we might discuss.
(1) Are children more important than anything else? If so, why? If not, then what is more important?
(2) Should we really be disappointed when "Ivy League" women -- as opposed to state university graduates? -- leave their careers and devote their time to mothering?
(3) If a woman does make such a decision -- or better said -- if such a decision is made, is that women really "selling out to the patriarchy (and related question -- who/where/what is the patriarchy).
In response to (1), to cut to the chase, there are two ways to look at this question. The first if to look at the person and her personal interests, her self-interest. The second is to look at the future and what it takes to produce a productive series of generations (not necessarily happy or self-fulfilled, but possibly successful as measured in a number of ways); in other words, sacrificing one's self-interest to promote that of future generations.
If we look at the existing research, although the designs often leave something to be desired, studies fairly consistently show that mothers are important in a large number of ways. Mother-involved and well-loved children are more likely to be resilient, have better mental, emotional and physical health, and be good citizens -involved in their communities, and less likely to engage in high risk behavior. I could add more, but I will conclude this part of the discussion by saying that I know of no studies, other than perhaps some really skewed studies done during the heat of the feminist movement, that saw anything negative about such mothers. The negatives of mothering are individual positives. One cannot be a top lawyer, doctor, researcher, and also an involved and loving mother. Children are time-consuming. To raise a child well is pretty much a full time job, particularly during the early years. I am tired of writing, but will end here by stating that if we think primarily of ourselves, it is natural that we will focus on ourselves and our careers; however, if we are concerned about the future, that is a foolish thing to do if we have chosen to be mothers, or even had motherhood thrust upon us. What other people realize and we as Americans often do not, is that we are just a link in a chain that goes back to the beginning of life on earth, and that will continue as long as we have descendants, either Homo sapiens or some other species. While each of us is, in the bigger scheme of things, relatively unimportant, a mere link in a chain, we are also crucial, as that chain could break and thus end with us.
I will continue with the other questions at some point.
11/20/2008
11/19/2008
A Pickle House: The Phoenix That Rose From and Disappeared Under the Ashes II
Down the street from my work, between here and the Church of the Streets to Destiny, is a sign announcing "A Pickle House. Established 1905" When I looked up the Pickle House on the Internet, the only information to be found was in the Yellow Pages (see link above; maybe we should zealously guard the survival of the apparently threatened with extinction yellow pages). The A Pickle House sign still remains, brightly colored and clearly written, up near the top of the building, above the riff-raff signs below. The Mr. Pickle depicted on the sign resembles Mr Peanut, you know, the peanut with the top hat and cane. Mr. Pickle has a similar posture, only he looks like he is joyous and friendly. He is not a peanut-sophisticate.
Even though the Yellow Pages referenced A Pickle House as continuing to exist, with even a site marked on the map, the building seems deserted, surrounded by litter, with papers, pieces of fabric, and beer cans blown from hither and yon, the flotsam and jetsam of a large city parading as wrecked ship, or a wrecked part of the city aspiring to come back out of the ashes. There also appeared to be archaeological layers of business signs, one sign nailed on top of the former one, announcing a series of various failed (or moved) businesses that were housed there after Mr. Pickle moved on to better barrels.
To get to the point, however, in some distant memory cell I remember a living, breathing, deliciously smelling Pickle Store. Perhaps those wonderful smells drifted out to the street, but I can remember wanting to walk in and see and breathe deeply, breathing in the smell of the brine and pickle juice. I could imagine the smell; just like opening a new bottle of dills and a new bottle of bread and butter pickles at the same time. I imagine that there is a wood floor soaked in pickle juice so that even today, years later, the pickle smell remains fairly strong. It seems odd that pickel smell history, at least in my mind, is so much stronger than the history of the lives that walked in the door and paced the floors of the Pickle House.
This street used to be sort of the heart of an old Phoenix. My grandmother used to regularly drive down this street in her Studebaker. I remember seeing the Pickle House because I was always standing on the front seat, so I could see better. At least I stood on the seat until someone ran a red light, my grandmother slammed on her brakes, and my sister, who was standing on the seat with me at the time, flew through the front window of the car(she apparently is less tied to the earth than I am, as I didn't fly and only sustained a tiny cut on my chin while she was bleeding all over the car). We rushed to Dr. Running's Office for TLC and stitches and I remember sensing my grandmothers anxiety and Dr. Running's cursing (well, I don't think he actually ever cursed, but he was upset), as she was bleeding so much it was hard to stitch up.
But, back to the subject of The Street That Was Once Alive in the Heart of Phoenix. While we regularly drove down this street, I cannot remember all of our destinations (not A Pickle House apparently), but one of them was the place where my grandmother went to get the wicker on her chairs re-woven. They had to be rewoven (or whatever it is called) because we -- my sister and I -- regularly checked the growth of our fingers by seeing if we could still stick them through the holes in the weave.
