Keeping with the ceremonial "end of combat operations in Iraq" events (aka Operation "New Dawn") of late, I thought it appropriate to share some feelings I've had over the last few years regarding attitudes I've encountered about military service. I realize that this post is potentially a hot button item, and I might piss more than a few people off, but well, that's what I do best, so here goes.
Obviously, I am part of a military family. Actually, I always have been. My father was an Army officer for the better part of my childhood, and I dated and married a man who was enlisted Navy for 19 years, and for the last two has been an Army officer. Now, whether I consider myself an "Army wife" is a whole other story, but that's a completely different blog post...
I will be completely upfront here, in saying that Adam's and my sacrifices due to the current wars have been relatively minimal. We have only had two separations due to deployments, the first of which put Ads in a non-combat zone for five months in 2003, and the second mobilizing him for over 6 months to Iraq, where he carried out administrative and legal duties in a fairly safe office setting (although his office building was shaken by mortar shells on a daily basis). While I always feared for his safety during the deployment to Iraq, we were able to speak almost everyday, and he was able to assure me that he was not "in theater" (in the combat zone) like many servicemembers, and was comparatively safe. Moreover, Adam not only returned from each deployment unscathed, physically and emotionally...more importantly, he came home to me alive.
That said, being in the service (and from my perspective, being married to someone in the service) can be really hard. The knowledge that months-long deployments are on the horizon; the bureaucracy of the military being such that many decisions are not yours to make, but are made for you; the lack of stability for active duty personnel who can expect reassignments (aka moves) at least every two to three years, if not more frequently. But, it's a job, one that people take for various reasons, and most service members are proud of what they do.
I have been surprised by how some of my liberal-leaning friends question the motive behind Adam's service, as if he (or I) should have to explain why he chose to be in the military. Over the years, several people have come at me with, "I just don't get it...why is he in the military anyway?" or "He left one branch to join another?? Why would he ever stay in the military if he didn't have to?" It boggles my mind that the civilian sector of America (that includes me, by the way) can complain endlessly about long work days, boring tasks and annoying bosses, and yet nobody questions why they chose their line of work. Yet, when Adam or I mentions the frustrations associated with being in the military, the immediate response by many people seems to be "Why don't you just get out?" The Left has long been accused of being unsupportive of our service members (which, to be fair, was the case during the Vietnam War, but in recent times the tone has changed to "Against the War, but Support the Troops!"). But, to some extent amongst my own friends, I don't see the support. Many liberal friends box all servicemembers (and their families) into one category--conservative, narrow-minded, uneducated and uninformed about the world. Forget the fact that our military comprises people from every state in the nation, from all different ethnic backgrounds, all religions and all party affiliations. Our folks in uniform (and their spouses) have associates, bachelors, Masters, PhDs, JDs, MDs, and DVMs, to name a few. Just because they serve (and might have different viewpoints about the world or politics or the war) it doesn't mean they "just don't know any better." It's interesting that these friends seem to think that since Adam is educated and knowledgeable that he shouldn't feel a need to serve; perhaps military service is just for the poor unfortunate souls whose financial or educational vacuum prevents them from doing anything else? Funny, but in many ways, to me these friends are the ones who seem sheltered and a little naive. It's one thing to work your 8-5 job, come home, cook dinner, watch tv and go to bed. It's quite another to be in a combat situation for fifteen consecutive months, or to be the spouse at home who is holding down the fort and simultaneously worrying about your soldier overseas. Let me be frank; I am by no means trying to play the martyr here. My life, while challenging on occasion, is not even comparable to the lives of many military families. But I will say that I have come to see one- and two-week separations from Adam as small potatoes compared to what we've been through in the past.
People choose this life for many reasons--money, opportunity, a way out of a bad life, family history of military service, pride--but I think it's pretty ugly to imply that the motives are based solely on misinformation or misguided machismo. The general attitude that some of my leftist friends exude is that being part of the military is inherently bad. While I'm no gung-ho military person myself, I'm quite sure that working to secure and defend one's nation (and we have a long history of veterans who have done this very thing over the decades) is no worse than many, many other professions.
