I can start the countdown to finishing grad school at 10, but that would be so cliche (where is the button for accents). Instead, we’ll go with 11 days left.
Author: jmlindy422
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Heigh, Ho, Racism! Away!
Everyone’s buzzing about Paula Deen. An overweight white woman who made millions showing the rest of us how to get overweight, all the while giggling like a ninny, has got the entire country outraged over her racist ways. She’s lost her TV shows, her book deals and her sponsors. She’s apologized three or four times—I’ve lost count now—and we’re all still talking about what a racist cow she is.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, a white man takes a job away from a Native American and nobody says a damn thing.
Johnny Depp owes Paula Deen a big fat thank you, preferably sandwiched between two Krispy Kremes.
See, Johnny has cast himself as Tonto in The Lone Ranger, Disney’s latest cinematic release. Yeah, yeah, Disney did the casting, but Johnny Depp is Johnny Depp and he’s a big enough star that he gets to do whatever the hell he wants. He wants to play Tonto? He gets to play Tonto.
And Johnny’s Tonto is as far from the Tonto I grew up with as a Tonto could be. My Tonto was played by a man named Jay Silverheels. Jay’s dad was a Canadian Mohawk tribal chief. Johnny claims that his great grandparents said some relative on down the family line had Native American blood. My family had a similar kind of story about Grandpa Mike. Johnny’s not really sure what tribe, but you know, Cherokee, Choctaw, Creek? What’s the diff?
The diff is a big one if you’re hoping to be accepted in many tribes. Many have rules regarding how much tribal blood you need to be recognized by, well, your tribe. The Mississippi band of Choctaw would turn their backs on Johnny. They have a 50 percent rule.
Johnny’s lucky, though. Not only is his great-grandma’s cousin’s nephew’s sister-in-law Native American, but Disney got Johnny around all that nasty blood business. He was adopted by a Comanche activist and accepted into the Cherokee Nation. That, and a big fat Disney donation to the American Indian College Fund, makes Johnny a Native American!
Whether or not Depp’s got enough tribal blood to fill a thimble, though, isn’t my biggest problem with him playing the loyal friend of the LR.
My biggest problem with Johnny is that he’s making shit up about Native Americans and throwing it all up on the screen to see what sticks.
I’ve been to the North Woods in Wisconsin a few times. The place we stayed is a beautiful resort on a wide lake in the middle of the forest. Bald eagles nest there; people fish there; snakes swim in the water there; I don’t swim in the water there. And Native Americans call the place home. The resort sits in the middle of an Ojibwe Reservation.
First stop after getting to the lake cottage would be a visit to the local grocery store, where we would see real-live Native Americans. Not one of them walked around in full ceremonial paint with a dead bird for a hat. They all had shirts on, too, it being not the beach and all. But Johnny Depp plays Tonto in full whiteface, no shirt on his back and a big black bird on his head. Sort of a reverse Al Jolson, if you will.
Here’s the kicker, though. Depp believes that he is doing Native American children a favor by reminding them of their noble warrior heritage. Never mind that the head-scalping warrior is the first thing that comes to mind when many non-native Americans think about their native neighbors. Never mind that Native American children have Native American doctors and lawyers to look up to today. Never mind that any number of Native American actors could have played a more authentic and, to my mind at least, hotter Tonto.
Johnny Depp’s arrogance knows no bounds, though. The man who has less Native American blood in him than a wooden dime-store Indian, grinds Native Americans into the Hollywood soil with a twist of his mocassin’d foot. The only thing Depp reminds Native American children is they still aren’t good enough to play their own people in the movies.
So, call Paula Deen racist. She did, afterall, use the N-word and fantasize about a plantation-style wedding replete with all Black waiters. And for her racism, she lost work. Unfortunately, Johnny Depp’s racism doesn’t cost him work; it costs the very people he claims to revere.
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An Open Letter To Ellen DeGeneres
An Open Letter To Ellen DeGeneres.
Dear readers, do any of you know Ellen DeGeneres? Could you pass this on to her?
