By Sarah Werthan Buttenwieser
Sometimes, the beauty of how children’s minds work (at least brilliant ones like those belonging to my kids) is just perfect. Case in point: my nine-year-old son Lucien told my husband this fact (well, this construction of truth): Don Imus is gay. “Where’d you get that?” asked Hosie (my spouse/his dad).
“Don Imus hates women,” replied Lucien. “So he must be gay.”
Okay, I know, I know, hating women does not equal loving men, etc. However... Well, just pass it on.
Showing posts with label Children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Children. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
A Post-Valentine’s Reflection
By Sarah Werthan Buttenwieser
Winter, in Northampton, Massachusetts, really started on Valentine’s morning with a snowy, sleety dump. That same morning, a man dropped off an arrangement of flowers just inside our mudroom door. Now, this is not an unexpected occurrence on this particular day, especially given that my dear husband is out of town for work. So, I stepped into the mudroom and bent down to pick up the flowers. What was unexpected was the background noise. My kids were protesting, quite loudly: “Don’t touch that! We don’t know that man! What if it’s a bomb?”
It took many assurances from me—papa always sends flowers on Valentine’s Day if he’s gone, we get flowers there all the time, Harrison’s mom works at that store and probably made the arrangement—to quell their fears. For just a moment after the scare, they did literally stop and smell the roses.
What ran through my mind was this: the incalculably high number of hidden costs exacted by this so-called “War on Terror.” I felt like shaking a hand toward those who have lead the charge to twist horrific acts of violence on 9-11 into a larger conspiracy that has wrought so much more bloodshed and violence and fear than those who dreamed up the hijack suicide missions could ever have imagined possible. Some observers now deem civil war too simplistic and even too mild a term to describe the seemingly intractable violence in Iraq (and beyond). From the reality on the ground to the palpable sense of unease experienced by those at a very, very far remove from any actual violence, assurances from our leaders that our actions are rendering the world a safer place—for Iraqi or American citizens—seem nothing short of magical thinking, and that’s a generous interpretation.
Meantime, by Cupid’s big day, smack in the middle of February, the sun was already shining longer—on sunny days—and in so doing, nudging our minds toward spring. Winter barely began at the point we often first believe it’ll soon be over. The recent report issued by the United Nations’ International Panel on Climate Change constitutes as definitive a declaration as scientists ever make that the earth is
warming and that humans are responsible for this detrimental development. Their urging that we humans reform our habits and reprioritize so that we save our species and other species and the planet could not be more clearly exhorted or more simply put. If we wanted something to fear, we’ve got it. And yet, without bloodshed, we
can—as many already are—start to repair these wrongs, and thus slowly allay these fears.
My middle son, Lucien, sees the connection clearly: saving the environment and peace do go together, hand-in-hand. He often draws posters about saving the earth. If not invariably then frequently a peace sign or a phrase about stopping the war makes its way to the same page. His desires for a clean earth and a friendly one are rooted in
love. He’s funny and warm and eager to relish what is good in this world. Although he thinks, more than most eight-year-olds perhaps, about the world’s hardships, such as war or poverty or pollution, what’s clear when he’s drawing is that hope trumps fear. His desire to make change comes from the simple fact that he trusts most people are
good and want the best for each other. Save for potential bombs, that is. Certainly, when I experience my own waves of fear—about the terrible toll of war or degradation to our planet—I try to remember that hope is more durable than fear and if love doesn’t quite conquer all, it certainly conquers much more than hate or revenge ever could.
Winter, in Northampton, Massachusetts, really started on Valentine’s morning with a snowy, sleety dump. That same morning, a man dropped off an arrangement of flowers just inside our mudroom door. Now, this is not an unexpected occurrence on this particular day, especially given that my dear husband is out of town for work. So, I stepped into the mudroom and bent down to pick up the flowers. What was unexpected was the background noise. My kids were protesting, quite loudly: “Don’t touch that! We don’t know that man! What if it’s a bomb?”
