Men Opposed!

Men Opposed

The weather forecast warned that another winter storm was on its way. With all practicality and indication, the storm had already descended heavily upon our valley neighborhood. Three consecutive weekends of torrential rain had made me weak and depressed. I attempted to continue watching television. However, the thought of vegetating on the couch offered me limited solace from the bleakness of the day. There was really nothing worthwhile to watch anyway. The shows that dominated the airwaves ranged from the nap-inducing golf tournaments to the high-intensity football games. Another weekend of macho programming ensued. There was really nothing else to do on that wet weekend afternoon but to find something worthwhile to spend my time in.

As I darted to my bedroom to escape to dreamland, I saw my computer and decided to find company on the Internet instead. I searched for possible cures for the winter blues. Shopping it seemed, was the most popular antidote for boredom and despair. Nevertheless, I had no intentions of turning an otherwise bleak afternoon to an expensive one!  I clicked on a couple of women-related links, still hoping to find exciting but inexpensive ideas that would have alleviated my otherwise dull-drum filled day.

There was an interesting site about ways of enhancing the memory after the age of 35! I certainly needed to know useful tips regarding this matter, for it seemed that the ultra-photographic memory I once thought I had, has gone on a steady deterioration mode! My brain seems to be having a lot of difficulty retaining just about anything nowadays!

There were also a couple of links to herbal treatments for anything that ailed parts of the woman’s body I didn’t even know existed! And yes, there were also numerous links to websites that were dedicated to anything relating to menopause. Oh pardon me, I stand corrected not numerous, there were tons of them!

I was quite intrigued. I haven’t been feeling like my “normal” self lately. According to one of the websites that I visited, the symptoms of menopause can manifest themselves as early as ten years before the actual occurrence. Ten years! Perhaps the hypochondriac in me assumed, that I was being peri-menopausal! Somehow, an unknown powerful force just guided me through the hundreds of links. Just as soon as I clicked on one of the other highlighted links, my pre-pubescent son walked in and asked about what I was reading. I said I was reading about MENOPAUSE.

“Why are you opposed to men?” my son blurted.

I didn’t quite understand what he meant, so I asked him to repeat what he just said.

He asked me again, “Why are you opposing men?”

He then added, “Aren’t you reading about MEN OPPOSED?

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I realized that indeed, what I was reading about might have very well been entitled, “Links to opposition to men in general!” Perhaps, it is quite fitting that the two terms sounded so similar! Perhaps, menopause is a phase in a woman’s life when she finally gets out of the confines of the male dominated society that has forced a definition of a subservient sense of self.  Perhaps, this was the stage in life when she finally comes to her own. Perhaps, as her ability to procreate ceases, her ability to recreate herself commences.  And so I pondered on how this stage of life has brought about a new meaning in my survival as a woman. I traced the history of how I have been defined in context to the MEN in my life.

To start with, on the day I was born, I was greeted by the universal mixed feelings of a father who although was ecstatic with his first born child, had a tinge of disappointment when the doctor declared, “It is a girl!”

Like all men who have become a father on every continent on this whole wide world, he secretly wished that he had a son instead. Okay, perhaps, I am getting carried away. I guess in legal terms, this statement is a hearsay, I don’t actually know if my father felt that way but throughout my childhood, although I never doubted his dedication to me, there were many times when I saw the pride in his eyes when he reveled in the accomplishments of someone else’s son.

Case in point: my father was a proud graduate of the most prestigious military academy in the country of my heritage. My impression was, along with allegiance and service to their country, each and every graduate of this elite military school had a personal dedication to protect the integrity of their beloved institution. I always felt that each one took on the serious responsibility of providing the next generation of the finest marching military men. What a better way to achieve their goal than to groom their sons to follow in their hallowed footsteps! This premise explains the fact that in our household, it always became front-page news when one of my father’s fellow alumni’s sons made it to the highly competitive military school. There was a collective sense of pride when one of their sons continued on the highly revered tradition.