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School’s NOT out for summer
At least, not for me. Today is the first day of the last class required to complete my Master of Arts in Teaching. It’s an 11-week course smushed into six weeks. I don’t think I’m going to have bunches of time to post, but I’ll try.
Wish me luck and I’ll see you on the flip side.
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7000 words
A little more than a month ago, I couldn’t think of anything big to write about, so I wrote about details. In 6000 words, I showed you pictures of little things in my garden that gave me joy that day. Today, I’m back in the garden to catch up on the cherry and apple trees, the red oak, the columbines, the imaginary campfire and the resurrected peony. I’ve also added a picture of a new little thing that gives me great joy.
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Parenting Wisdom
My son and I have gotten along all week. He has been on Vicodin the entire time.Seriously.
See, my son had his wisdom teeth removed Monday. In my geeky “medicine is science so this will be really interesting” mind, getting wisdom teeth removed sounds awesome. I know it’s wrong to be more than a little intrigued about a process that would cause my offspring pain, but my own wisdom teeth are securely nestled, sideways, in the upper reaches of my jaw. They aren’t going anywhere; this was my only chance to get so close to wisdom extraction.
The first intriguing fact about removing wisdom teeth is that the removee is completely sedated. I had eight teeth pulled at once when I was a kid. Apparently, contrary to what my children may think, I have a small mouth. My small mouth wouldn’t accommodate the number of teeth genetics demands are necessary for adult humans.
I got gas—nitrous oxide—to keep me quiescent through the extractions. I know first-hand why they call it laughing gas. The dentist told me to close my eyes and let myself drift off to sleep. I was 13 and rebellious; there was no way in hell I was doing anything an adult told me to do. So, I kept my eyes open. I inhaled once. Nothing happened. I inhaled again. Nothing. On the third inhale, though, I found moving my fingers made the silliest little noises, like fairies flitting around my hands. I wiggled my fingers again and again until the doctor said, “I know what you’re doing. Close your eyes.”
My son got intravenous sedation. No flittering fairies for him. He simply went to sleep and woke up looking like Marlon Brando in “The Godfather” if the godfather had been a 16-year old with long blond hair and a scruffy red beard.
I took him home, tucked him into my bed and kissed his forehead. Ordinarily, when my son is sick, he’ll argue that he doesn’t need a nap, he’s perfectly fine, he can relax while he plays video games, etc., etc., etc. But he begrudgingly agrees to a nap, informing me he won’t sleep because he’s not tired. When I wake him an hour or two later, he says something like, “Damn you, Mom. I hate it when that happens.” I smile my inner “Mother knows best” smile and leave him to Zelda.
This time, though, he didn’t complain. He didn’t even say “meh.” He snuggled into the covers and closed his eyes.
At seventeen, my son rarely requires the kind of mothering skills I’ve honed over the years. I don’t bat an eye at a fever unless it’s over 101. When a kid tells me her tummy hurts, I know to ask if she’s pooped. I’ve got boxes of Jello and little containers of applesauce always on hand. I even make a pretty good chicken soup.
Teenagers, though, are shark-infested uncharted territory and I am prone to seasickness. A typical day finds me muttering curses at my son’s angrily retreating back. Everything makes him angry except for the things that make me angry. When we’re both angry my husband does his child psychologist impersonation and my daughter runs for cover.
Sedated, my son became less a man and more a child I could deal with. As soon as he fell asleep, I went to Whole Foods in search of mushable foods. As always, the place was aswarm with vegan mommies and their little sweet peas. One mother, a ringer for Christy Turlington, pushed a cart with one hand and held a chubby baby, face forward, snuggly against her hip. Two little girls with Goldilocks curls, danced pirouettes in the canned goods aisle.
Any other day, my grandma gene would have kicked in and made me wistful for tots of my own to gush over. That day, though, I happily negotiated the aisles gathering goodies for my little man. All you young mommies got nothin’ on me, I thought. My baby was at home, sleeping in mommy’s bed. Ice packs to his cheeks.
My son didn’t just accept my ministrations. He welcomed them and, remarkably, expressed gratitude. More remarkable still? Unsolicited affection! Really! Affection from someone known more commonly to us as uncommunicative and emotionally withholding.
