A Skeptic, a Feminist and a Professor walk into a bar (Part 2)

Note: I consider myself an a skeptic, a rational thinker, a feminist and an agnostic. The first two parts are regarding where I am today, and how I got here. The last is about an issue that is important to me that regards both. This post will contain some language that some may find offensive.

Part 2: Feminism

My parents separated when I was fairly young. During that time, my parents did a lot to make sure I was aware that it wasn't anything I did or didn't do, and it wasn't that they didn't love me or any of the stuff that people seem to think kids go through. Sure, I was upset and I do remember being worried and sad some of the time, but I was intrinsically aware that I was safe and okay. They were civil to each other after the divorce and eventually became fairly good friends.

My daily life went through the same motions after the divorce as before the divorce, for the most part. Wake up at parent A's house, go to school and learn, go home to my father's grandparents house, do schoolwork/play with neighbors, wait for a parent to pick me up, have dinner with that parent, got to sleep at Parent's B.

My father lived in the same apartment as we did with my mother for the next few years. My mother moved about 5-6 miles away, and we had the bottom half of a house converted into two apartments and had a few neighbors. The upstairs neighbors were almost always pleasant and were usually youngish couples. For the most part we had a quiet life there. We got a cat, I read a lot, and it was nice. However we I was around 10 years old I got a rude awakening that not all relationships were like my parents. 

Our yard was fairly large, and we mowed and raked with each season. The yard was large, and had a number of large over grown trees, a couple bushes against the road, and a nice set of large hedges separating our yard from the house next door. I didn't really make friends with any of the neighborhood kids, I kept alone when I was at my mother's place. Typically I read or spent time with her or watched TV. Most of the neighbors were older, and nice; some were younger with kids a little older than myself and were pleasant to my mother and I. But I was a shy awkward thing with kids my own age. I could easily talk with adults years older than me, but I'd clam up with the kids next door.

But one neighbor of ours I was kind of scared of. The house right across from our hedges in the side of the yeard. I don't remember the man's name, barely remember what he looked like, and I sort of remember his girlfriend... but I do remember the hearing the yelling matches in my own room which was on the far side from their house, the doors slamming and things breaking. And their young sandy haired little boy playing outside, trying to ignore it all.

I remember how it just started one day. A little louder than normal, enough to hear with an open window. The a week or two later, it was punctuated with slamming doors and louder voices. A day later, shouting for hours. Then nothing for a week. Then it was worse than before, loud arguments and slams you could hear through a closed window. Then tires peeling away and a man bellowing after a car. Then an quiet for a month, no shouting, no angry voices, no slamming of things against walls or glass breaking. The eruption all over again, escalation to a cacophony of noise and then just loud talking and finally, silence. Somehow, the silence was worse.

I remember the female neighbor coming over after one of the nights it started loud and then got quiet. She was having coffee or tea one weekend while he was at work, and my mother talked with her in worried tones at the kitchen table.

Her dark hair usually fell down and framed her young face and green eyes. Her hair was a mess, like it hadn't seen a shower and was wind whipped around. Her eyes we swollen from tears, but were currently dry. Her mouth was puffy and had a slightly stained look on her lips, like she drank too much cherry KoolAid. Her voice wavered as if about to crack. And there were bruises on her tan arms. Her hands shook slightly, and some of her nails were broken or chewed on. 

I half watched Saturday morning cartoons, concerned about my mom's friend. She didn't come over to our apartment often, she had her own child to worry about, but she was always smiling and pleasant to me when she saw me outside. But hearing how much yelling was happening right next door, I was a little timid about saying the wrong things to her, worried that her boyfriend would come and yell at me.

It's odd what you remember as a child. I can recall her appearance at that very point; but I can't recall her name. I can remember how beautiful she looked under the horror she must have endured. I can remember how worried my mother was and what little snippets of conversation remain to me are so short that only have a few short syllables, fragments of words. Words, at that point, I didn't understand. Not really.

I didn't understand at the age of 9 or 10 what that woman endured. I now wonder how it came to pass... what was the trigger? What escalated from what must have been small short verbal spats to full blown pissed off arguments, progressing into threats and assault, to more and more verbal abuse, of her feeling trapped and finally... she wound up at the kitchen table in the apartment.

They spoke quietly, but didn't actively hide what they were talking about to me. It was too important to my mother and to this woman to talk and convince...

"did you look in a mirror today?"
"can you move your fingers?"
"...could be your son..."
"....him raised like this?"
"...you can't excuse this type of...."
"....it's not about sex, it's never about sex...."
"....power, control, degradation ..."
"... please consider..."
"...can you at least...."
"...please go now, call your parents... take your son..."

My mother sat me down and told me that I couldn't tell anyone she was over her today. That I didn't see her at all today, that we didn't see her last night. I didn't know why my mother was so panicky. I hugged my mother and I promised.

I know soon after that day, I didn't see the sandy haired boy any more, and I didn't see the neighbor any more. I did see more people go over the the gray house. Bringing stuff in, but mostly taking stuff out.

And I never told anyone. Not until now. Because this is too important. Because this happens more often than we'd like to admit. But rape, assault and battery are only symptoms of larger problems. 

As a society we tend to ignore smaller instances of sexism and intolerance and just focus on things such as female genital mutilation*, Sharira (fundamentalist Islamic law), rape as a war crime, prosecution for the rapes in Darfur, and yet we ignore problems here. Some of it is simply people being 'okay' with things the way they are. Some are people actively trying put women as unequal to men and having less say over what they can say and do. Some of these people are men, and some are women.

Feminism is not the same as wanting to have a female dominated class structure. Women are just entitled to the same rights, privileges and responsibilities as men are.


*Which i'm glad most people don't use the euphemistic term 'female circumcision'. Because in my opinion, removing the labia, cutting off the clitoral hood or the clitoris itself, and/or sewing/fusing parts of the vagina to the labia is quite a bit different than cutting, burning or otherwise removing the foreskin off of a penis. Neither, in my opinion, should be done for anything other than a valid logical medical reason [which I can think of none for female genitals and only one or two for males]. Tradition and cosmetics be dammed. If you're concerned about legitimate medical problems due to not being circumcised (male) or vulva problems, I understand. Do some research and listen to doctors. But don't worry about circumcision or labial appearances. If they want to have it done later in life, they can have it done then.