And, being the equal-opportunity critic that I am, I have to speak of my conservative friends, too. Even before the war began, I felt like there was a huge uproar from many friends on the right to "go over there and kick some ass!" Listen, I lived in New York City on September 11, 2001. I had a view of the burning Manhattan skyline and I watched as the towers fell. I feared for many friends' lives and I held a dear friend who walked the thirteen miles from Manhattan, over the Queensboro bridge, to Flushing that day. I watched Adam call into the New York Naval Militia to see what he could do to help, and I saw his face as he told me what it was like to serve at Ground Zero while smoke, human remains and debris permeated the air. Trust me. I got it. But it felt like the immediate zeal for revenge had no calculated thought behind it. As my boss hung up posters around the office of eagles carrying U.S. flags over silhouttes of the Twin Towers with titles like "Going to Kick Some Ass", my heart sank. I knew we were entering a time of war; I knew we HAD to. But it's like people forgot that war claims casualties on both sides, far more than were lost in the World Trade Center. The zeal that people had about impending war seemed to be a misguided sense of domination. How could people be excited about the idea of entering into a time of war? Did folks really think that a war with insurgents was going to be quick and easy? How could people not predict the reality that we're currently facing, eight years later?
Throughout the eight-plus years of the war, I can't count how many people have lectured me about how good the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have been (despite the lack of WMDs in Iraq that supposedly justified our invasion there). People who have never had to sacrifice a day in their lives to support it. Never served a deployment, never been separated from family, never worried about not coming home (or having a loved one not come home). One pro-war friend even suggested signing up to go into the military "once things settle down a bit over there." If the war should be fought, why wasn't this friend willing to enter the fray during the most dangerous of times? Another friend who is an adamant supporter of the war, and who served previously during peacetime said he'd "thought about re-enlisting to help out now that we're in a time of war, but I've got kids now, and I just can't see being separated from them." So, it's okay to just let other people leave their families behind to go fight the war that he supports? It's really hard for me to hear people tell me how righteous these wars are when they have nothing invested in it. Ted Koppel, former host of "Nightline" did an op-ed piece on this very issue last month, entitled "Burdens of War Unevenly Shared in U.S.". He expressed his concern that most Americans, whether they support the war or not, are not shouldering the burdens of it, either financially or otherwise. I agree. In this country, more people are concerned with what the Kardashians and The Real Housewives are doing than they are with the sacrifices of their fellow citizens. For most people, Veterans' Day and Memorial Day are just holidays off from work to pull out the grill and have a cookout. For those who have served or the families that have lost a loved one, the days mean so much more. Look, I'm not expecting everyone to enlist and serve in the military, but I guess that it's really hard for me to swallow conservative, pro-war rhetoric from someone who doesn't have to sacrifice for the very issue they're espousing.
So...what am I really saying here? Hey, I'm a bleeding heart liberal who is against war in most cases. I have even had some preconceptions of my own about who servicemembers and their families are, prejudices that I am constantly learning are ridiculous the longer I'm immersed in the military community. But I strongly support our troops. Whether or not you believe that they are overseas "fighting for our freedom," the truth is that they are voluntarily putting their lives on the line on our behalf, and on behalf of our nation, something most of us are not willing to do. Their spouses and children are shouldering the hardships of life without a loved one for several months at a time, several deployments over. Or, at the very worst, they will have to deal with the loss of a loved one for good.
So, perhaps the next time a list of names of those killed in action comes across your television screen, don't flip to the next channel; read each and every name, because those people who died in service to their nation deserve at least that much. And the next time you see someone in uniform, don't make any assumptions. Don't assume s/he is only serving because of ignorance or lack of education. Don't assume that s/he is a gun-toting, testosterone-filled bully who just wants to see some action. But also, don't assume that they are a proponent of this war, and happy to be deployed, away from their family, for the umpteenth time. Maybe they are just a regular person, working their job, doing what they have to do. And maybe you could just thank him/her for their service.
Our force is a diverse collective of many honorable people. Toss your assumptions to the wayside.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Once Upon A Mattress
The evening Bryony and I arrived back in Michigan, as is tradition, I decided to take her next door to visit Mrs. G. (or Abuela G. as we've started to affectionately call her since B.'s birth). I noticed, however, that her car wasn't parked in the driveway, so we hung out at our house for an hour or so. Finally, I heard the sound of a car pulling up next door, so I gathered B. up and we made our way over. Instead of Mrs. G., however, I found her son Frank coming out of the front door; he often stops by to check on his mother and to do maintenance on the house and yard. I was happy to see him and we greeted each other enthusiastically, but then his tone took a more serious note as he asked, "Lauren, did you put a bed in my mother's house last night?"
