Posts
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Can I Be Your Daddy?
This is an old Myspace blog I wrote a couple of years ago, but I feel it's appropriate for Father's Day. My papa is in Las Vegas right now, losing at the World Series Of Poker Tournament (Qustion: what the hell kind of event organizer schedules a huge poker tournament on Father's Day? Answer: a douchebag.) But nonetheless, I love him and wish all fathers out there a wonderful day.
It's a common enough phenomenon: girls are raised to play with dolls. What irony, that the tired, bedraggled mothers who, despite the rewards and love of child-rearing, would want to make their daughters do the same, albeit on quieter, cleaner plastic versions of themselves. Is it out of spite? A conditioning that we hope will stick in the recesses of young girls' brains to come out of dormancy once they have their own little ones? Or just a desire to train them young in the babysitting they'll have to do eventually for mommy?
Whatever it is, it happens. And even after we outgrow toys, it doesn't stop there: it's assumed that girls will ooh and coo over babies with an innate maternal instinct. Postpone having children because you want to focus on your career, because you believe the world is too horrible a place to raise a kid, because you want to keep your plumbing nice and tight. But don't you dare mention to anyone that you don't feel the call of motherhood.
It's sacrilege.
For the longest time I've lied to myself. I don't like kids. I'll admit it. Oh yes, they're cute. Darling, even. And I understand that even the worst kids can be like angels. But I feel immensely uncomfortable around most of them. The same way we imagine the prototypical man is how I feel. No, I don't want to hold your baby. I feel awkward, I feel like I'm going to break it, and when it's in my arms, I don't get a stab of pleasure in my heart. Sorry; it's not the kid, it's me. I don't understand how to behave with kids. Other people seem to innately know when to coo and baby-talk, when to use kiddie language, and when to speak to the little ones like adults. I just have no idea of how to judge a child's age or skills that way, and it makes me nervous. They set me on edge like animals. I've often joked with my friend that when we have kids, we'll do it sequentially- she'll take it until it's about 4 or so, and then we'll trade off, so she can have the baby and I can have the child. Of course, that's fantasy. But the lie I tell myself is what I've heard my mom say: "I really don't like kids. But I love mine."
The strange thing is, I do want to have children. I want to impart everything I have to give to someone, to take my hand at shaping a person and doing better than my parents did (no offense, mom and pop). So what is it about having children turns me off so much? I think I found out today.
I don't want to be a mommy. You see, I want to be a daddy.
This revelation came completely out of the blue today. I was walking through a class building and saw the most adorable little toddler boy walking next to his young, handsome, sweet-looking father. They were such a pair, and they warmed my heart. It was then that I realized that I've rarely looked the same way at a mother-child pair.
Why? I actually remember a piece of writing that I did for my Sociology of Sex and Gender class where I talked about how unfair the purported mother-child bond is. It's elevated to sacredness that cannot be breached no matter what. Who most often wins in a custody battle? Because a child gestates in a woman and not a man, it is viewed as her sole property when, in fact, both a man and a woman had a hand in creating it. I wrote how much it cheapens the father-child bond when we think nothing can break the mother-child bond or talk about maternal instinct. What of paternal instinct? And even regarding 'maternal instinct', there are women all over the world who apparently have none. They discard their newborns in dumpsters or worse. Yet they went through exactly what my teacher countered with: "Ah, yes, but women carry a child for nine months and have that physical bond.". I just don't see it like that; men can feel just as strongly about their progeny. That's not to say that women don't have those feelings of closer connection because of the gestation, etc., but it's just that- a perception and feeling- powerful, significant, beautiful, but not innate, not above examination, and most of all, not limited to women only.
But more than that, there's just something about mothers that I dislike, the way they're viewed in society. I don't even think I can articulate the feelings that I have, that's how complicated they are. Does it come down to me not wanting to be a woman? Well, all gender issues aside, no, I don't think so. I like being a woman, or, perhaps better put, I like who I am at the moment, and who I am is a being with breasts, a vagina, two X chromosomes and slightly feminine behavior. I've thought of transitioning (never serious thought, though), but that's not why I want to be a father. I don't even really want a lot of the responsibility of being a man; I want to be me. Perhaps that's the answer: fathers are somewhat individuals; mothers are archetypes. I don't want gender archetypes. I want to raise a child with all my values, and not have them attributed to 'mother' or 'father'.