Perhaps, it was because I could never be one of those sons that I felt sensitive about this particular aspect of our family life. I knew some of those venerated sons and compared to me, they were nothing but sloppy, pimpled faced and academically inept male individuals. All these embodiment of the textbook definition of losers had going for them was the proper alumni last name!   I felt that I could have taken any of them down, emotionally, academically and some with all modesty, perhaps even physically.

Although, I always thought that “all that I was” deserved a little more credit, in reality they didn't have to be more than just a boy to deserve the much coveted adoration from the generation that sired them!  In essence, short of having an actual sex change, the truth was, there was nothing I could have ever done or could ever do that would change the fact, that my mere gender disqualified me from having given my father his shot to fulfill the goal that each and every military man of his beloved alma mater so desperately wanted to achieve!

Even my name had to be that of my father’s choosing. I was named after my grandmother, his dearly adored mother.  Like millions of generations of women before me, I carried my father’s last name, the very name passed on by his father before him. My father was the junior son of a senior father. The day after I was born, my parents started planning on having a child who could be named with the Roman numeral “III” attached to it! Unfortunately or perhaps by mere coincidence, the siblings never came and I grew up as an only child. I never heard it said out loud, nevertheless, on numerous occasions, it was inferred that with me, the last name would go into eternal oblivion!

My elders counted their potential progeny as a direct proportion to the number of grandsons they had, as if granddaughters didn’t actually count for anything! There was an unmentionable truth that boys were generally more welcomed than girls. Ironic though, that in my family where the majority of the four generations of the women earned graduate degrees, in most cases, more educationally advanced than their male counterparts, there was still a thin veil of an unspoken feeling of inadequacy. I felt that there was a collective sense of inferiority complex, not due to anything that was directly related to academic excellence, but because we as women, will bear children who will never carry the much-revered family name.

Through my teen-age years, I grew up with numerous rambunctious male cousins who were allowed to just be who they were. After all, boys will always be boys. Another of those unmentionable truths that hyperactive boys were generally more tolerated than the dainty girls. I was personally offended by the rules that applied exclusively for girls. The boys were never questioned about coming home at late night hours. I resented the fact that although I had as much energy as the boys and had always wanted to play outside as long as they did, like any good girl in the neighborhood, I was required to go home way before the sun set. As much as I was popular with the other kids in our neighborhood, I was only known as the younger girl cousin of the pubescent boys who by then, had the reputation to mesmerize the girls at the same time terrorize their parents!

The concept of boys was a none-issue in the all-girls Catholic grade school I attended. In high school though, my mother had the great sense of sending me to a co-ed institution thinking that it would provide me a more psychologically balanced adolescent experience. She enrolled me in a school with a highly academic advanced math and science programs. I competed with the smartest of the smartest, regardless of gender! Even then, there was an underlying inequality on how girls were perceived. The intelligent girls were always labeled as studious, hard working and bookish. As if girls were endowed with only half a brain that they needed to study harder than their male counterparts to compensate for the dumber half!

            The few boys who landed on the honor roll however were tagged as brilliant and borderline geniuses! Even though it bothered me that girls were always afforded a secondary billing, I never complained, for at that time, I had begun to start liking the boys too much to argue about their worth!

The story remained pretty much the same as I transitioned to the college campus. By then, my academic success was directly proportional to whether I had a significant relationship during the semester or not. I had to redefine educational excellence not only with regards to my family’s expectations of me, in addition, I had to inject into that equation, my perception of how valuable my success was, in relation to my significant other’s meaning of it and how it affected his life.

As a woman in her 20’s, I contained my existence to the search for Mr. Right, or so it would seem. Although my descendants will never be able to carry the family name, they were highly anticipated, nevertheless.  An appropriate wedding was to be a part of my foreseeable future.  The fact that a marriage was to be a part of my destiny was a foregone conclusion and I didn't have any control over being able to transform it to a hopeful assumption! An inescapable requirement to fulfill! As a result, I ended up always second-guessing myself. Although the flames of ambition burned through every fiber in my being, I was always cautioned by my elders to be wary of being too successful, in the fear that too many professional accolades traditionally scares the good men away!