I had no idea what he was talking about, and told him so. "Frank, I've only been in town for an hour. Why did you think I put a bed in her house?"
Frank seemed a little confused himself. "To be honest, Lauren, I don't know what I'm talking about! My mother is at the casino today with some relatives, and she called me a bit hysterical two hours ago to say that last night she found a bed in her house. She kept saying that she put it outside, but Lauren, I've walked all over the house and looked in the front and backyards and there is no bed here!"
I was floored. It sounded really weird to me. Why would Mrs. G. think that someone had put a bed in her house? And if someone really did, where was it? Frank was worried. "All I can think is that maybe someone delivered a bed and put it on the front porch, and then this morning they realized they got the address wrong and they came back for it, because there is no bed here."
I really wanted him to be right about this theory. Otherwise, something much more disturbing was going on. Like, perhaps Mrs. G. was starting to lose it. Frank had thought of that, too. "I've heard of these things happening to older people, where maybe they dream about something but then their minds make them think that it really happened. I don't know, Lauren, maybe it's time to start looking at the retirement home for my mom again." My heart was starting to break into little pieces. Could my favorite neighbor really be starting to lose her faculties so soon after we left? And, could it be the lack of stimulation from our daily visits that was causing her mind to falter? I hoped against hope that Frank was wrong.
I decided to sit with Frank and his girlfriend at the house until Mrs. G. came home; I wanted to greet her now that we were back in town, but more importantly, I wanted to know that she was all right. A half hour later, her car pulled into the driveway, and she and two relatives got out. Frank quickly told me that he was going to talk to his mother in the back room so that she wouldn't be embarassed about her mistake in front of a room of people. I nodded absently. This was not going to be good.
As soon as Mrs. G. walked through the door, she looked at Frank (totally not noticing B. and me) and frantically asked, "Did you get it?"
My heart sagged, as did Frank's face. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mom. There's no bed here!" There was exasperation and pleading in his voice.
Mrs. G. shook her head, frustrated. "I'm telling you, it was here last night and I put it outside!" We all looked outside for the invisible bed.
Frank threw up his hands. "Mom, I'm telling you, there's no bed here! I looked all over the house and I couldn't find--"
Mrs. G. cut him off, "I told you it flew out onto the front porch!"
Flew?
Frank's girlfriend started laughing. "I told you she was saying bat, not bed!"
Mrs. G., confused, just looked at us. "Yes, that's what I've been saying all along. A bat was in the house last night and I put it out on the porch!"
We all started laughing. Because of the absurdity of the mistake, because Mrs. G. still had her druthers, because her son couldn't decipher his own mother's Mexican accent. We laughed and laughed, and then laughed some more. Mrs. G. explained her confusion the night before when Frank started suggesting that perhaps his brother had brought the "bed" over to temporarily store it; why would her youngest son bring a bat to her house to store? Frank laughed as he recounted his conversation with his younger brother about the mysterious bed and whether he had indeed brought it over to store at their mother's house? Frank kept saying, "I wondered how someone could have dropped a bed off at your house at 10pm without you knowing it because you're still awake at 10 at night!" We all laughed a bit more.
A few days later, Bryony and I went next door to visit Mrs. G. again. After a pleasant evening visit, I took the little girl home to get ready for bed. About 20 minutes after she was happily in sleepland, my cell phone rang. It was Mrs. G. calling; I assumed I had left something behind that she wanted me to go retrieve. When I answered the phone, she said, "Lauren, there's another bed in my house..."
Let's just say that this time, I knew all I had to do was open the door and let "the bed" fly out.
I had no idea what he was talking about, and told him so. "Frank, I've only been in town for an hour. Why did you think I put a bed in her house?"
Frank seemed a little confused himself. "To be honest, Lauren, I don't know what I'm talking about! My mother is at the casino today with some relatives, and she called me a bit hysterical two hours ago to say that last night she found a bed in her house. She kept saying that she put it outside, but Lauren, I've walked all over the house and looked in the front and backyards and there is no bed here!"