It took many assurances from me—papa always sends flowers on Valentine’s Day if he’s gone, we get flowers there all the time, Harrison’s mom works at that store and probably made the arrangement—to quell their fears. For just a moment after the scare, they did literally stop and smell the roses.
What ran through my mind was this: the incalculably high number of hidden costs exacted by this so-called “War on Terror.” I felt like shaking a hand toward those who have lead the charge to twist horrific acts of violence on 9-11 into a larger conspiracy that has wrought so much more bloodshed and violence and fear than those who dreamed up the hijack suicide missions could ever have imagined possible. Some observers now deem civil war too simplistic and even too mild a term to describe the seemingly intractable violence in Iraq (and beyond). From the reality on the ground to the palpable sense of unease experienced by those at a very, very far remove from any actual violence, assurances from our leaders that our actions are rendering the world a safer place—for Iraqi or American citizens—seem nothing short of magical thinking, and that’s a generous interpretation.
Meantime, by Cupid’s big day, smack in the middle of February, the sun was already shining longer—on sunny days—and in so doing, nudging our minds toward spring. Winter barely began at the point we often first believe it’ll soon be over. The recent report issued by the United Nations’ International Panel on Climate Change constitutes as definitive a declaration as scientists ever make that the earth is
warming and that humans are responsible for this detrimental development. Their urging that we humans reform our habits and reprioritize so that we save our species and other species and the planet could not be more clearly exhorted or more simply put. If we wanted something to fear, we’ve got it. And yet, without bloodshed, we
can—as many already are—start to repair these wrongs, and thus slowly allay these fears.
My middle son, Lucien, sees the connection clearly: saving the environment and peace do go together, hand-in-hand. He often draws posters about saving the earth. If not invariably then frequently a peace sign or a phrase about stopping the war makes its way to the same page. His desires for a clean earth and a friendly one are rooted in
love. He’s funny and warm and eager to relish what is good in this world. Although he thinks, more than most eight-year-olds perhaps, about the world’s hardships, such as war or poverty or pollution, what’s clear when he’s drawing is that hope trumps fear. His desire to make change comes from the simple fact that he trusts most people are
good and want the best for each other. Save for potential bombs, that is. Certainly, when I experience my own waves of fear—about the terrible toll of war or degradation to our planet—I try to remember that hope is more durable than fear and if love doesn’t quite conquer all, it certainly conquers much more than hate or revenge ever could.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Oh So Pretty
By Sarah Werthan Buttenwieser
I once read that the best thing you could do for little girls is to refrain from commenting about how they look. At first blush, this might seem extreme. Stop for a moment and think about it; for many girls, how they look is not only the first thing people comment upon but the thing people comment upon most frequently. When you see a little girl, does something along the lines of “she’s pretty” or “what a cute pair of shoes” pop out of your (generally feminist) mouth? Once I started to notice what popped out of my (generally feminist) mouth, I realized that commenting upon clothing or hair is a pretty obvious icebreaker, in large part because so many girls are not so much dressed as decorated, coifed, and heavily accessorized. Unless they choose boys’ clothing (picture wide corduroy and khaki, loads of orange, dinosaurs, American ball sports, and some camouflage), girls these days aren’t left much choice. Peruse a children’s clothing catalogue and you’ll see a very pink and lavender, ruffled, flowered, flounced, cutesy selection of clothing replete with everything that supposedly characterizes girls: lollipops (sugar), sassy cuts like bell bottoms or midriff baring shirts or bikinis (spice), and horses, kittens, ballet dancers (everything nice). This point was driven home to me last year when my son, Remy, then three and I attended a fourth birthday party for his friend, Annie. Annie received not one, not two, but three purses. She also got jewelry and hair holders. The toys were limited to horses (which she loves), some dress up items, and collectibles. We brought books. No one gave her anything to do: no balls or puzzles or building toys or even art projects. I guess you could sum it up as pretty is as pretty does (or in this case, doesn’t).