I want to be a daddy in a sense that has nothing to do with playing catch and ruffling hair. I like the perversity of fathers who don't stick to the traditional 'father' role- who are interactive in nurturing ways that make us smile and use words like 'hands-on'. I love the queerness of two daddies lovingly raising their children. Despite my sex, I want that. I want to be a role model for a sweet, darling son. These are just thoughts that assaulted me that I've been trying to sort out. What it all means, I don't know. But I can assure you that it's made me feel much more loving towards children, for whatever reason.
So . . . can I be your daddy?
It's a common enough phenomenon: girls are raised to play with dolls. What irony, that the tired, bedraggled mothers who, despite the rewards and love of child-rearing, would want to make their daughters do the same, albeit on quieter, cleaner plastic versions of themselves. Is it out of spite? A conditioning that we hope will stick in the recesses of young girls' brains to come out of dormancy once they have their own little ones? Or just a desire to train them young in the babysitting they'll have to do eventually for mommy?
Whatever it is, it happens. And even after we outgrow toys, it doesn't stop there: it's assumed that girls will ooh and coo over babies with an innate maternal instinct. Postpone having children because you want to focus on your career, because you believe the world is too horrible a place to raise a kid, because you want to keep your plumbing nice and tight. But don't you dare mention to anyone that you don't feel the call of motherhood.
It's sacrilege.
For the longest time I've lied to myself. I don't like kids. I'll admit it. Oh yes, they're cute. Darling, even. And I understand that even the worst kids can be like angels. But I feel immensely uncomfortable around most of them. The same way we imagine the prototypical man is how I feel. No, I don't want to hold your baby. I feel awkward, I feel like I'm going to break it, and when it's in my arms, I don't get a stab of pleasure in my heart. Sorry; it's not the kid, it's me. I don't understand how to behave with kids. Other people seem to innately know when to coo and baby-talk, when to use kiddie language, and when to speak to the little ones like adults. I just have no idea of how to judge a child's age or skills that way, and it makes me nervous. They set me on edge like animals. I've often joked with my friend that when we have kids, we'll do it sequentially- she'll take it until it's about 4 or so, and then we'll trade off, so she can have the baby and I can have the child. Of course, that's fantasy. But the lie I tell myself is what I've heard my mom say: "I really don't like kids. But I love mine."
The strange thing is, I do want to have children. I want to impart everything I have to give to someone, to take my hand at shaping a person and doing better than my parents did (no offense, mom and pop). So what is it about having children turns me off so much? I think I found out today.
I don't want to be a mommy. You see, I want to be a daddy.
This revelation came completely out of the blue today. I was walking through a class building and saw the most adorable little toddler boy walking next to his young, handsome, sweet-looking father. They were such a pair, and they warmed my heart. It was then that I realized that I've rarely looked the same way at a mother-child pair.
Why? I actually remember a piece of writing that I did for my Sociology of Sex and Gender class where I talked about how unfair the purported mother-child bond is. It's elevated to sacredness that cannot be breached no matter what. Who most often wins in a custody battle? Because a child gestates in a woman and not a man, it is viewed as her sole property when, in fact, both a man and a woman had a hand in creating it. I wrote how much it cheapens the father-child bond when we think nothing can break the mother-child bond or talk about maternal instinct. What of paternal instinct? And even regarding 'maternal instinct', there are women all over the world who apparently have none. They discard their newborns in dumpsters or worse. Yet they went through exactly what my teacher countered with: "Ah, yes, but women carry a child for nine months and have that physical bond.". I just don't see it like that; men can feel just as strongly about their progeny. That's not to say that women don't have those feelings of closer connection because of the gestation, etc., but it's just that- a perception and feeling- powerful, significant, beautiful, but not innate, not above examination, and most of all, not limited to women only.
But more than that, there's just something about mothers that I dislike, the way they're viewed in society. I don't even think I can articulate the feelings that I have, that's how complicated they are. Does it come down to me not wanting to be a woman? Well, all gender issues aside, no, I don't think so. I like being a woman, or, perhaps better put, I like who I am at the moment, and who I am is a being with breasts, a vagina, two X chromosomes and slightly feminine behavior. I've thought of transitioning (never serious thought, though), but that's not why I want to be a father. I don't even really want a lot of the responsibility of being a man; I want to be me. Perhaps that's the answer: fathers are somewhat individuals; mothers are archetypes. I don't want gender archetypes. I want to raise a child with all my values, and not have them attributed to 'mother' or 'father'.
