Safe. Secure. Free.

I just never know what it going to send me reeling.  It could have been the fact that Jess had one side of her head shaved[1] and then, just to shake things up, dyed the fuzzy spot bright pink.  Or perhaps it might have been the conditions of the Frat house that I helped Harrison move into last month which no self-respecting mother would ever have agreed to had she seen it prior to the signing of the lease.  It might even have been the accumulating snow and resulting days of cancelled classes which will likely propel us into the depths of July before school lets out for the summer.  Nah, it was none of those things.  Instead, it was a parking spot.  Well, sort of.

This is not the first time I have bitched, moaned, complained and, yes, cried, over such a predicament.  Nor, I suspect, will it be the last.  With the disclaimer of fully acknowledging that it is a first world problem and one that I should be a little bit ashamed of fixating on, I will share.  And, yes, I know, again, that it isn’t about the parking spot.

For twenty years I lived in a single family home not three minutes from where I am living now.  While there, I had three housemates: my husband (now my ex), my son (now at college) and my daughter (who sleeps til noon on those blasted snow days).  Between the husband and eldest son, the driveway plowing was taken care of while I was in the house lovingly baking cookies and preparing hot cocoa for when they were done. [2] It was often a long, protracted event for them but once it was done it was done, save for whatever “plow pile” might crop up throughout the storm.  We were dug out, free to move about the world and armed with the comforting knowledge that the driveway would be open and available when we arrived home.  Man, I miss that.

Now, despite the fact that I have engaged in the solitary (and thankless) exercise[3] of  digging out my car not once, not twice, but three times from this past storm alone I am literally fearful of ever relinquishing the spot.  While I was painstakingly removing the snow and carting it by the (crazy heavy) shovelful three spaces down to respectfully deposit it onto a pile[4] away from neighboring cars, no one else seemed to be doing the same.  On either side of my humble little Honda are two cars which have, by all accounts, been abandoned.  That is not even taking into account the countless other spaces which are going to be occupied til May.  So….when I have to leave to, oh, I don’t know…go to work…I will, in all likelihood, arrive home to find that some asshole has taken over MY spot.  And today, that was enough to make me cry.

What surrounds me. And, makes me cry.

What surrounds me. And, makes me cry.

car3

Exemplary shoveling job, am I right?

Exemplary shoveling job, am I right?

I tried to be logical and pragmatic.  Really, I did.  I tried to be optimistic.  That didn’t work, either.  I tried to be open-minded.  Yeah, no go.  So, I cried.

I’ve thought a lot about this.  Yes, I get that there is a practical side to this; a “move your meat lose your seat” kind of thing.  But, more to the point, it is a matter of feeling safe, feeling secure and feeling free.  I don’t feel safe: I am going to take my life in my hands maneuvering out of my perfectly shoveled spot to hit the open road.  I don’t feel secure: Someone is, most definitely, going to snag that spot that very second I leave it. [5] I don’t feel free: See all of the above.  And, at the end (and frankly, the beginning) of the day, that is really all anyone really wants…to feel safe, secure and free.

And, yes, I will bring this back to my last blog post which took a lot of (expected and appropriate) criticism.  I do not care what Bruce, Maura, Jess or Harrison’s Frat house look like.  I care that they that they feel safe, secure and free, because, in whatever iteration and for whatever reason one does not feel those three things it sucks. Trust me, I know.

Today I don’t feel safe, secure and free because of a parking spot.  On any given day, Bruce, Maura or Jess my not feel  SSF[6] because they are not accepted, or understood.  In fact, any one of us is at risk of finding themselves in that situation, and, perhaps this is my momma bear coming through: I don’t like that.  Not one little bit.

I know that the snow will (eventually) melt.  I know that I will, someday soon, be able to find safety, security and freedom not encumbered by a parking spot.  But today I ain’t feelin’ it.  So I cried.