There also used to be many nice hotels and restaurants on that street, only a very few of which have survived at all, other than as those who rent by the hour. Newton's Prime Rib was on the corner down the street, and it was a very nice place to eat. There was a restaurant on the street, going west, not east as I usually drive. We always stopped there on our way out of town and I always ordered roast beef, with mashed potatoes and gravy. What heaven. By the time we were in high school, there were many second hand book stores located on the street, and before eating roast beef, we stopped and I got ten books, as they sold 10 books for a dollar. Consequently, in my readings I was influenced primary by a historical period that proceeded my own, as most of the books I read were from the last century, with the newest books coming from the 1920s, around the time of WWI. I loved the dusty paper and library paste smell of those book stores.
Main Entry: 1pick·le
Pronunciation: \ˈpi-kəl\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English pykyl, pekill sauce, gravy, from or akin to Middle Dutch peeckel brine
Date: 15th century
1: a solution or bath for preserving or cleaning: as a: a brine or vinegar solution in which foods are preserved b: any of various baths used in industrial cleaning or processing
2: a difficult situation : plight
3: an article of food that has been preserved in brine or in vinegar ; specifically : a cucumber that has been so preserved
Even though the Yellow Pages referenced A Pickle House as continuing to exist, with even a site marked on the map, the building seems deserted, surrounded by litter, with papers, pieces of fabric, and beer cans blown from hither and yon, the flotsam and jetsam of a large city parading as wrecked ship, or a wrecked part of the city aspiring to come back out of the ashes. There also appeared to be archaeological layers of business signs, one sign nailed on top of the former one, announcing a series of various failed (or moved) businesses that were housed there after Mr. Pickle moved on to better barrels.
To get to the point, however, in some distant memory cell I remember a living, breathing, deliciously smelling Pickle Store. Perhaps those wonderful smells drifted out to the street, but I can remember wanting to walk in and see and breathe deeply, breathing in the smell of the brine and pickle juice. I could imagine the smell; just like opening a new bottle of dills and a new bottle of bread and butter pickles at the same time. I imagine that there is a wood floor soaked in pickle juice so that even today, years later, the pickle smell remains fairly strong. It seems odd that pickel smell history, at least in my mind, is so much stronger than the history of the lives that walked in the door and paced the floors of the Pickle House.
This street used to be sort of the heart of an old Phoenix. My grandmother used to regularly drive down this street in her Studebaker. I remember seeing the Pickle House because I was always standing on the front seat, so I could see better. At least I stood on the seat until someone ran a red light, my grandmother slammed on her brakes, and my sister, who was standing on the seat with me at the time, flew through the front window of the car(she apparently is less tied to the earth than I am, as I didn't fly and only sustained a tiny cut on my chin while she was bleeding all over the car). We rushed to Dr. Running's Office for TLC and stitches and I remember sensing my grandmothers anxiety and Dr. Running's cursing (well, I don't think he actually ever cursed, but he was upset), as she was bleeding so much it was hard to stitch up.
But, back to the subject of The Street That Was Once Alive in the Heart of Phoenix. While we regularly drove down this street, I cannot remember all of our destinations (not A Pickle House apparently), but one of them was the place where my grandmother went to get the wicker on her chairs re-woven. They had to be rewoven (or whatever it is called) because we -- my sister and I -- regularly checked the growth of our fingers by seeing if we could still stick them through the holes in the weave.
There also used to be many nice hotels and restaurants on that street, only a very few of which have survived at all, other than as those who rent by the hour. Newton's Prime Rib was on the corner down the street, and it was a very nice place to eat. There was a restaurant on the street, going west, not east as I usually drive. We always stopped there on our way out of town and I always ordered roast beef, with mashed potatoes and gravy. What heaven. By the time we were in high school, there were many second hand book stores located on the street, and before eating roast beef, we stopped and I got ten books, as they sold 10 books for a dollar. Consequently, in my readings I was influenced primary by a historical period that proceeded my own, as most of the books I read were from the last century, with the newest books coming from the 1920s, around the time of WWI. I loved the dusty paper and library paste smell of those book stores.
Main Entry: 1pick·le
Pronunciation: \ˈpi-kəl\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English pykyl, pekill sauce, gravy, from or akin to Middle Dutch peeckel brine
Date: 15th century
1: a solution or bath for preserving or cleaning: as a: a brine or vinegar solution in which foods are preserved b: any of various baths used in industrial cleaning or processing
2: a difficult situation : plight
3: an article of food that has been preserved in brine or in vinegar ; specifically : a cucumber that has been so preserved
11/18/2008
Scientists find prehistoric "nuclear" and extended family
The article begins: "LONDON (Reuters) – A 4,600-year-old grave in Germany containing the remains of two adults and their children provides the earliest evidence that even prehistoric tribes attached importance to the family unit, researchers said on Monday."
