I Just Don't Get It

I feel like we’ve gone backwards.

When I was a little girl, no one ever made sure I felt “pretty.”  Concerns about what I ate or what I weighed were for health purposes.  My hair was cut to a style to make it easy to take care of my baby fine hair with no one having to gently pull out the knots at the ends each morning that otherwise occurred from sleeping . No one worried about when I would finally get a boyfriend or when I would get married.  Clothes were purchased based on quality, comfort, and, for me, if they were purple.   The only makeup I was allowed to wear in high school was pressed powder and neutral eye shadow.

In other words, I was never taught that what I looked like was important.

Rather, I grew up learning to embrace my athleticism, my passion for reading, my ability to do complex algebra problems in my head.  I was taught that I deserved respect, and also to respect myself.  I learned to be choosy with my friends, to look for people with good character and integrity to keep in my circle.  I was raised to see everyone for what was on the inside, especially myself.  I was taught to love myself for all my strengths, and despite any flaws. I was never told I needed to prove to be equal to a man, I was shown I already was and to live as such.  

I knew that attention from a man was not what gave me worth, that one that wanted a relationship with me needed to deserve to have a relationship with me, and that “me” was not what I looked like,  how much skin I showed, or my breast size.  Me was my perfectionism, my ever present sarcasm, my love of cooking, my tightwad qualities, my need for alone time, my drive, my propensity for using words you may not know in everyday conversation, my love of art and Disney and animals and knowledge….

I was taught to be so much more than a sexual object.

Perhaps what you learn really does color your world, because today I’m supposed to be happy that a “curvy” woman is on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition, and I just don’t get it.  I am supposed to feel empowered over the fact that it is now acceptable to objectify more body types, and even more ecstatic that women are now proud to be objectified.  I am supposed to be joyful that this is just the beginning and maybe one day a 48 year old woman like me can get naked and pose on all fours for a national magazine cover so men will think of me when they are with their significant other, because that is now what gives you worth as a woman.

Call me when everyone else feels good about themselves with their hair in a messy ponytail, their feet in their favorite Crocs, in jeans and a sweatshirt that keeps them from being cold when everyone else thinks it’s hot, sitting next to their family who loves them for their witty insults and their ability to do the income taxes, not caring if some stranger finds their body type to be “hot.”  To me that is what empowerment is, being respected for your soul.

In the mean time, that’s why they have wine. 

We're Running Out of Time

My son, Aiden, has played baseball since he was 6.  He is now 14.  Officially, fall season ended in November, and Spring starts next week.  In reality, there has been no break, with practices 3-4 times a week, and they even played a practice game on Thursday.

Yesterday morning, one of my rare days to sleep in, I was awoken by a text telling me he was supposed to have been at practice 9 minutes earlier.  Yep, I know, and I had left a voice message for the coach the day before letting him know that Aiden wouldn’t be at practice, which apparently wasn’t checked.  You see, Aiden would be at his dad’s house for the weekend, and they had plans, and tickets, to go to a college softball game.

Right now there are some sports parents aghast that I find that to be a reasonable excuse to miss practice.  And honestly, for 8 years, he probably only missed practice less than a handful of times, only for being sick or because there was a school event he needed to attend, even when he was playing on two teams one season, because I had that attitude too.

This year, however, in the midst of him getting taller than me, needing shoes 4 sizes bigger than the year before, and figuring out what high school he would attend next year, it hit me.  We’re running out of time.  Running out of time where he is going to still want to do things with his family instead of friends.  Running out of time before he leaves for college.  Running out of time to enrich his life with things other than baseball.  Running out of time to just spend time together.

There are so many vacations we have wanted to take and haven’t because of baseball – because there wasn’t time due to the All Star season, because there wasn’t money or spare vacation days from work because he played in Cooperstown, because sometimes we don’t know the game schedule till the day before the game.  There are so many weekends with his father, who he is only with every other weekend, that were spent completely at baseball tournaments, rarely having the chance to do the other things fathers and sons like to bond over.

There are times when, though it is his passion, he gets burnt out and hates baseball.  I used to make him tough it out.  This year, we’ve missed practices and even a game to go to Disney World for a few days and refresh.

While for some families, baseball may be their whole world and they like it that way, for ours it is not. For my son it is his passion, he wants to take it as far as he can, but he still wants to be a regular kid.  I suspect there are other kids who feel the same way, and are afraid to tell their parents.

Don’t miss out on opportunities to share the rest of the world with your child.  Life, childhood, time goes by really, really fast and we can’t get any of it back or do any of it over.

Soon our kids will be all grown up.  That’s why they have wine.