I was floored. It sounded really weird to me. Why would Mrs. G. think that someone had put a bed in her house? And if someone really did, where was it? Frank was worried. "All I can think is that maybe someone delivered a bed and put it on the front porch, and then this morning they realized they got the address wrong and they came back for it, because there is no bed here."
I really wanted him to be right about this theory. Otherwise, something much more disturbing was going on. Like, perhaps Mrs. G. was starting to lose it. Frank had thought of that, too. "I've heard of these things happening to older people, where maybe they dream about something but then their minds make them think that it really happened. I don't know, Lauren, maybe it's time to start looking at the retirement home for my mom again." My heart was starting to break into little pieces. Could my favorite neighbor really be starting to lose her faculties so soon after we left? And, could it be the lack of stimulation from our daily visits that was causing her mind to falter? I hoped against hope that Frank was wrong.
I decided to sit with Frank and his girlfriend at the house until Mrs. G. came home; I wanted to greet her now that we were back in town, but more importantly, I wanted to know that she was all right. A half hour later, her car pulled into the driveway, and she and two relatives got out. Frank quickly told me that he was going to talk to his mother in the back room so that she wouldn't be embarassed about her mistake in front of a room of people. I nodded absently. This was not going to be good.
As soon as Mrs. G. walked through the door, she looked at Frank (totally not noticing B. and me) and frantically asked, "Did you get it?"
My heart sagged, as did Frank's face. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mom. There's no bed here!" There was exasperation and pleading in his voice.
Mrs. G. shook her head, frustrated. "I'm telling you, it was here last night and I put it outside!" We all looked outside for the invisible bed.
Frank threw up his hands. "Mom, I'm telling you, there's no bed here! I looked all over the house and I couldn't find--"
Mrs. G. cut him off, "I told you it flew out onto the front porch!"
Flew?
Frank's girlfriend started laughing. "I told you she was saying bat, not bed!"
Mrs. G., confused, just looked at us. "Yes, that's what I've been saying all along. A bat was in the house last night and I put it out on the porch!"
We all started laughing. Because of the absurdity of the mistake, because Mrs. G. still had her druthers, because her son couldn't decipher his own mother's Mexican accent. We laughed and laughed, and then laughed some more. Mrs. G. explained her confusion the night before when Frank started suggesting that perhaps his brother had brought the "bed" over to temporarily store it; why would her youngest son bring a bat to her house to store? Frank laughed as he recounted his conversation with his younger brother about the mysterious bed and whether he had indeed brought it over to store at their mother's house? Frank kept saying, "I wondered how someone could have dropped a bed off at your house at 10pm without you knowing it because you're still awake at 10 at night!" We all laughed a bit more.
A few days later, Bryony and I went next door to visit Mrs. G. again. After a pleasant evening visit, I took the little girl home to get ready for bed. About 20 minutes after she was happily in sleepland, my cell phone rang. It was Mrs. G. calling; I assumed I had left something behind that she wanted me to go retrieve. When I answered the phone, she said, "Lauren, there's another bed in my house..."
Let's just say that this time, I knew all I had to do was open the door and let "the bed" fly out.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Scenes From the Air (port)
It's been a long time, I know. But my excuse is as good as any; B. and I were back in Michigan for two weeks and I was not hooked into the internet. At least, not enough to write up a proper blog post. But I assure you that my mind churns away many minutes of the day as "stuff" occurs and I actually think of the sentences I'll be using to describe said events on the blog. Yes, I write my blog in my head even when I'm not at the computer. Is that the sign of a once and future writer or a creepy freak who needs a better hobby?
Anyway, while there are far more important and relevant topics to write about, I can't resist detailing our trip back to Texas yesterday as we navigated airports, airplanes and the people who flocked in both of them. I definitely was mentally writing the blog yesterday and even jotted down some notes while on the plane, so I wouldn't forget some of the more interesting moments.
The first image we saw after passing through security was a large, beefy man with a scowl, walking briskly through the airport, his roller bag stretched out behind him, a young son running alongside with his roller bag to keep up with dad, and...an even younger son, dressed identically to the first son, crying--no screaming--for his father to wait for him. It was a terrible sight. The father ignored his young son who, slowed by his agony and tears, not to mention his roller bag, couldn't catch up to his father and older brother. Granted, I didn't see what events led up to this sight--perhaps the kid was a major brat who had had a meltdown temper tantrum and the father was just doing the whole "buck up kid or you're being left behind!" thing--but a very large, very busy airport just wasn't the place to demonstrate tough love. Evidently, I wasn't the only one who thought this because two airport security officers were discussing the fact that the father wasn't slowing down for the kid and and I saw them take off after the family. I ALMOST followed them just to see how it all got resolved but thought the better of it; I needed to find my own gate, after all.