DNA evidence was used to support that this nuclear family included a mother, father, and two sons. One has to ask why the fact that nuclear families were important was surprising. First of all, infants are born to mothers who care for them. Fathers at times say around the help. This happens in all human societies and even in some other animal species. If kinship is central in all societies today, why wouldn't it have been important in the past? A second question might be why we have not found more such burials. First, it is likely that we have not found more of them because, plain and simple, we have not found many burials. Further, it may not have been common for all members of a family to be killed at one time and thus require burial at the same time.
A more important point here, however, is that extended kin are implied, not just a nuclear family. Although 13 individuals in total were buried at the site, no one mentioned an attempt to identify whether or not these individuals shared common ancestry and thus were more distant kin -- what we might today call extended family. It would not surprise me at all to find out that all these individuals shared a common ancestor, not so very distant an ancestor, and thus thought of themselves as kin. A second point is that the fact that these individuals were carefully buried together, not just thrown into a common grave, implies that extended kin were around and were able to bury their dead.
No one seems to appreciate the fact that extended kinship is important around the world, with the possible exception of the US and other industrialized societies. A burial ground implies extended kinship, that connects descendants trough time. Over a thousand year period males were buried at Broadbeach Cemetery. The majority of these males shared a genetic defect, inherited from a common ancestor.
Why do we focus on the singular - the nuclear family -- when a greater family is implied.
DNA evidence was used to support that this nuclear family included a mother, father, and two sons. One has to ask why the fact that nuclear families were important was surprising. First of all, infants are born to mothers who care for them. Fathers at times say around the help. This happens in all human societies and even in some other animal species. If kinship is central in all societies today, why wouldn't it have been important in the past? A second question might be why we have not found more such burials. First, it is likely that we have not found more of them because, plain and simple, we have not found many burials. Further, it may not have been common for all members of a family to be killed at one time and thus require burial at the same time.
A more important point here, however, is that extended kin are implied, not just a nuclear family. Although 13 individuals in total were buried at the site, no one mentioned an attempt to identify whether or not these individuals shared common ancestry and thus were more distant kin -- what we might today call extended family. It would not surprise me at all to find out that all these individuals shared a common ancestor, not so very distant an ancestor, and thus thought of themselves as kin. A second point is that the fact that these individuals were carefully buried together, not just thrown into a common grave, implies that extended kin were around and were able to bury their dead.
No one seems to appreciate the fact that extended kinship is important around the world, with the possible exception of the US and other industrialized societies. A burial ground implies extended kinship, that connects descendants trough time. Over a thousand year period males were buried at Broadbeach Cemetery. The majority of these males shared a genetic defect, inherited from a common ancestor.
Why do we focus on the singular - the nuclear family -- when a greater family is implied.
11/17/2008
The Church of the Streets to Destiny: The Phoenix That Rose From and Disappeared Under the Ashes I
This evening, driving east on the way home from my office, I passed an office front church in a tiny strip mall. The name of the church was printed by an unskilled hand; papers, rags and cans littered the area around the front door. The name was Church of the Streets to Destiny. Now, as you might be able to tell just from the name of the church, the street I take home is an interesting one, the place where you find thieves peddling stolen goods, thugs, hired guns, streetwalkers, pimps, and drugdealers. This is an urban war zone and while the air is not filled with napalm, it is filled with diesel, meth fumes, garbage, and, were I poetic, lost dreams and hopes. Although my office is in a safe enough place -- a medical school -- that school is located a few blocks down the street from less savory places, places where you hate to hit a light just turning red as you know you will have to sit there for a moment or two, long enough to witness a major crime being committed--hopefully without being the victim.
When the west was first occupied by white folk -- the thieves, thugs, hired guns, streetwalkers, pimps, and drugdealers peddling snake oil and opium -- the west was its own rural war zone. It is my feeling that the west was civilized when men brought their wives west with them -- actually, and better said, when the wives insisted on coming along. They built churches, schools, historical societies and created charities, museums, musical events, craft fairs. The raw elements were either civilized, jailed, or pushed out to new territories.
So, my question regarding the church was whether or not it was created by women, hoping to bring god to a godless land, or by men, hoping to save souls and whatever else they wanted to do. While that little church might be successful in bringing order to a disorderly environment, one has to wonder if it has the potential to recover lost dreams and hopes that once formed part of what most people hope is their destiny.
When the west was first occupied by white folk -- the thieves, thugs, hired guns, streetwalkers, pimps, and drugdealers peddling snake oil and opium -- the west was its own rural war zone. It is my feeling that the west was civilized when men brought their wives west with them -- actually, and better said, when the wives insisted on coming along. They built churches, schools, historical societies and created charities, museums, musical events, craft fairs. The raw elements were either civilized, jailed, or pushed out to new territories.
So, my question regarding the church was whether or not it was created by women, hoping to bring god to a godless land, or by men, hoping to save souls and whatever else they wanted to do. While that little church might be successful in bringing order to a disorderly environment, one has to wonder if it has the potential to recover lost dreams and hopes that once formed part of what most people hope is their destiny.
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