Friday, June 18, 2004
All about Mom
Emma's been very mommy-centric lately, demanding that I be the one to brush her teeth or help her potty. She kicks Adam out of her room in the mornings, insisting she needs "girl time." She's not letting him read her books if I'm there and often insists he's not allowed to cuddle at bedtime, which is the ultimate insult.
She's getting over a cold, and I'm the only one who can make her feel better. We've been spending extra time curled up together, tickling her back, running my fingers through her hair. And only I will do.
And I admit, I've been enjoying it, just a little. It's nice to be so wanted, so needed.
Until today, that is.
I need moms to rally around me this morning. So I'm writing over here.
She's getting over a cold, and I'm the only one who can make her feel better. We've been spending extra time curled up together, tickling her back, running my fingers through her hair. And only I will do.
And I admit, I've been enjoying it, just a little. It's nice to be so wanted, so needed.
Until today, that is.
I need moms to rally around me this morning. So I'm writing over here.
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
Isn't she a little young?
The state of Virginia has started a public health campaign to promote awareness about statutory rape. Billboards and bar coasters are asking: "Isn't she a little young? Sex with a minor. Don't go there."
A Virginia health official, on NPR's Talk of the Nation today, got a call asking why the message wasn't just, "You'll go to jail." Her answer was that the target audience, men 18 to 29, already know it's against the law. The state wants to encourage conversation, to get a guy to say to his 22-year-old buddy, "Hey, dating a 15-year-old isn't cool."
I didn't realize until I was in my early 20s, married and in therapy, that I didn't hold all the blame for my teenage relationships with (much, much) older men.
The door would open with casual teasing. Mom and David didn't seem to mind the banter. They took pride, I think, in the idea that their friends found their 14-year-old sexy. It was just part of the lifestyle, all in good fun. What they didn't know was how the conversations turned when they left us alone in the house. Or asked a guy to give me a ride me to the store. Or told me to babysit his kids.
Mom learned of the most serious (and oddly, most healthy) relationship, featuring a man 21 years my senior, when we were en route to a bar. I was 16 when it started, and he wasn't first in line. We "dated" for more than two years, ending amicably. He was going to be there, the people we were meeting for drinks knew, so I told her.
She was shocked. At least for a minute. She didn't see how the environment at home had laid the groundwork.
As we talked, more came pouring out. "Remember that time Jesse caught me holding hands with that married guy? The one who'd been at our house on his wedding night, buying crank? And how Jesse let it slip that he'd seen us together? And I told you that it was the first time? And I'd never see him again? How did you not know I was lying?"
"Or when you woke in the middle of the night because our car was being repossessed and you realized I wasn't in my bed? And when I sneaked back in the window, I told you a girlfriend had shown up, threatening to commit suicide? So I had to go? Why did you believe that?"
The answer, of course, was that her attention was directed elsewhere. I knew it, so I got away with it each time. And all the times I didn't get caught. They never really believed I had it in me. Which was a lot of the attraction.
It was years later before I realized it wasn't all on my shoulders. That even if I started it -- and I didn't always -- someone could've said no. Should've. Could've told my mom, "I think your kid just came on to me." Said to me, "I'm flattered, but this isn't appropriate. You're a smart girl. Find a guy your own age." I was doing that, too. But it wasn't the same kind of rebellion. It wasn't a way to look in my parents' eyes and know their "friends" (and usually, customers) weren't all they were supposed to be. I had a secret. There wasn't much power in my life, but I had power here. Or so it seemed.
I would've sworn I was in control. I was doing what I wanted. Getting the love, attention and respect I couldn't find anywhere else. I wasn't being used; if anything, I was using them. It never crossed my mind that it might've been abuse, of a kind, until therapy. Even then, I rejected the idea at first. I hadn't been coerced. Or not in a way I saw as coercion. Now, though, it's a little clearer. I can imagine Adam's reaction if our babysitter or neighbor's kid hit on him. It gives me a picture of what should've happened. Of what a good guy would've done.
Granted, there just weren't many good guys around. I was an escape for them. I'm sure it was flattering: the 15-, or 16- , or 17-year-old blonde girl in his lap. Who knew she was in charge, a feminist, a rebel. Not a lost little kid.
"Don't go there" never crossed our minds.
A Virginia health official, on NPR's Talk of the Nation today, got a call asking why the message wasn't just, "You'll go to jail." Her answer was that the target audience, men 18 to 29, already know it's against the law. The state wants to encourage conversation, to get a guy to say to his 22-year-old buddy, "Hey, dating a 15-year-old isn't cool."
I didn't realize until I was in my early 20s, married and in therapy, that I didn't hold all the blame for my teenage relationships with (much, much) older men.
The door would open with casual teasing. Mom and David didn't seem to mind the banter. They took pride, I think, in the idea that their friends found their 14-year-old sexy. It was just part of the lifestyle, all in good fun. What they didn't know was how the conversations turned when they left us alone in the house. Or asked a guy to give me a ride me to the store. Or told me to babysit his kids.
Mom learned of the most serious (and oddly, most healthy) relationship, featuring a man 21 years my senior, when we were en route to a bar. I was 16 when it started, and he wasn't first in line. We "dated" for more than two years, ending amicably. He was going to be there, the people we were meeting for drinks knew, so I told her.
She was shocked. At least for a minute. She didn't see how the environment at home had laid the groundwork.
As we talked, more came pouring out. "Remember that time Jesse caught me holding hands with that married guy? The one who'd been at our house on his wedding night, buying crank? And how Jesse let it slip that he'd seen us together? And I told you that it was the first time? And I'd never see him again? How did you not know I was lying?"