I want to be a daddy in a sense that has nothing to do with playing catch and ruffling hair. I like the perversity of fathers who don't stick to the traditional 'father' role- who are interactive in nurturing ways that make us smile and use words like 'hands-on'. I love the queerness of two daddies lovingly raising their children. Despite my sex, I want that. I want to be a role model for a sweet, darling son. These are just thoughts that assaulted me that I've been trying to sort out. What it all means, I don't know. But I can assure you that it's made me feel much more loving towards children, for whatever reason.
So . . . can I be your daddy?
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Shit That Makes Me Angry
If I come across something I find upsetting, I usually try to give it a few days to percolate in my brain, so I can revisit it with more than raw emotion, and actually inject some insight into it.
But right now, I just don't want to do that. I came across an individual on Yahoo! Answers who has me incredibly angry by her questions. Her profile states:
"I support mainstream folks, even those with the birth defect of Harry Benjamin Syndrome). I do not support alternative sexuality. ♀♂
Despite what gay and crossdressing men on here are saying, as well as other HBS-phobes, HBS is not TG. TG is chosen/acquired, HBS is a medical condition. We are prepared to fight to have our OWN community. I am a part of the HBS+mainstream community, and I will do whatever it takes to create a community for women like me that is not considered a part of the TG nor LGBT communities. The TS community started with Christine Jorgensen, while its enemies, the TG community, was started by a married crossdresser and some violent terrorists who attacked police officers.
All we with HBS want is to have our OWN community and have nobody speaking for us. It is arrogant that the LGBT tries to "help" us without our permission. Why help NORMAL women with a medical difference? We don't want nor need their help. They have NO right to try to help us."
That sort of shit makes me angry. That's all. Maybe I'll come back to this in a little while and write a grander, more explanatory post. But right now, I just wanted to post this.
But right now, I just don't want to do that. I came across an individual on Yahoo! Answers who has me incredibly angry by her questions. Her profile states:
"I support mainstream folks, even those with the birth defect of Harry Benjamin Syndrome). I do not support alternative sexuality. ♀♂
Despite what gay and crossdressing men on here are saying, as well as other HBS-phobes, HBS is not TG. TG is chosen/acquired, HBS is a medical condition. We are prepared to fight to have our OWN community. I am a part of the HBS+mainstream community, and I will do whatever it takes to create a community for women like me that is not considered a part of the TG nor LGBT communities. The TS community started with Christine Jorgensen, while its enemies, the TG community, was started by a married crossdresser and some violent terrorists who attacked police officers.
All we with HBS want is to have our OWN community and have nobody speaking for us. It is arrogant that the LGBT tries to "help" us without our permission. Why help NORMAL women with a medical difference? We don't want nor need their help. They have NO right to try to help us."
That sort of shit makes me angry. That's all. Maybe I'll come back to this in a little while and write a grander, more explanatory post. But right now, I just wanted to post this.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Yes, I Would Like A Bumpy Glass Dildo, Please
And really, who wouldn't? They're solid and heavy and require less lube and make cleanup a breeze- and I've never had a toy with bumps! Which is why I'm throwing my hat into the ring for Epiphora's little Twitter giveaway contest. (Speaking of which, apparently Twitter giveaways are really popular right now- Tony Comstock just gave away one of his movies!).
And yes, I know that I really shouldn't be entering any more contests, what with my recent winnings- I should be happy with my lovely little prize. But those glass dildos are pretty. And I'm greedy. Add 'em together, and what do you get? One active little contest whore. :D
So go ahead and enter the contest, too- the deadline is June 12th. Good luck!
And yes, I know that I really shouldn't be entering any more contests, what with my recent winnings- I should be happy with my lovely little prize. But those glass dildos are pretty. And I'm greedy. Add 'em together, and what do you get? One active little contest whore. :D
So go ahead and enter the contest, too- the deadline is June 12th. Good luck!
Monday, June 1, 2009
"But You'd Look So Pretty If You Wore Makeup!"
I've been feeling very . . . attacked lately because of my gender and appearance. Quite honestly, I'm just not butch and I'm definitely not femme (dont' let those pictures at the top of the blog fool ya!). Much as I long to be one or the other or even the type of person who can wear each beautifully in turn, I'm always going to be slightly in the middle, never belonging fully to one camp and always borrowing bits and pieces from each. And I'm fairly okay with that. I'm being who I am.
