The Stories We Don't Tell

Every family has stories. Some are funny, some are embarrassing, some are inspiring. But every family also has other stories, the stories we don'’t tell. These are the ones we feel ashamed of, the ones we think are our fault, that happened because we are bad.

I have those stories. Mine are not as bad as some, worse than others

One of these stories took place when I was about 5 years old. I remember it mostly as a series of images, like looking through a photo album, though these aren’'t the kind of pictures that ever get put in the family album.

The first snapshot is of my and my younger brother. We'’re sitting at the kitchen table, eating lunch. It’s an old kitchen in a old house. The flooring is cracking in places. Our mother is working in the background. You can see an old oven, a few cabinets, one small counter, and a sink.

The next image is that of my mom turning around. Her face is twisted with anger, and she'’s yelling. I don’'t know what provoked her; this image is a close-up of her face, and you can'’t see what’'s going on in the foreground. Maybe my brother was goofing around and knocked over his milk. I don'’t know; it'’s not in the picture.

In the next frame, my mother has snatched my brother out of his chair, and is holding him by the upper arm. In her other hand is a worn black belt, one my father no longer wears. It’'s folded in half, with the buckle and the other end in her hand, which is raised. The door to the back porch is in the background, with thin curtains covering the window, and the piece of wood nailed to the jamb that serves as door look is blocking the door from opening. My brother is crying and struggling. My mom’s face is still contorted with rage, and even in this still picture, you can see the fire in her eyes.

The final image is that of my brother on the floor. He had squirmed out of our mother’'s grip, and fell to the floor. There’'s blood on his face; the fall has knocked a tooth out. He'’s only three, so it’'s just a baby tooth, but there'’s still a lot of blood. My mother looks scared and a little sick; blood always makes her queasy.

The images stop there. I don'’t remember clearly what happened next; it’'s blended with images from the time my brother tipped over backwards in his chair, and was again on the floor of that kitchen with blood on his face.

The image that sticks with me, that’'s burned into my head, is not that of my brother on that floor with a bloody mouth. It'’s the close-up of my mother’s face. That'’s the image I saw repeated, even after we got too big for her to hit us anymore. It’'s not an evil face. It’'s just the face of someone who has her own stories she doesn’'t tell.

They just don't get it

I've been following the Larry Summers brouhaha on the Web, and I've read the transcript of his remarks, and I've read numerous commentaries on his remarks, and I have to say, most of the comments by men show that they just don't get it. This isn't about asking questions and being open to lots of possible answers. This is about the president of perhaps the most prestigious university in the US, under whose watch the number of women granted tenure has dropped, suggesting that women might not have the "necessities", to borrow a phrase from Al Campanis, to be top-notch scientists and engineers.

If you were a junior professor in the sciences at Harvard, and heard the president of your university suggest that you, by virtue of your gender, might not be able to succeed, how would you feel? Keep in mind that, to even get to that point, you've already earned an undergraduate degree in a field where most of your peers were not like you, and even fewer of your professors were. You've gone to graduate school, where you were probably an even smaller minority. You've lacked for role models and mentors, people who can show you that it can be done. Most of your professors don't know how to interact with you, because they only have two roles for women, mate or daughter; colleague isn't one of them And now, as you work toward tenure, you hear your president say that. Is it any wonder that you might consider whether you wanted to keep banging your head against that wall?

I'm not saying Larry Summers is misogynist. I'm not even saying he's overtly sexist. It's not the overt sexism that's the big problem any more. It's the more subtle discouragement. It's that everything around you says, "you don't really belong here." Add in your biological clock, a desire to have a family and a life outside of work, and it's no big surprise that women say "fuck it, I'm out of here, it's not worth it."

Yes, Larry, little girls will tend to turn anything you give them into a doll. Yes, there are differences between the sexes. But to look around today and think that socialization isn't still a major factor is to bury your head in the sand. As your daughters get older, you may come to see this yourself....

