Archive for August, 2010
Yeah, I may be. But I’m also a dedicated one. This is a shot of my son on the soccer pitch in a varsity game tonight. It looks blurry, right? That’s because it was pouring rain. Torrential. Every fan was soaked to the skin right along with the players.
The Scientist offered to stay and take the Ambassador home from his game, but no way was I leaving. That was my kid’s game! =)
They wind up tying at the final, but I do love watching soccer, and most especially when the Ambassador is on the pitch!
I had a conversation this morning with a friend of mine about changing her name back to her maiden name now that she is nearing the finalization of her divorce. She is very tight with her family, and I absolutely support her decision. Really, her only question in it at all was how it would affect her kids, but I told her that they’d be fine. With a simple explanation and a chill attitude towards the whole thing, it shouldn’t be an issue.
She then asked me if I thought I would change my name if anything went down between me and the Scientist. I told her the truth; changing my name in the first place was a huge hassle, and I’m kinda lazy about stuff like that unless I have to be. There’s no real animosity between us (there is between her and her ex, who is a huge doucheclown). And I have zero affinity for my maiden name, so I’m not sure what the heck I’d even choose.
It just got me thinking. I’m tight with my sister, and always will be. I really don’t see anything changing that. But if I had to be brutally honest, I’d be forced to admit that I really don’t feel like a member of my family anymore. My brother and I are civilized adults when we’re together, and perfect strangers when we aren’t. My niece and nephew, sadly, have shown quite clearly that while they are getting closer with their cousins, they have absolutely no use for the Scientist or myself. Their choice; they are adults, and I am not going to force the issue. My mother has been being more and more blatant in her favoritism of my sister and of my sister’s kids over me and mine, so yeah, that bond is strained too. (See my next post for that one.) I’m becoming more comfortable with all of this, but choosing to take the name that they share back with any sort of pride just doesn’t seem to fit. I’m just one of them.
At one time, I thought I would take my mother’s maiden name of Collins, but really, my perception of my grandparents is much different from the one which my own mother holds. Not a real shock, of course, since the grandparent relationship is vastly different, in most cases, than that of a parent. But still. Not sure.
So I guess this one time and place in which my solitary nature, while still quieting to my own spirit, kind of leaves me without a name of my own. The Scientist’s name really isn’t mine, and I don’t feel any sort of familial bond pulling me to the one I grew up writing. And yes, I realize that this is largely unimportant in the grand scheme of things, and certainly has no bearing on my life at this time. It was just an interesting train of thought that wound its tracks through my mind today.
There’s a lot in my head, a lot in my heart, and a lot that’s on my plate right now.
I really thought I might write tonight, but at this point, I am so mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted that I’m changing my mind.
So instead, I’ll just hope that everyone else finds some peace in their lives.
Yeah, I know. You’re surprised.
Like my previous post, there was a starting point to my train of thought. The infuriating, misogyinistic drivel that inspired my own rant can be found here. The basic gist is that this man will be offended (his word, not mine!) if his future wife refuses to take his name — so much so that he ended a new relationship based solely on the assertion that the woman in question wouldn’t do it.
I was stunned to read phrases like “leave my manliness intact” and “in the man’s bible.” Perhaps the best one is this: “If we feel like a man, we’ll act like one. And stripping of us the honor of bestowing on you our surname is one surefire way of knocking off a chunk from that pride.” Did you hear that, ladies? If you dare have the audacity to want to maintain your own identity, to have the same familial pride that he apparently cherishes, you damage his pride, and therefore, are responsible for his inability to act like a man. Pretty big responsibility, huh?
Thankfully for women everywhere, this idiot will be “drinking his coffee” at home alone. No real surprise there, right?
But seriously, the fact that attitudes like this still pervade just irritate me to no end. Seriously? How is your genetic pride superior to mine? Why is your last name automatically better than mine, such that it’s the one chosen to be on all of the paperwork? The Scientist told me after 3 weeks of marriage that he should’ve taken my last name. I could’ve smacked him. Yes, the thought was sweet, and if he had had any foresight whatsoever, I probably would’ve had both of us keep our own. However, by this point, I had stood in line at the SSA and the DMV and the bank. I had called the credit card company, the doctor’s offices, our University, the post office, and the Good Humor man on the corner. Those were the days before the Internet, so it meant actually standing in lines and making phone calls. No simple clicks.