But every once in a while someone does or says something that ticks me off, and this week they all seemed to happen at once, really weighing it on my mind and making me want to write them all down in a blog post. So, without further ado, here they are, after the jump:
* Going to get a new pair of glasses last week, the nice little old lady trying to pick out frames squinted at my face and said "I think maybe this time we should try something a little more feminine." I must have balked or made a face because she hastily amended "It's just that this pair is very unisex.", but the damage was already done. Feminine frames? Just what would that look like- pink and sparkly? Like a stubborn kid, I firmly set my jaw and determined to find the most masculine pair I could ("Do you have something in a hunter green, preferably with antlers?" . . . nah, just kidding). Luckily I went off and bought my glasses somewhere else, finding a couple of sylish new pairs that I feel good about, but the experience was a bit jarring to say the least.
* As we're watching some television, my dad spots some woman on the screen and asks, as he's wont to do, if she's a lesbian. He's always doing this, particularly if said lady is a bit butcher, and acts as though he's incredibly clever, to have connected masculine appearance with lesbianism. I have sighed so many times and Wikipedia'd the information, correcting him that no, said celebrity is married with three children, while he still raises his brow suspiciously. So he said it yet another time about some older actress I didn't know, and I bristled back with a "Why?", to which he responded "Well, she never wears any makeup!". That irked me to no end, and I instantly retorted "Neither do I!" (which, in retrospect, seems incredibly dangerous- that could have been one heck of an opener into a discussion about my sexual orientation). But his response instead was "Yeah, but you, like, paint your nails at least!". Correction- I paint my toenails red (never my fingernails, which are short, trim, and colorless, because I apparently am never careful enough with them for the polish to last prettily more than a day). I like it because that little splash of color makes me happy when I look at my piglets, and is far prettier in a pair of sandals than without. It's something I've done for forever, and it doesn't make me feel girly or feminine- quite the opposite, strong, flagrante, somehow. Not to mention I felt quite vindicated when I saw the quite butch Papi Cox of "In Search Of Wild Kingdom" with lovely red tonails, too. I didn't dare try to point all of this out to my papa- let him inhabit a world where painting your toenails makes you feminine and straight. But it still made me shake my head and sigh.
* Lately I've been working on growing out the hair on my head. I never style it (except to keep my relentless curly, wacky bangs in flatironed submission when they're really bad); it either hangs long around my face or is pulled back in a ponytail. I like it for a lot of reasons- I like the challenge of growing my hair out, of resisting to get it cut, of slowly watching it get longer and longer, and I love the way it feels (does that make me femme, to love running my hands through my hair?). I've always thought my long hair was a bit of a cover, a mainstream disguise. But yesterday a at a friend's party, my mother took a look at her pretty, short, elegantly styled hair and asked me why I didn't cut mine. I didn't take the time to remind her that my hair has been short before, layered, modeled after magazine pictures, and it never looks the way it did in those examples, because I don't style my hair- I want to wake up, brush, and go. I simply never want to have hair that makes you sadly say "No, no, roll up the car windows, I can't mess up my hair.". I didn't stop to tell her that cutting my hair like Bethany's wouldn't make me look like her- feminine, elegant, pretty, womanly. I didn't stop to point out that short, unstyled hair, compounded by my clothes, my weight, and my attitude, would only serve to scream "Dyke! Huge dyke!". I simply smiled and told her I was growing it out.
* A few days ago at work, the new secretary, decked out in hot pink, looked at me and asked if I was wearing pink eyeshadow (she was seeing her own outfit reflected in my glasses). I said no, and she went on to comment "But you would look really good if you ever decided to start wearing makeup!". I must have made another one of those faces, the surprised and disturbed ones that I can't even help, because she quickly threw in there: "I mean, it's okay- I didn't start wearing makeup unti I was 24." I nodded and fake smiled, but I'm sure she knew the damage was done. I just get so, so tired of people assuming that I don't know what makeup is. I'm sure they're picturing me rummaging through their handbags cavewoman-style grunting "What this tube red stuff?". Just because I don't wear makeup does not mean that I am in need of a makeover, that I am ignorant about that sort of thing. It's a choice, not a default. I recognize that if I took the time and effort, I could be more feminine, more "beautiful", and I wish more people would see my not doing that as a conscious choice, and stop trying to "save me from myself".
So yeah, that's it. It's not a lot, but somehow, coming one right after another, just seemed to compound the message being thrown at me- be more feminine!- and I feel chafed, caught in-between, even less able to reject these messages than if I were full-out butch. It sucks, to say the least :(.