How to Build a Box

As a parent, do you ever wish you could build a box to put your children in? This box would keep them safe, protect them from all harm, and not let them hurt themselves or be disappointed. It would act as armor against the world, and help you sleep at night.

To build a box for your child, you have to start very young. The early years are very dangerous years for you and your child. A young child is almost compelled to challenge boundaries, explore new things, and become more and more mobile, so it’s important that the box be put into place early. The child may resist the confines of the box and complain, but as a parent, you have many tools at your disposal for keeping the child in the box.

Fear is an important tool. If you can teach your child to be afraid of anything outside the box, the task of keeping the child in the box becomes easier. There are some many things in the world to fear: a car striking your child, a stranger stealing your child, or that strange family down the street. They aren’t like you; they might have drugs or guns in their house!

Shame is another tool you can use. You can use both direct shame for them, and indirect shame for you. Direct shame looks like “other people won’t like you if you do that.” Indirect shame involves letting them know that you’d look like a bad parent if you let them do that, or that you’d be embarrassed by them. Sometimes, you can get a two-fer, combining both direct and indirect shame in one. Complaining about what your child has chosen to wear to school is a good place to apply this double-shaming.

Anger is perhaps your most important tool, especially if you demonstrate that anger with a raised voice and a good smack on the bottom. Children are hard-wired to want to please their parents so their parents will love them, and anger reminds children that parental love isn’t really unconditional. Do tell them that you love them after you hit them; you don’t want to scar them for life, after all!

Do not let tears dissuade you from the task of keeping that box together. Of course children are going to resist being constrained. Do you want your child to be happy or safe?

If you build a really solid box around your child in his early years, you may find that you need to expand the box a little during the teen years, but don’t be fooled by rebellion into thinking the time for the box is past. The world outside the box is even more dangerous in the teen years, as driving, sex, and substance abuse all come into play. Recognize your child’s growth by enlarging the box enough so that they don’t explode out of it like the Incredible Hulk out of his alter ego’s clothes, but keep that box firmly in place.

As your child reaches adulthood, your ability to control the box is more limited. If you’ve done an effective job using your tools to keep your child in the box, your adult child will be content to stay in the box you’ve built. If he shows signs of wanting to break out of the box, well, you’ve still got your old standbys: fear, shame, and anger. You may not be able to push them quite as far as you did when he was young, but they still can be pretty effective in keeping your adult child safely constrained.

Do not try to use your box building skills on your grandchildren, no matter how great the temptation. It’s often easier for your children to see through what’s going on when their own children are involved, and if they realize the degree they’re still being constrained as adults by that childhood box, they might reject the whole box building concept, breaking out of the box you built and refusing to build a box for their own children. If you keep a light touch in maintaining the box, chances are your adult child will repeat the process to protect your grandchild.

The key is always balance. If your box is too tight, the child will feel the constraints too tightly, and probably try to break them. If your box is too big, the child will see too much of the world, and the danger here is two-fold. The first danger is that the box won’t protect them, because you’ve let danger into the box. The second is, the child might discover that there’s an exciting world out there, and living in it fully is worth a few risks. Once your child discovers that risk is possible, and the reward worth it, there is no going back. Your ability to protect them from all danger and disappointment is severely compromised, and you’ll be forced to let your child discover who he really is, whether you like that or not.

A well-built box, maintained with a light touch, should last you and your child a lifetime, and that lifetime should be a long, safe one. If you started early enough, your child will never know what he’s missing outside the box, and even if he discovers that, he’ll be too uncomfortable without his box to ever leave it.

Hello, world

Hello, world.

That's always the first program I write in a new computer language, so it might as well be my first blog entry. I don't write code anymore, haven't since becoming a mom a few years back, but I haven't totally forgotten that part of my life.

Now I just write. I feel the need to get some stuff off my chest, and I need an outlet for that. Some of the stuff is intensely personal and painful for me, so I choose to share it anonymously. Read, don't read, comment, don't comment; it doesn't mattter. I just need to get this stuff out.

I'm sure it will be sporadic, and some things will be better edited and better written than others. Oh well.

Hello, world.