As I was trying to locate my gate, I stopped by one of the giant televisions set to CNN, which was about to deliver BREAKING NEWS...which just so happened to be that Tiger Woods' divorce was finalized. Breaking news? Give me a break.
As we approached our gate, a surreal vision came into focus. True to an anime movie, a large contingent of school-uniform-clad teenage Japanese girls--complete with the pleated skirt and knotted neckerchief in front--made their way around us. Even their hair, while not pink, was similar to the movies, as there were pageboys, ponytails and long bobs. The only thing missing was a vicious dragon or monster in need of slaying.
Once on the flight, B. and I sat down behind a man who seemed none too pleased to have a baby behind him. Just as my hackles were about to flare up, a woman walked down the aisle, looking for a place for her luggage. She asked the curmudgeon in front of me if she could move his small bag to the smaller overhead unit across the aisle, so that her larger bag could fit in the larger bin above his head.
"No," he replied.
Surprised, the woman kindly said, "No, I can't move your bag to this bin?"
The man exaggeratedly shook his head and said in patronizing tones, "No, I need to know where my bag is at all times. I don't need to get sick and go into a medical emergency and not have access to my medicine!" (which of course, would have been in the bin right across the aisle from his seat...)
The woman, still shocked by his rudeness, smiled politely and responded, "And that's why I asked you first before I moved it."
And that's why she came off looking like a reasonable airline passenger and he came off like an unreasonable old grump. An unreasonable old grump who flirts with flight attendants because after the above conversation, he started winking and getting oh-so-friendly with the airline attendant (who DID move his medicine bag across the aisle, by the way), and then he checked out her ass as she walked by. Gross.
The anime troupe arrived on our plane with band instruments in hand, giggling and piling into their seats at the rear of the plane. I surmised they were participating in an international band competition here in the States. Another flight attendant approached a very American, flip-flop-clad, low-riding jeans-wearing, Ipod-listening Asian girl in the middle of the plane and asked her "Aren't you with the group back there?" to which the girl smiled politely and shook her head no. Ouch, lady.
Perhaps the weirdest situation was finding that the family that sat in the seats next to and in front of us--mother and daughter next to us, father and son in front--addressed each other not by name but by title. The little girl, appropriately, called her mother, "Mother" while they worked together on different word puzzles. However, the mother addressed her daughter as "Sister", and when the brother turned around in his seat to bother the girl, the girl laughed and said, "Brother, I see you!" The woman at one point admonished the boy, saying "Turn around and leave her alone, Brother." It felt like one of those cult situations where names don't matter, so everyone is just "Brother" and "Sister." It was definitely creepy.
On our second flight, the pilot came onto the loudspeaker to give us the weather conditions in Texas. There was a collective gasp in the main cabin as he said the temperature was over 100 degrees. I had already spoken to Adam so it was no big surprise (just utter disappointment) to me. I was more surprised that folks travelling to Texas would be shocked by hot temperatures. That's like GASP! it's cold during a Michigan winter, or GASP! Joan Rivers had another facelift. I think if you decide to ocme to Texas, you kinda know what you're in for.
Anyway, while there are far more important and relevant topics to write about, I can't resist detailing our trip back to Texas yesterday as we navigated airports, airplanes and the people who flocked in both of them. I definitely was mentally writing the blog yesterday and even jotted down some notes while on the plane, so I wouldn't forget some of the more interesting moments.
The first image we saw after passing through security was a large, beefy man with a scowl, walking briskly through the airport, his roller bag stretched out behind him, a young son running alongside with his roller bag to keep up with dad, and...an even younger son, dressed identically to the first son, crying--no screaming--for his father to wait for him. It was a terrible sight. The father ignored his young son who, slowed by his agony and tears, not to mention his roller bag, couldn't catch up to his father and older brother. Granted, I didn't see what events led up to this sight--perhaps the kid was a major brat who had had a meltdown temper tantrum and the father was just doing the whole "buck up kid or you're being left behind!" thing--but a very large, very busy airport just wasn't the place to demonstrate tough love. Evidently, I wasn't the only one who thought this because two airport security officers were discussing the fact that the father wasn't slowing down for the kid and and I saw them take off after the family. I ALMOST followed them just to see how it all got resolved but thought the better of it; I needed to find my own gate, after all.