In my late 20’s when neither an engagement nor a wedding had been announced on my behalf, the elders began to show a heightened sense of anxiety.  It really didn't matter if I had become the youngest and only female engineer in my department. Never mind, that I managed to break pass the barrier of the proverbial “glass ceiling”. There was never a mention of any expression of pride for a job well done! There were no celebratory events to express any appreciation for one hometown girl who seemed to have conquered the highly competitive and intricate engineering world. There were numerous references however, on cousin’s weddings and friends’ children’s fiances!

 I was especially amused and rightly annoyed when my mother would add and emphasize the “younger than you” qualifier, as if getting married was supposed to be a chronologically scheduled event!

When finally I found the Prince Charming who would put an end to my perceived miserable single life, everyone rejoiced! Or should I say, everyone heaved a heavy collective sigh of relief! Never mind if I was in the midst of an important project, the completion of which would propel my career to heights I could only imagine! I finally had an engagement to announce and a wedding day to look forward to. Apparently, according to the elders again, those were the two major milestones a woman my age prepared for and focused on her whole life, everything else came secondary!

The highly anticipated wedding day finally came and on that day, I officially became the Mrs. of Mr. Right. Although I was content in just keeping the name my father handed on to me, surprisingly my mother was the one who said that if I did, I would be disrespecting my husband’s family. Taking on the name of the man you married apparently was a sign of allegiance, a symbol of dedication to the new family you are seeking membership in. As if pledging my whole life and my entire future to this man weren't enough, I had to suffer through the pains of changing my name on all pertinent documents that society required me to identify myself. Just when I thought I had finally gotten comfortable with “who” I had become as a person, the so-called societal etiquette forced me to take on another identity!

I had to change the only name I ever known and responded to ever since the day I was born! To this very day, when people call me as a “Mrs.” used in conjunction with my husband’s last name, I still do not respond, partly because I still haven’t gotten used to it, partly because I still think people are referring to my mother-in-law instead!

The months following my wedding day, everyone in our family meticulously monitored the pattering of “little feet”.  After the announcement that I was finally on the “family way”, my parents focused on the arrival of the anxiously awaited grandchild. Once again, it didn't seem to make a dent on my family’s psyche that I was being groomed to become the main engineering manager at work. A feat only few brave women have dared to pursue!

As it is always the case when an intersection in life is reached, multiple paths suddenly become available for passage! At that point in my life, the ultimate reward for a lifelong work of servitude to my chosen profession was being compromised by two little words: maternity leave.

For some reason as soon as everyone found out about my impending motherhood, the professional expectations suddenly diminished. I was looked at by my peers not as an equal, but a walking excuse to express the pent-up “oohs and ahs”, they desperately needed to get out of their systems. Even my superior, whom I admired because of his tenacity, suddenly became so fatherly. The boss that I respected with all the integrity I had left in my bulging body, had been transformed to an expectant grandfather figure, all giggly and goo-goo eyed!!!

In a world where the feat of bearing a son was enormous, the respect that is afforded to someone who had actually given birth to one is completely over the top! Giving birth to a first-born son was indeed an ultimate achievement. With the birth of my child, I was alleviated to a higher level of regard. I had delivered the descendant who would assure the continuous survival of the families that brought my husband and I into this world!

Perhaps it was the hopeful elation of becoming a mother that I gave me a strong sense of redemption from my past transgressions. Most likely though, it was the surge of post-partum hormones that gave me the feeling of renewal. I felt that I was forgiven for everything wrong that I had ever done in the life. Having borne a son was my all-purpose eraser to clean out my slate. All of the frustration that anyone ever felt about me suddenly vanished! I was after all, the mother of an heir-apparent to all the good that was ever garnered by the two families that genetically merged upon the conception of my son!