"Or when you woke in the middle of the night because our car was being repossessed and you realized I wasn't in my bed? And when I sneaked back in the window, I told you a girlfriend had shown up, threatening to commit suicide? So I had to go? Why did you believe that?"
The answer, of course, was that her attention was directed elsewhere. I knew it, so I got away with it each time. And all the times I didn't get caught. They never really believed I had it in me. Which was a lot of the attraction.
It was years later before I realized it wasn't all on my shoulders. That even if I started it -- and I didn't always -- someone could've said no. Should've. Could've told my mom, "I think your kid just came on to me." Said to me, "I'm flattered, but this isn't appropriate. You're a smart girl. Find a guy your own age." I was doing that, too. But it wasn't the same kind of rebellion. It wasn't a way to look in my parents' eyes and know their "friends" (and usually, customers) weren't all they were supposed to be. I had a secret. There wasn't much power in my life, but I had power here. Or so it seemed.
I would've sworn I was in control. I was doing what I wanted. Getting the love, attention and respect I couldn't find anywhere else. I wasn't being used; if anything, I was using them. It never crossed my mind that it might've been abuse, of a kind, until therapy. Even then, I rejected the idea at first. I hadn't been coerced. Or not in a way I saw as coercion. Now, though, it's a little clearer. I can imagine Adam's reaction if our babysitter or neighbor's kid hit on him. It gives me a picture of what should've happened. Of what a good guy would've done.
Granted, there just weren't many good guys around. I was an escape for them. I'm sure it was flattering: the 15-, or 16- , or 17-year-old blonde girl in his lap. Who knew she was in charge, a feminist, a rebel. Not a lost little kid.
"Don't go there" never crossed our minds.
Monday, June 14, 2004
Said
We took Emma to the circus this weekend, sort of spur of the moment. A friend had a pair of tickets she couldn't use, so we bought two more (Adam's brother was in town) and headed out. We didn't tell Emma where we were going, just that we had a surprise for her. We'd given her a few hints, and as soon as Dad mentioned jugglers, she figured it out. (And she made sure to point out after the fact that no jugglers actually appeared.)
She clapped and cheered and danced through the show. And made some pithy, adorable remarks, of course.
We were seated near the empty Globe of Death, and she was fascinated with it. About every five minutes, she'd ask if it was time for it yet. Adam asked her at intermission what her favorite part of the show so far had been. "It's going to be when they use that HUGE BALL!" she told him. (I'm not sure the motorcyclists lived up to her expectations, as she had no idea what the ball was for. They impressed the hell out of the rest of us, though.)
When small, heart-shaped balloons came flying out of a suitcase, Emma said, "Look, Mom! It was filled with love."
She was very interested in the things we weren't supposed to be watching -- when the spotlight was on the center ring, she'd be peering into the dark, trying to see what was being set up for the next bit. So we all watched as the caged tigers were brought in. "Do you think they're going to bite me?"
Emma adored the Chinese dragons. Every time there was a parade around the rings, the dragons were what she kept her eye on. "Do you think I could pet one?" So when they got a ring of their own, dancing and doing acrobatics and balancing atop each other, she was thrilled. But a little disappointed, I think, when the acrobats inside were revealed.
It's interesting to watch what small details will catch a 3-year-old's eye. As soon as the show began, a sign attached to the top wires popped open, revealing the circus logo and a stylized elephant's head, trunk swinging. Em noticed it before any of us and apparently checked it every now and then, because if it would close for a minute, she knew. Finally, she asked, "Do you think that's a real elephant?" I asked where the rest of it was, since we could only see the head. "It must be hiding somewhere."
She's decided she now wants to be a "circus actor" when she grows up. Specifically, a "trapeze lady." I suspect we'll be in for a lot of gymnastics in the coming weeks.
She clapped and cheered and danced through the show. And made some pithy, adorable remarks, of course.
We were seated near the empty Globe of Death, and she was fascinated with it. About every five minutes, she'd ask if it was time for it yet. Adam asked her at intermission what her favorite part of the show so far had been. "It's going to be when they use that HUGE BALL!" she told him. (I'm not sure the motorcyclists lived up to her expectations, as she had no idea what the ball was for. They impressed the hell out of the rest of us, though.)
When small, heart-shaped balloons came flying out of a suitcase, Emma said, "Look, Mom! It was filled with love."
She was very interested in the things we weren't supposed to be watching -- when the spotlight was on the center ring, she'd be peering into the dark, trying to see what was being set up for the next bit. So we all watched as the caged tigers were brought in. "Do you think they're going to bite me?"
Emma adored the Chinese dragons. Every time there was a parade around the rings, the dragons were what she kept her eye on. "Do you think I could pet one?" So when they got a ring of their own, dancing and doing acrobatics and balancing atop each other, she was thrilled. But a little disappointed, I think, when the acrobats inside were revealed.
It's interesting to watch what small details will catch a 3-year-old's eye. As soon as the show began, a sign attached to the top wires popped open, revealing the circus logo and a stylized elephant's head, trunk swinging. Em noticed it before any of us and apparently checked it every now and then, because if it would close for a minute, she knew. Finally, she asked, "Do you think that's a real elephant?" I asked where the rest of it was, since we could only see the head. "It must be hiding somewhere."
She's decided she now wants to be a "circus actor" when she grows up. Specifically, a "trapeze lady." I suspect we'll be in for a lot of gymnastics in the coming weeks.