As I was trying to locate my gate, I stopped by one of the giant televisions set to CNN, which was about to deliver BREAKING NEWS...which just so happened to be that Tiger Woods' divorce was finalized. Breaking news? Give me a break.
As we approached our gate, a surreal vision came into focus. True to an anime movie, a large contingent of school-uniform-clad teenage Japanese girls--complete with the pleated skirt and knotted neckerchief in front--made their way around us. Even their hair, while not pink, was similar to the movies, as there were pageboys, ponytails and long bobs. The only thing missing was a vicious dragon or monster in need of slaying.
Once on the flight, B. and I sat down behind a man who seemed none too pleased to have a baby behind him. Just as my hackles were about to flare up, a woman walked down the aisle, looking for a place for her luggage. She asked the curmudgeon in front of me if she could move his small bag to the smaller overhead unit across the aisle, so that her larger bag could fit in the larger bin above his head.
"No," he replied.
Surprised, the woman kindly said, "No, I can't move your bag to this bin?"
The man exaggeratedly shook his head and said in patronizing tones, "No, I need to know where my bag is at all times. I don't need to get sick and go into a medical emergency and not have access to my medicine!" (which of course, would have been in the bin right across the aisle from his seat...)
The woman, still shocked by his rudeness, smiled politely and responded, "And that's why I asked you first before I moved it."
And that's why she came off looking like a reasonable airline passenger and he came off like an unreasonable old grump. An unreasonable old grump who flirts with flight attendants because after the above conversation, he started winking and getting oh-so-friendly with the airline attendant (who DID move his medicine bag across the aisle, by the way), and then he checked out her ass as she walked by. Gross.
The anime troupe arrived on our plane with band instruments in hand, giggling and piling into their seats at the rear of the plane. I surmised they were participating in an international band competition here in the States. Another flight attendant approached a very American, flip-flop-clad, low-riding jeans-wearing, Ipod-listening Asian girl in the middle of the plane and asked her "Aren't you with the group back there?" to which the girl smiled politely and shook her head no. Ouch, lady.
Perhaps the weirdest situation was finding that the family that sat in the seats next to and in front of us--mother and daughter next to us, father and son in front--addressed each other not by name but by title. The little girl, appropriately, called her mother, "Mother" while they worked together on different word puzzles. However, the mother addressed her daughter as "Sister", and when the brother turned around in his seat to bother the girl, the girl laughed and said, "Brother, I see you!" The woman at one point admonished the boy, saying "Turn around and leave her alone, Brother." It felt like one of those cult situations where names don't matter, so everyone is just "Brother" and "Sister." It was definitely creepy.
On our second flight, the pilot came onto the loudspeaker to give us the weather conditions in Texas. There was a collective gasp in the main cabin as he said the temperature was over 100 degrees. I had already spoken to Adam so it was no big surprise (just utter disappointment) to me. I was more surprised that folks travelling to Texas would be shocked by hot temperatures. That's like GASP! it's cold during a Michigan winter, or GASP! Joan Rivers had another facelift. I think if you decide to ocme to Texas, you kinda know what you're in for.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Pieces of You
A couple days ago, Bryony and I were waiting in line at the local library to check out some books. A woman, with three small children in tow, was in front us speaking wearily to the circulation desk attendant. In short, the woman had come in to explain that she had no way of proving that she lived at her residence because, as she put it, "everything is in my husband's name, even my student loans." The librarian was sympathetic and obviously trying to work with the woman, but it made issuing the woman a library card difficult.
I listened to the exchange with a sinking feeling in my stomach. I was trying so hard not to judge this woman. Perhaps her husband had moved to town ahead of her and that's why everything was in his name, or maybe there was simply another perfectly reasonable explanation. But, all I could think of was the fact that their situation made it difficult for this woman to obtain something as basic as a library card. I felt sad.