And, the maraschino cherry on the hot fudge sundae of love this week has been? My kids are getting along. The boy is asking his sister for help and she’s gladly doing it. The girl is asking for playtime together and she’s getting it.
The drugs are wearing off, though, as I knew they would and should. In much less pain, my son is returning to full-on man mode, complete with the desire to have nothing to do with mom as he establishes his own identity. He’s getting crankier quicker and spending more and more time in his room, planning what he’ll do with his friends now that he’s cleared to fly. Passing his bathroom, I caught a whiff of Axe.
Parenting my son into manhood is fraught with prickly interactions that could turn toxic at any point. It’s exhausting never knowing how any interchange will turn out, even one that starts with humor. This week, though, we got a reprieve.
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We interrupt this vacation for a laugh
I’m technically on vacation this week, so I’ll keep this quick then get back to doing nothing.
There are four members of my family. Frequently, we each go about entertaining ourselves because if three of us agree to an activity there is an unwritten rule that the fourth will not. Sometimes, however, the family-quality-time elves visit, like they did last night.
We were playing Trivial Pursuit and my son got this question: what are the two plural forms of the word “platypus”?
He turned to me with a puzzled look, hoping I’d help him out. “Well,” I said, “think of some other words that end with ‘-us’ and how their plurals are formed.”
“So…maybe ‘platypi’?” he asked.
“Sure,” said his dad, “and ‘platipussies’.”Share this:
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Paws to remember those who serve
My uncle served in Korea. My husband’s father served in World War II. My grandmother’s brother served in WWII in England. My father, still alive, served in the Air Force. If he’d stayed in, he’d have gone to Vietnam. My brother served in the Navy and his daughter is serving now. I pray she doesn’t get deployed to a combat zone.I know all of these people, except my father-in-law. I hear he would have liked me and I him.
But I didn’t know that there are unsung heroes of a different kind.
War dogs–canines who serve along with our soldiers, sailors, airmen (isn’t there a gender neutral term for those who protect the wild blue yonder) and Marines. They serve loyally, of course, and don’t have it great once their tour is over. My blog friend, Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge, puts is much more eloquently. Read his post here (and look at the cute pictures of dogs), then do what you can, if you can.
Janice
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Fashionably late?
Ordinarily I post the funny things my kids have said on Tuesday, but I have a legitimate reason for not posting on Tuesday. I washed my cell phone on Monday, in the washing machine. Not on purpose. Actually, I washed my running skirt (post to come some day about running skirts) and the cell phone was neatly tucked away in a zippered pocket. Even letting it rest and dry out did not help, but the light show when I turned it on? Psychedelic, baby!
I spent Tuesday trying to get AT&T to put my son, my daughter and I on my husband’s account. I now hate AT&T. Verizon wanted to keep me so I got an iPhone, better cable service and cheaper landline. They even sent me a thank you note! I am so easily pleased.
I realize I owe none of you an excuse for not posting on my own blog ’cause “it’s my blog and I should only post when the muse moves me and blah, blah, blah.” But, I was raised by a Southern woman; I will apologize if you stub your toe.
On to the funny bit.
My daughter changed her clothes after school then stood in my office door and asked, “Mommy, does it look like fashion threw up on me?”
You be the judge:
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A Math Lesson
I teach math. My son, who is practically a mathematical genius (he got a perfect score on the trig part of the ACT), thinks this is hilarious. He maintains I am terrible at math.I will grant that I used to be bad at math; there’s nothing like teaching a subject to motivate you to understand it. So, I am no longer bad at math. Now, the formulas that gave me fits in school are starting to become friends. I even look forward to teaching my math classes.
One of the things I love teaching is percentages. Once we get a handle on the “for every hundred of these, there are whatever of those” bit, we can start playing around with different percentages of things. I especially like asking my students if they would like say, one percent of a million pieces of candy or five percent of 100,000 pieces of candy. “Duh, Ms. Janice,” they invariably say, “we want the five percent.”
“Why do you want the five percent?” I ask.
“Because five percent is bigger than 1 percent.”
Then we do the math. I love to see their stunned little faces when they find out that one percent of a million is a lot more than 5 percent of 100,000.
