This has already been on upworthy, but I want to make sure I can find it again. Enjoy.
This has already been on upworthy, but I want to make sure I can find it again. Enjoy.
Like many others, gym class was the worst. Yes, I was nerdy, but the problem wasn’t that I wasn’t athletic. I was. I swam on the team year round and could hold my own in most sports. The problem was that I wasn’t popular. I wasn’t supposed to fit in or be part of the team. I wasn’t meant to be accepted. My place in life was to be picked last for the dodge-ball team. My place was to get hit out first, preferably with a ball to the face or some comically awkward fall.
Gym class was the worst, too, because of the locker room. A lot happens in locker rooms. Kids bodies are judged. And they judge. Some flaunt. Some learn to change into their gym clothes while never getting naked. Things are said in the locker room that wouldn’t fly in most other classrooms or anywhere with an adult. Those moments before and after class are a danger zone where anything goes, and, like Vegas, most things are never reported.
I don’t remember what I did to piss off one of the school bullies. I don’t remember what I was discussing with my friend, Kirsten, when the lock when flying between us. I don’t remember if they bully said anything at all or if she just threw, with all her might, a lock towards my head. She missed. I was lucky.
I remember for two more years looking at the dent in the locker. It was visible and deep. I remember looking at that dent and wondering what the lock would have done to my skull. I remember questioning if I would have been knocked out. Would I have been taken to the hospital? Could it have killed me? What if it had hit Kirsten instead? I remember imagining how embarrassing it would have been to be taken out of the school unconscious, semi-clothed. How awful it would have been to admit defeat to this bully. Someone, getting seriously hurt, would have been my fault.
I never did tell anyone about the incident. Kirsten didn’t either.
Two years ago, while goofing around on Facebook, I saw her face. The smiling face of the bully who had terrorized me. She is a Mom. She has some job as counselor for at-risk kids. She works in a school. I wonder if she remembers herself as a bully. Or if she ever thinks about the lock that could have killed me. Or if she worries about her own daughter being bullied. I wonder what good she could possibly do for at risk kids, bullied themselves.
Part of me knows that people change, that she could have changed, that she might be wonderful at her job and as a mother. The other part of me, possibly the stronger (and irrational) part of me, is still afraid of her.
I first heard about No Name Calling Week over at Lesbian Family. I thought the idea was great.
I have been thinking about bullying and what I want to say about it. This is a hard topic for me. I was bullied. But I was lucky– I have the personality and a strong support system that allowed me to walk away only slightly damaged. I certainly see how it affected and affects some others deeply. I worry about how my daughter will be treated and seen. So, this week, I am going to try and talk about bullying. Wish me luck!
About No Name-Calling Week
Coordinated by GLSEN in collaboration with over 60 national education organizational partners, No Name-Calling Week is an annual week of educational activities aimed at ending name-calling of all kinds and providing schools with the tools and inspiration to launch an on-going dialogue about ways to eliminate bullying in their communities.
Messy Nessy did a great piece on What Model Posses Would Look Like in Real Life. The above video is from that piece and shows reactions of public as average size women standing in public places in these awkward positions. Check out the piece for the pictures and commentary by the artist who pulled these together.
As I look at magazines on plane trips or in doctors offices, I am routinely surprised by how everything is sexualized, women are made to look powerless or childlike, and bodies that are anorexic are contorted even further. This is not something I want to aspire to be. This is something, which now I can say, I am accepting not being. This is something that when I was younger, I did secretly want. This is something that I can now analyze and understand as wrong. Why do we, as a society, accept this as beauty? Even make it the standard?
What are the Disney Princesses teaching our daughters? And, frankly, what are they teaching our sons?
Yes, they are shinny and pretty and sparkly. Yes, they have lovely voices, can dance, talk to animals, and seem quite happy. Yes, smiles are plastered on their faces. Yes, they live in clean houses and aspire to (and attain) lives in the upper echelon of society.
No— this is not what I want for my daughter. I want my daughter to be strong, independent, self-sufficient, smart, and happy! I want her to make her own choices, dream for a fulfilling career, and put her own worth in her brain and personality as opposed to her body.
Thanks to The Second City Network, there is a series of videos that point out many of the problems I have with the Disney princess and what they teach.
Advice on life from the Little Mermaid:
Advice on life from Belle:
Advice on life from Snow White:
*This last one made me particularly laugh because of the comment on naming the dwarfs on their most prominent feature because in Chile (perhaps in the rest of Latin America) this is the status quo. My mother-in-law is called “Chica” because she is short. My husband is “Negro” because his skin is darker. We have a blondish friend who is called “Gringo”.
Being that I work overseas, you might expect that I would use today to talk about Trafficking in Persons in the country I live in currently (Albania). Or, the country I just came from (Kazakhstan). Or, the country where I did research on human trafficking (Chile). Or, the country where I knew children who were trafficked (Moldova). But, today I won’t do that. I want to talk about human trafficking int he country I call home (USA).
The sad truth is that human trafficking continues to be a problem in the US. Yes, in large cities: New York, LA, Boston. But also in rural areas of the country, small towns, suburbia.
A few jobs ago, I worked with some victims of human trafficking. Men who were lured to the US with promises of jobs and money to send home and instead ended up working in slave like conditions in Middle America with their passports confiscated and the door to the house they lived in padlocked from the outside. After several months, someone put in a tip and they were freed. They were freed, but they weren’t compensated for their losses. They were free, but they still had to explain to wives and children what happened to them. They have been free for years now, but I am sure their experience still haunts them. Honestly, their stories still haunt me.
An estimated 14,500 to 17,500 foreign nationals are trafficked into the United States each year. The number of U.S. citizens trafficked within the country is even higher, with an estimated 200,000 American children at risk for trafficking into the sex industry. (U.S. Department of Justice Report to Congress from Attorney General John Ashcroft on U.S. Government Efforts to Combat Trafficking in Persons)
These numbers are staggering and the realities are bleak. However, in the US, there are places you can report suspected cases of trafficking. Polaris Project suggests:
If you see any of these red flags, contact the National Human Trafficking Resource Center hotline at 1-888-3737-888 to report the situation. Click here to learn more about reporting potential human trafficking situations. This list is not exhaustive and represents only a selection of possible indicators. Also, the red flags in this list may not be present in all trafficking cases and are not cumulative.
A couple weeks back I posted about buying paints for Little Elephant to start playing with. They haven’t arrived yet so I don’t have an update. She did, however, get an easel (both magnetic side and chalkboard side with a clip for paper) from Santa. She loved trying out the chalk and understood right away what she could do. She was a bit dismayed that I only let her have one piece of chalk the first time— we will explore color later when I am ready to keep her from coloring my whole house with chalk!
I love watching her explore the arts and I hope that this is something I can encourage for her whole childhood. I want her to try all different arts and craft from a practical perspective, but also to see art. I want to take her musicals, art fairs, museums, and architecture tours. I am not saying she will grow to be a great artist— but hopefully to at least have an appreciation and general knowledge.
Plus, as a bonus, Parenting Magazine tells me that art makes kids smarter.