Since then, I've started reflecting on how women sometimes navigate within the realms of married life. Often, I think that married women bring a lot of the same misguided ideas about relationships from their teenage years--giving up precious time, friendships, hobbies, etc. for their boyfriends--to their adult relationships. However, as a married woman, freely giving up pieces of oneself for a legal partner can have so many more repurcussions, financially, socially and emotionally. I am not trying to pick on or criticize any one decision that a woman might make. It's more of an overall thought that because she's married, she no longer needs to worry about her personal finances, or retaining her personal independence (as in, being able to get a library card by herself), or even social independence (having friends other than your husband's friends and their spouses). Regardless of whether a woman goes to an office everyday or stays at home with children, I believe that there is a great potential to loosen the reigns on keeping track of one's own identity, something that men rarely struggle with.
I've gotten flack from family and friends alike for the fact that I didn't change my last name when I got married; it's even a point of some tension with Adam. Besides the fact that I got married at 30 years old and not 20, and so I felt I had established myself professionally, financially, socially and personally with my maiden name, I also felt a strong desire to not be bullied into adhering to social norms. I think many people feel like I chose not to change my name just for the sheer purpose of "bucking the system" or "showing society!" but my decision really ran so much deeper than that. Most men in our culture could not even imagine changing their name for a woman, not just because it's against social norms, but because of an overt sense of patriarchal dominance. I've heard men (who consider themselves fairly open-minded) say things like, "I'll bet that schmuck even took his wife's last name" to refer to a man they consider "wussy" or "lacking cajones." How many times have you heard a man refer to another man by "Mr. (Wife's Maiden Name)" when he's trying to imply that the guy has been emasculated by his wife? So, if men consider honoring their wife by taking her last name as a sign of weakness (or a sign of femininity, which then equals weakness?), then how do they view the women who do it for them? Adam would say that I'm just overthinking this, but I don't think that I am (at least, not for myself). I feel just as strongly about the identity that I have established in the last 30+ years as Adam feels about the one he established before getting married. Yet, simply because I'm a woman, I'm supposed to freely give up my name and all that comes with it? I was not any less interested in maintaining my identity when I got married than any man would have been. Similarly, I am no less married by not having changed my name than a woman who did.
Planning. Many people who feel that not combining all your finances or a woman not changing her name are signals that you are "preparing for a divorce in the future." I think that's ludicrous. I think that people who are thoughtful enough about these issues are probably also thoughtful enough to consider why they're getting married in the first place. Thinking about what your priorities are and whether they fit within the realms of marriage seem like indications of a future successful marriage, not harbingers of divorce. And it's not just divorce that could be on the horizon, anyway. What if a husband is traumatically injured beyond the ability to work again? Or what if he dies? These are situations that could catch a woman off-guard if she is not actively involved in (or at least, knowledgeable about) the family finances. And a benefit to keeping some finances separated? In our litigation-happy society, if a husband gets sued, anything jointly owned could become part of a settlement. Theoretically, a wife's assets could be pursued as well, but it could be a lot more difficult if they are in her name only. And then, what if the "Big D" comes down the pipeline? As one woman said to me, "I'm realistic enough to realize that while my husband and I love each other very much, circumstances change and we might not feel the same way 30 years from now." Is it so wrong to make sure that you have taken care of yourself as much as he has, in case things don't work out happily ever after?
As I said before, I'm not judging any particular decision a woman--or couple, for that matter--makes for herself or themselves. The deeper issue, I think, is the mentality that is behind many of the decisions that women make for themselves once they're married. The goals of the husband and the couple itself, should be just as much oriented toward the wife's personal success as her goals are oriented toward her husband's and marriage's success. I fear that many women lose track of the "taking care of themselves" part of the relationship. Without that part, you run the risk of losing yourself in pursuit of making the marriage work. Perhaps I overcompensate too much; I admit it. I recognize I'm outside the norm and that this in itself has the potential to introduce conflict. But, I stand firm in my belief that having a healthy, strong sense of self (and supporting that with good financial and personal decisions) is the best way for me to contribute to a successful marriage. Not to mention, to check out some awesome books from the library.
I listened to the exchange with a sinking feeling in my stomach. I was trying so hard not to judge this woman. Perhaps her husband had moved to town ahead of her and that's why everything was in his name, or maybe there was simply another perfectly reasonable explanation. But, all I could think of was the fact that their situation made it difficult for this woman to obtain something as basic as a library card. I felt sad.