Remy’s fourth birthday party loot, by contrast, included art supplies, building toys, a science experiment of a rocket that blasts off for real, a bicycle bell... You get the picture: active boys get active toys.
Ezekiel, now eleven, wanted long hair from the time he was in preschool. His younger brothers followed suit. Having been mistaken for girls for so long I can’t remember their gender being considered obvious, one thing that has been proven again and again; people do comment on pretty overwhelmingly as the icebreaker. They declare the boys, “sweet,” “adorable,” or in England this past summer, “darling.” Even on a beach vacation while wearing swim trunks, gender confusion persists. As girls, my kids are not only affirmed for being pretty but for being nice, friendly, good with younger children... Maybe boys identified as boys would be affirmed for these qualities. Often, after a person apologizes for seeing boy as girl, shifts in language define my child as “handsome,” “strong featured,” or “energetic.”
In actual fact, my kids are sweet, adorable, darling, handsome, strong featured and energetic. While I don’t think of them as extreme examples of gender neutrality, in an age attached to gender stereotyping, they really are. So, a challenge: next time you are about to make a pretty-based comment to a little girl, keep your (generally feminist) mouth shut for a moment. Then, see what else you might find to say.
Also by Sarah Werthan Buttenwieser,Princesses Gone Wild
I once read that the best thing you could do for little girls is to refrain from commenting about how they look. At first blush, this might seem extreme. Stop for a moment and think about it; for many girls, how they look is not only the first thing people comment upon but the thing people comment upon most frequently. When you see a little girl, does something along the lines of “she’s pretty” or “what a cute pair of shoes” pop out of your (generally feminist) mouth? Once I started to notice what popped out of my (generally feminist) mouth, I realized that commenting upon clothing or hair is a pretty obvious icebreaker, in large part because so many girls are not so much dressed as decorated, coifed, and heavily accessorized. Unless they choose boys’ clothing (picture wide corduroy and khaki, loads of orange, dinosaurs, American ball sports, and some camouflage), girls these days aren’t left much choice. Peruse a children’s clothing catalogue and you’ll see a very pink and lavender, ruffled, flowered, flounced, cutesy selection of clothing replete with everything that supposedly characterizes girls: lollipops (sugar), sassy cuts like bell bottoms or midriff baring shirts or bikinis (spice), and horses, kittens, ballet dancers (everything nice). This point was driven home to me last year when my son, Remy, then three and I attended a fourth birthday party for his friend, Annie. Annie received not one, not two, but three purses. She also got jewelry and hair holders. The toys were limited to horses (which she loves), some dress up items, and collectibles. We brought books. No one gave her anything to do: no balls or puzzles or building toys or even art projects. I guess you could sum it up as pretty is as pretty does (or in this case, doesn’t).
Remy’s fourth birthday party loot, by contrast, included art supplies, building toys, a science experiment of a rocket that blasts off for real, a bicycle bell... You get the picture: active boys get active toys.
Ezekiel, now eleven, wanted long hair from the time he was in preschool. His younger brothers followed suit. Having been mistaken for girls for so long I can’t remember their gender being considered obvious, one thing that has been proven again and again; people do comment on pretty overwhelmingly as the icebreaker. They declare the boys, “sweet,” “adorable,” or in England this past summer, “darling.” Even on a beach vacation while wearing swim trunks, gender confusion persists. As girls, my kids are not only affirmed for being pretty but for being nice, friendly, good with younger children... Maybe boys identified as boys would be affirmed for these qualities. Often, after a person apologizes for seeing boy as girl, shifts in language define my child as “handsome,” “strong featured,” or “energetic.”
In actual fact, my kids are sweet, adorable, darling, handsome, strong featured and energetic. While I don’t think of them as extreme examples of gender neutrality, in an age attached to gender stereotyping, they really are. So, a challenge: next time you are about to make a pretty-based comment to a little girl, keep your (generally feminist) mouth shut for a moment. Then, see what else you might find to say.
Also by Sarah Werthan Buttenwieser,
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