With the utmost of pride, I had provided my mother her much anticipated and much deserved “bragging rights” every grandmother was entitled to. More importantly, I had provided my father the right to enliven the hope of having to redeem his stake on having a descendant in the roster of graduates of his much-adored military school.

There was even more emotional accolades bestowed upon me when a little less than 24 months after, I had given birth to another son! And like the British line of royal succession, I had provided a second male heir. For that reason alone, I was officially regarded and treated with the entire royal trappings of being a “Queen Mother!”

After the princes came “barging” into my life, even I had a change of heart. The desire to shatter the glass ceiling was replaced with enormous yearning to carefully not shatter baby glass bottles! I too, wanted to forget the long hours of satisfying professional banter I had become very familiar with. I too, wanted to turn my back on the years of sweating deadlines, the very source of much-needed excitement in my life for what seemed to be a whole lifetime! Suddenly, the complicated had become trivial and mundane. Fulfillment came in changing soiled diapers and burping babies! My brain which endured years of highly technical training to decipher intricate engineering jargons could no longer comprehend beyond the words: “Once upon a time!”

Perhaps, looking back, I admit to having issues about being afforded accolades that were dependent on the value given to my life by the male species that surrounded me. Perhaps, the irony of now finding “myself” amidst the lives of three men is nature’s ultimate expression of humor and hopefully, gratitude. Perhaps, having sons are nature’s way of providing a generous commendation for a life lived in boring obedience to all that was expected and all that was deemed by society as right! Perhaps, having these two wonderful bouncing baby boys is the world’s sign of approval for all of the times I was tempted by the exciting and dangerous life of disobedience but never found the courage to give in to any of it!

After a lifetime of asserting my place in the world of men, I have been given an opportunity to help define the lives and times of two of the most precious male creatures that ever graced this planet! 

Perhaps, having been given such honor, I no longer find myself in the realm of being fearful of the expectation of the people I share the same last name with. I no longer feel accountable to anyone for all the failed expectations that were associated with being a born a girl. Two of my highly acclaimed achievements have now overshadowed all of the others that I thought were ignored while growing up!  I no longer mind all the “never minds” that have been the generic reaction to my accomplishments. I am now the mother, in-charge and in-control of the future of two valuable male heirs. And although I was never acknowledged for being worthy enough to chart the course of my life, the fact that I was able to deliver two sons have transformed my elders to hand a bequest of undying trust and confidence for maneuvering the course of their beloved grandsons’ lives!!!

I have come full circle in this quest for definition of one’s worth. The little girl who once felt rebellious of the extra amenities that the boys automatically got just by being boys, has grown up to be the mother of two sons, trying her very best to afford her sons the extra amenities that boys automatically get just by being boys! There is a certain level of wisdom attained in being able to live the other half of an argument that I so vehemently fought against for so long! 

Indeed, it is payback time, for the first time, I am able to define myself outside the context of the men who have been present in my life. I now find myself in a position to define some of their lives in the context of mine. Perhaps, indeed, the onset of middle age has allowed me the perspective to be MEN OPPOSED, to finally stand outside the shadows of the men whose very title have deprived me to be known for the total person I am. Perhaps, it is time to stop allowing society to accord me recognition only in relation to those male figures in my life. Perhaps, it is time to acknowledge that I am no longer just the female being that has been marked by the male dominated world as an existence in apostrophes: father’s daughter, boy’s girlfriend, man’s wife and son’s mother. Perhaps, it is time that I declare my own name and identity sans the possessive extensions…just me, just a woman, worthy, no more, no less!

Menopause is traditionally defined as being the cessation of menses. Perhaps, as I approach this glorious stage of life, I am now able to find myself in a position where absolute wholeness is obtained from the cessation of my dependence to the senses of men!

            As the afternoon progressed, the torrential rain ended and the storm was on its way to a new destination. I peeked through my window and saw the sun setting through the horizon. A dramatic glimmer of orange light has replaced the dark shadowy sky. I felt very graciously hopeful. Indeed a new beginning has begun!