[1] With not quite my blessing, but my approval

[2] Okay, I didn’t do that.

[3] You bet your ass I am considering it exercise.

[4] Which had a good six inches on me..and I am 5’6”

[5] I would.  It is prime real estate, beautifully cleared, nary a sign of snow.

[6] Safe, secure and free

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Maura, Bruce and Me

Transgender-related stuff seems to be everywhere these days.  I used to think that I was just more in tune to it, but am beginning to realize that is not the case.  The campaign to increase the general public’s knowledge and understanding truly is everywhere.

As such, and a little late to the game, I finally binge-watched “Transparent” as the first of two blizzards in one week pummeled my house.  For those unfamiliar, it is a new series on Amazon which shares the story of a neurotic Jewish family[1] who are so self-involved as to be oblivious to the fact that their father is not who they thought he was. Mort, the family patriarch, after years of squelching his desire and need, is transitioning to a life as her true self – a woman named Maura.  As much as I love Jeffrey Tambor and his portrayal of Maura, I, the mother of a transgender child on an admittedly very primal and superficial level, felt broken-hearted watching this attractive-enough [2] man morph into a true meiskeit[3].  I wish it didn’t matter, but it does.

maura

Despite the make-up, hair extensions and dress, Maura’s masculine features, from face to feet, make it impossible for her to blend in.  I don’t care that this woman has a penis.  Nor do I care that she has an Adam’s Apple and a face that needs to be shaven every day.  I do, however, care deeply about the very real challenges, as a physically unappealing, homely woman, that she will face in her quest to conquer the world, incredible fortitude on board notwithstanding.

And then we have Bruce Jenner.  While his transition has been widely speculated for years, it is now in both People and US Magazine: therefore it must be real.  Bruce, a man-made famous by his incredible athletic abilities and then his almost more incredible (with its most literal definition) role of Dad to the Kardashian brood is not content to officially embark on his journey with any semblance of privacy, rather he is (allegedly), wait for it…going to be the title character in a reality show tagging along for all to see.  It will create a circus setting him and his family up for ridicule and (harsh) judgment.  I don’t like it.  Not one little bit.

Back when I was growing up in the 70’s and 80’s, gay was something we all knew about but it was never discussed.  What was there to talk about really?  File under: who gives a damn that he is sleeping with him or she with her?  Now we, as a society, having somewhat mastered the whole gay thing, are learning more and trying to navigate[4] the transgender paradigm.  And, while I have a (not necessarily equal) admiration for and great anxiety over Maura, Bruce and the scope of their reach, I fear that they are both[5]  in danger of becoming caricatures of themselves. By dint of their fame and notoriety, they are both so powerful in their ability to potentially sway the masses’ perception of the transgender path as to be dangerous.  In fact, for me, the Golden Globe wins (Jeffrey Tambor – Best Lead actor in a Comedy and Transparent – Best Comedy) are, themselves, teetering on a slippery slope having been nominated in the Comedy category.  Their voice is loud, but what is it saying?

It may be unkind of me, but I am just going to say it: neither Maura nor Bruce[6] present as attractive woman.  I would like to think that their physical appearance doesn’t matter.  But it does.  I would like to think that we are evolved enough in our society to overlook their unconventional look.  But we aren’t.  I would like to think that they will not be subjected to loud whispers, quiet harassment and general discomfort.  But they will be.  That frightens me and, if I am being honest, makes me uncomfortable.  And if I am uncomfortable, I can only imagine…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[1] Really, is there any other kind?

[2] …and that is a charitable and generous assessment

[3]  That’s Yiddish for: an unattractive woman

[4]  Some of us more out of necessity than others

[5] Yes, I am aware that Maura is a fictional character.  She is also a powerful one and her story is one that has legs, particularly on the heels of the show having won the Golden Globe for Best Comedy or Musical and Jeffrey Tambor for Comedy Lead Actor.

[6] I’ve not been made privy to a name change