But every once in a while someone does or says something that ticks me off, and this week they all seemed to happen at once, really weighing it on my mind and making me want to write them all down in a blog post. So, without further ado, here they are, after the jump:
* Going to get a new pair of glasses last week, the nice little old lady trying to pick out frames squinted at my face and said "I think maybe this time we should try something a little more feminine." I must have balked or made a face because she hastily amended "It's just that this pair is very unisex.", but the damage was already done. Feminine frames? Just what would that look like- pink and sparkly? Like a stubborn kid, I firmly set my jaw and determined to find the most masculine pair I could ("Do you have something in a hunter green, preferably with antlers?" . . . nah, just kidding). Luckily I went off and bought my glasses somewhere else, finding a couple of sylish new pairs that I feel good about, but the experience was a bit jarring to say the least.
* As we're watching some television, my dad spots some woman on the screen and asks, as he's wont to do, if she's a lesbian. He's always doing this, particularly if said lady is a bit butcher, and acts as though he's incredibly clever, to have connected masculine appearance with lesbianism. I have sighed so many times and Wikipedia'd the information, correcting him that no, said celebrity is married with three children, while he still raises his brow suspiciously. So he said it yet another time about some older actress I didn't know, and I bristled back with a "Why?", to which he responded "Well, she never wears any makeup!". That irked me to no end, and I instantly retorted "Neither do I!" (which, in retrospect, seems incredibly dangerous- that could have been one heck of an opener into a discussion about my sexual orientation). But his response instead was "Yeah, but you, like, paint your nails at least!". Correction- I paint my toenails red (never my fingernails, which are short, trim, and colorless, because I apparently am never careful enough with them for the polish to last prettily more than a day). I like it because that little splash of color makes me happy when I look at my piglets, and is far prettier in a pair of sandals than without. It's something I've done for forever, and it doesn't make me feel girly or feminine- quite the opposite, strong, flagrante, somehow. Not to mention I felt quite vindicated when I saw the quite butch Papi Cox of "In Search Of Wild Kingdom" with lovely red tonails, too. I didn't dare try to point all of this out to my papa- let him inhabit a world where painting your toenails makes you feminine and straight. But it still made me shake my head and sigh.
* Lately I've been working on growing out the hair on my head. I never style it (except to keep my relentless curly, wacky bangs in flatironed submission when they're really bad); it either hangs long around my face or is pulled back in a ponytail. I like it for a lot of reasons- I like the challenge of growing my hair out, of resisting to get it cut, of slowly watching it get longer and longer, and I love the way it feels (does that make me femme, to love running my hands through my hair?). I've always thought my long hair was a bit of a cover, a mainstream disguise. But yesterday a at a friend's party, my mother took a look at her pretty, short, elegantly styled hair and asked me why I didn't cut mine. I didn't take the time to remind her that my hair has been short before, layered, modeled after magazine pictures, and it never looks the way it did in those examples, because I don't style my hair- I want to wake up, brush, and go. I simply never want to have hair that makes you sadly say "No, no, roll up the car windows, I can't mess up my hair.". I didn't stop to tell her that cutting my hair like Bethany's wouldn't make me look like her- feminine, elegant, pretty, womanly. I didn't stop to point out that short, unstyled hair, compounded by my clothes, my weight, and my attitude, would only serve to scream "Dyke! Huge dyke!". I simply smiled and told her I was growing it out.
* A few days ago at work, the new secretary, decked out in hot pink, looked at me and asked if I was wearing pink eyeshadow (she was seeing her own outfit reflected in my glasses). I said no, and she went on to comment "But you would look really good if you ever decided to start wearing makeup!". I must have made another one of those faces, the surprised and disturbed ones that I can't even help, because she quickly threw in there: "I mean, it's okay- I didn't start wearing makeup unti I was 24." I nodded and fake smiled, but I'm sure she knew the damage was done. I just get so, so tired of people assuming that I don't know what makeup is. I'm sure they're picturing me rummaging through their handbags cavewoman-style grunting "What this tube red stuff?". Just because I don't wear makeup does not mean that I am in need of a makeover, that I am ignorant about that sort of thing. It's a choice, not a default. I recognize that if I took the time and effort, I could be more feminine, more "beautiful", and I wish more people would see my not doing that as a conscious choice, and stop trying to "save me from myself".
So yeah, that's it. It's not a lot, but somehow, coming one right after another, just seemed to compound the message being thrown at me- be more feminine!- and I feel chafed, caught in-between, even less able to reject these messages than if I were full-out butch. It sucks, to say the least :(.
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