Recently, I was similarly stunned. I’ve been keeping up on the sexual assault reporting in the media and on the Internet. Kind of hard to avoid it, actually. I was appalled, rightly so, at the number of women in the military who have been sexually assaulted. Turns out, based on a DOD annual survey of sexual assault in the military, that six percent of military women say they were assaulted in some way in the prior year. I believe them.
Because I always zig when every one is zagging, I wondered if our military men were being assaulted as well. Turns out that only 1.2 percent surveyed said they’d been assaulted. Well, that’s better, I thought.
Then, I remembered my math classes and the million pieces of candy.
Based on DOD figures released in January of this year, there are 1,429,995 people currently serving in the military.1 Of those, 210,485 are women.2 That means there are 1,219,510 men in the service. Six percent of the women—12,629—were sexually assaulted. So how much does 1.2% of men work out to? 14,634.3
In other words, more than 2,000 more men than women were sexually assaulted last year.
That’s a hell of a lot of people that no one is talking about, no one is writing blog posts about, no one—in essence—cares about.
In fact, the only mention I’ve seen of men being sexually assaulted was by Leon Panetta when he estimated the number of attacks in 2011 by service members on other service members — both women and men — was close to 19,000, more than six times the number of reported attacks. In 2010, 3,158 sexual assaults were reported.4
It’s no surprise that sexual assault goes unreported. We’ve been hearing about women’s reluctance to come forward about attacks. But as reluctant as female service members are to report sexual assault, imagine how much more reluctant male service members are, particularly given that 94 percent of assailants are men.3
I can’t think of a culture more driven by macho than the military, except maybe professional wrestling and that’s all make-believe. Frankly, I’m surprised that even 1.2 percent of men told the DOD survey takers about their assaults. The survey also questioned participants about the nature of the assault. Women were pretty forthcoming about how they were assaulted. Some 19 percent, though, declined to give specifics; 36 percent of male victims declined to tell what was done to them.
We have no problem seeing women as victims, but women also have no problem shouting loudly and frequently when we are victimized. But men and sexual assault? When we think men and sexual assault, the vision that comes to mind is drunken football players or psychopaths like Ariel Castro and Ted Bundy. While the military has a sexual assault response team, men just don’t use it. Consider these words of a service man regarding the PTSD he suffers:
We’re urged to self-refer and seek help, but most of us were raised to be silent bearers of our problems, which is why the military culture suits us well – we are by nature stoic and Spartan.
While that soldier’s PTSD does not derive from sexual assault, PTSD is far more common among male victims of sexual assault in the military (65%) than it is for women (46%).5, 6 And that gets us back to our math lesson. If 65% of male victims suffer PTSD, that works out to 9,512 service men. Experts in military PTSD state that PTSD stemming from sexual assault causes more lasting damage than that caused by battle experiences.5
I consider myself a feminist, as do most of the women voicing their outrage and disgust over sexual assault of women in the military. Maybe it’s because I have a son, maybe it’s because I remember Gloria Steinem and her call for gender equality, but if we have a feminism that is only outraged when women are victims, then we don’t have a feminism I want to be part of.
Ignoring the majority of victims of sexual assault in the military isn’t fair and it isn’t right. My fervent hope is that everyone outraged enough to speak out will speak out for all of the victims, not just the women.
I am indebted to BrainRants for his moving description of PTSD. Please read it here.
- http://siadapp.dmdc.osd.mil/personnel/MILITARY/ms0.pdf “Armed Forces Strength Figures for January 31, 2013”. United States Department of Defense. Retrieved May 20, 13
- http://www.statisticbrain.com/women-in-the-military-statistics/
- http://www.sapr.mil/media/pdf/research/2012_Workplace_and_Gender_Relations_Survey_of_Active_Duty_Members-Survey_Note_and_Briefing.pdf
- http://usnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2012/01/18/10184222-panetta-could-be-19000-military-sex-assaults-each-year?lite
- http://deploymentpsych.org/topics-disorders/sexual-assault-in-the-military
- http://www.ptsd.va.gov/professional/pages/military-sexual-trauma.asp
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