Now the obvious question about to spill out of your fingertips into my comments is, “Well, if you feel this way, why did you change your name?” So I’ll save you the trouble and just answer it here.
When I got married, I hid a lot of the real me. I was still crafting the mask that I wore for so many years, and at the time, the foundation layer was constructed from mutliple strands of “don’t rock the boat.” “Do what people want to keep the peace” was the glue that went with that. So when the Scientist’s father got very, very heated at the mere mention of a woman not changing her name? I assessed the situation and decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. Admittedly, it paired well with the fact that my relationship with my father was nonexistent at the time (and it was only ever tenuous at its best), so keeping his name really meant nothing to me. I just didn’t care enough about my name to keep it. Truthfully? What I actually wanted to do all those years ago, was to take my grandparents’ name of Collins. But I didn’t. Like so many other things and times, I shut up, and I did what everyone wanted me to do.*
My own children have been raised better. They have been raised with confidence in themselves and pride in their identity. They have also been raised to know that a name can be altered easily to suit the person. So if they, at some point, choose to marry and take their spouse’s name? Rock on. If they choose to keep their own? Same goes. If they choose together to take a new name, a new familial identity? Much the same. The point is that they are clear on the point that their identity, their heritage, and their history, is just as important as anyone else’s, and that the decision to alter their name rests solely within themselves.
This snarky vent doesn’t make me a man-hater, although some would say it does. This is not about a woman’s lineage being superior either. Instead, it’s about respecting your partner enough to have a discussion, to explore the feelings, to come to a decision that respects everyone involved, without murmurs of condescension and arrogance. It’s about not merely assuming that the female name change is an automatic thing, not worth consideration. But as much as the author of my referenced post above protests that it’s not about making his wife his “possession,” the attitudes he expresses clearly convey the opposite.
*getting married in my parents’ church
*doing it when it was convenient for THEM (finals wknd!)
*naming my kids names I didn’t like
*baptising them in my parents’ religion
*not following my instincts sometimes with my infants
The list goes on……….
No, no, not in the usual ways that make you go, “Freakin’ DUH, Mick…next?” This is something that has made me a little self-conscious over the years, and I guess after reading another blog post that I hit, almost by mistake, I figured I’d confess. Now, let me say up front that I am not in any way saying even one negative word about this mom. She seems like a great mom, and my own brokenness does not in any way reflect on her, or any other mom that has sparked these feelings in me. Here blog post was merely the catalyst for my own ramblings today. It can be found here. Please take a sec to read, or even skim, her post, if only because my own post will make a lot more sense.
This mom, along with so many others, got a bit teary at hitting another childhood milestone. Everything from first steps to kindergarten graduations, to hitting double digit birthdays can elicit that wistful smile, those brimming eyes, and the little sniffles that show a mom who watches her baby achieve the next step in her growth. It’s a very natural, normal thing for mothers, and moms across the world will nod in empathy even if they don’t know the other woman.
So what’s the problem?
I don’t do it. My kids’ first tooth, first word, first steps, didn’t elicit a single tear. Their first days of school didn’t find me reaching for the tissues. I did not sniffle on my friend’s shoulder when they entered high school. None of it. I’m not sure what it is. I’m not a cold-hearted person by nature; I feel emotion, and I show it. But for whatever reason, the milestones of my children’s lives do not make me sad.
In the past, I’ve said that I never wanted kids. This was true. But once I made the decision to do so, not only did I discover that I was pretty good at it, but that it was also kind of a cool process. I’ve watched in awe as the stories and adventures of their lives have been written on their “Tabula rasa.” I’ve felt fascination as I watched their own personalities emerge, seen their personalities develop and blossom. It’s been so cool for me to see or hear that they were commended for their manners or their helpfulness and know that I taught them that. I’ve instilled a respect for the earth, a love of diversity, and a passion for the exploration and education that comes with traveling our world.
But never did I find myself misty-eyed over any of it. Excited? Yes. Proud? Definitely. Anticipating what comes next? Absolutely! But not wistful.
As they near their adulthood and move out into the world on their own, I know my life will change right along with theirs, just as it’s always been. I’ll greet those changes with the joy, laughter, and amazement that has come with each passing day of their lives, but for whatever reason, I don’t see myself crying for the past.