Since then, I've started reflecting on how women sometimes navigate within the realms of married life. Often, I think that married women bring a lot of the same misguided ideas about relationships from their teenage years--giving up precious time, friendships, hobbies, etc. for their boyfriends--to their adult relationships. However, as a married woman, freely giving up pieces of oneself for a legal partner can have so many more repurcussions, financially, socially and emotionally. I am not trying to pick on or criticize any one decision that a woman might make. It's more of an overall thought that because she's married, she no longer needs to worry about her personal finances, or retaining her personal independence (as in, being able to get a library card by herself), or even social independence (having friends other than your husband's friends and their spouses). Regardless of whether a woman goes to an office everyday or stays at home with children, I believe that there is a great potential to loosen the reigns on keeping track of one's own identity, something that men rarely struggle with.
I've gotten flack from family and friends alike for the fact that I didn't change my last name when I got married; it's even a point of some tension with Adam. Besides the fact that I got married at 30 years old and not 20, and so I felt I had established myself professionally, financially, socially and personally with my maiden name, I also felt a strong desire to not be bullied into adhering to social norms. I think many people feel like I chose not to change my name just for the sheer purpose of "bucking the system" or "showing society!" but my decision really ran so much deeper than that. Most men in our culture could not even imagine changing their name for a woman, not just because it's against social norms, but because of an overt sense of patriarchal dominance. I've heard men (who consider themselves fairly open-minded) say things like, "I'll bet that schmuck even took his wife's last name" to refer to a man they consider "wussy" or "lacking cajones." How many times have you heard a man refer to another man by "Mr. (Wife's Maiden Name)" when he's trying to imply that the guy has been emasculated by his wife? So, if men consider honoring their wife by taking her last name as a sign of weakness (or a sign of femininity, which then equals weakness?), then how do they view the women who do it for them? Adam would say that I'm just overthinking this, but I don't think that I am (at least, not for myself). I feel just as strongly about the identity that I have established in the last 30+ years as Adam feels about the one he established before getting married. Yet, simply because I'm a woman, I'm supposed to freely give up my name and all that comes with it? I was not any less interested in maintaining my identity when I got married than any man would have been. Similarly, I am no less married by not having changed my name than a woman who did.
Planning. Many people who feel that not combining all your finances or a woman not changing her name are signals that you are "preparing for a divorce in the future." I think that's ludicrous. I think that people who are thoughtful enough about these issues are probably also thoughtful enough to consider why they're getting married in the first place. Thinking about what your priorities are and whether they fit within the realms of marriage seem like indications of a future successful marriage, not harbingers of divorce. And it's not just divorce that could be on the horizon, anyway. What if a husband is traumatically injured beyond the ability to work again? Or what if he dies? These are situations that could catch a woman off-guard if she is not actively involved in (or at least, knowledgeable about) the family finances. And a benefit to keeping some finances separated? In our litigation-happy society, if a husband gets sued, anything jointly owned could become part of a settlement. Theoretically, a wife's assets could be pursued as well, but it could be a lot more difficult if they are in her name only. And then, what if the "Big D" comes down the pipeline? As one woman said to me, "I'm realistic enough to realize that while my husband and I love each other very much, circumstances change and we might not feel the same way 30 years from now." Is it so wrong to make sure that you have taken care of yourself as much as he has, in case things don't work out happily ever after?
As I said before, I'm not judging any particular decision a woman--or couple, for that matter--makes for herself or themselves. The deeper issue, I think, is the mentality that is behind many of the decisions that women make for themselves once they're married. The goals of the husband and the couple itself, should be just as much oriented toward the wife's personal success as her goals are oriented toward her husband's and marriage's success. I fear that many women lose track of the "taking care of themselves" part of the relationship. Without that part, you run the risk of losing yourself in pursuit of making the marriage work. Perhaps I overcompensate too much; I admit it. I recognize I'm outside the norm and that this in itself has the potential to introduce conflict. But, I stand firm in my belief that having a healthy, strong sense of self (and supporting that with good financial and personal decisions) is the best way for me to contribute to a successful marriage. Not to mention, to check out some awesome books from the library.
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