Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Catcalling


Do you know what it’s like to be a woman? The catcalls and the public groping are out of control. This problem occurs everywhere but I think it’s more prevalent in large cities where most of the population utilizes public transportation.

For this writing, I will define catcalling as any comment or whistle of a sexual nature made to a woman passing by. This definition makes it clear that a catcall is very different than a compliment.



GirlChild experiences this every day in New York City. When she ignored a catcall, she has been followed and called vile names. When she responded with a New York, “Fuck off!” she has been followed and called vile names.

I’ve been catcalled in the Midwest. I would wait for my bus and men would drive past yelling all sorts of repulsive things. You know who responds to that? Hookers. I am not a hooker but this behavior sure made me feel like one.

One woman likened catcalling to a war zone. Catcalls were like incoming bombs – each one causing a chink in your armor. A war zone. Let that sink in for a minute.

Two women recently shared stories involving their daughters. One was twelve-years-old and out for a walk in the sunshine with her mom when two different passing cars catcalled them. The daughter was wearing a flower crown. Nothing says "child" quite like a flower crown. The other was a 14-year-old who was catcalled and followed home when she was attempting to cross the street to buy some candy. Candy. These two innocent girls are quickly learning to be ashamed of their bodies.

Recently I asked a friend to post some questions on Facebook. She has a large, eclectic group of followers and the responses received using this completely unscientific method would be an accurate representation from society. The questions were:

1.       Why do some men do this?

2.       Why does it make most women cringe?

3.       If a woman takes it as a compliment, does it say something about her?

I learned from the responses that some women DO think this is a compliment. And some middle-aged women would give anything to receive catcalls on the street again. I wonder if these ladies would have a different response if they were younger and regularly on the receiving end of this harassment. In both cases, I worry about the lack of self-esteem exhibited by this desire for validation from a crass stranger.

I learned some people think catcalling is done only by groups of men – each trying to prove to their friends they are manlier than the last guy who hollered. I know from personal experience and by anecdotal evidence shared by GirlChild that this is not the case. As a woman on the street, I find the lone man catcalling to be the most intimidating. In most cases, the group of men will not follow you but the single man does not have his friends checking his behavior.

I learned that none of the men who responded to this Facebook discussion thought catcalling was acceptable. It was denounced with comments like “Real men don’t do this” or “My mom would have throttled me if she heard I acted like this.”

If most women don’t like it and most men find the behavior reprehensible, why does this boorish behavior still occur? Several reasons were mentioned.

We already mentioned the women who need this validation from a stranger. Because they need this validation, catcalling may have worked in the past. Perhaps they smiled at, said thank you to, or even flashed the catcaller. Also, remember how I said it made me feel like a hooker? If it works with a hooker, the less evolved male members of the species will try it with any female.

It was also mentioned that groups of men do this to prove their manliness. Testosterone fueled pissing contests. Are we lucky girls, or what?

My own research indicates this can be done for power. In an article published on Thought Catalog, titled “11 People Who Cat Call Women On The Street Explain Why They Do It” mentions the most terrifying reason of all – power. One man said, “A catcall or a car horn beep gives me a momentary feeling of power over them because I can see their discomfort.” That sentence should give you the creeps.

I firmly believe allowing catcalling to continue unchecked emboldens the men who are unstable or entitled. If they can degrade women verbally, how long will it take before they are the men groping women in the subway?

Our unofficial Facebook dialogue indicates catcalling should end. But how?

Several countries – including our neighbor to the north – have laws that make this type of behavior illegal. That may work for them but it will never work in the United States. We value our freedoms. We believe in the freedom of speech guaranteed by the first amendment. Any laws against catcalling would infringe on this right.

If a law is not feasible, what next?

As a society, we need a culture change. A lot of things used to be acceptable in the US in our past. Drunk driving, treating others as second-class citizens because of race or gender, even owning people. I know. Catcalling is not as extreme as owning people but the principle for change is the same.

If Rosa Parks had simply given up her bus seat, who knows where the civil rights movement would have gone. If Susan B. Anthony and company has accepted that women were less than men, what would have happened in the political realm? If Candace Lightner had quietly mourned the death of her teenage daughter, would we have the drunk driving laws that have saved countless lives in the past 36 years?

These three examples have one thing in common. Someone spoke up with words or actions. They banded together with like-minded individuals and they created the spark that ignited the flames of social change.

How can you speak up? One woman in the Facebook discussion mentioned she worked for a construction company. Her employer had a policy stating employees engaging in the behavior would be terminated. There were no second chances. As a business owner, why would you not have a policy like this? Anything less gives your employees permission to sexually harass and intimidate strangers while they are representing your company. Is that really the image you want for your business?

You can also speak up by speaking up. If you are in a group of men when this boorish behavior begins, you can refuse to participate. You can enlighten your friends.

If you are just a witness, that should not prevent you from standing up for women. You can tell a catcaller how offensive their behavior is. And if you see a catcaller escalating his bad behavior by following the woman, your moral code should require that you step in.

The women who endure this every day are somebody’s daughter, wife, mother, or sister. She could be yours.

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Marketing 101

I've seen them. You've seen them. We've both asked "Why?" Or, "Who would buy THAT?"


That is any one of a number of products released recently. It could be the women's jeans with the clear vinyl where the knees should be. It could be the men's jeans designed to look mud stained. It could be the one-piece women's swimming suit printed to look like a hairy chest.


I know who buys these. Nobody. Nobody does. If nobody buys these absurdities, why are they produced? That, my readers, is sheer genius.


They are designed to be talked about - among your friends and on radio and television. They are designed to be shared on social media.


I can tell you that both of the jeans I described were carried by Nordstrom's. I know that because I heard about them on the radio and the local news. I saw them all over Facebook and Twitter. The small investment to produce these products that nobody will purchase pays off untold times. We're  doing all the work to provide this free advertising to them.


Brilliant!

Thursday, June 22, 2017

The Adventures of GirlChild

A guest blog by GirlChild. Like what you read? Follow her on Instagram.
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Do you think I asked for this? Do you think I asked for ANY of this?
Okay, for those of you that know me and know what I’m on about, it probably does seem like something I asked for. For those that don’t know me; what you’re about to see, you may not believe, but I promise you with every ounce of my being that it is.


I am Girl Child. My mom has written about me before, but never to the extent that I am about to go into myself. It’s not her story to tell, it’s mine. I’m in my 20s, Wisconsin born and raised. I lived in Florida for two years, moved back to Wisconsin for almost two years, and then one day at the end of summer 2016, everything changed.


You see, I’m a huge KISS fan, and if you know anything about non-casual KISS fans—you know, the ones you see depicted in movies or TV—we will do almost anything for those boys short of murder. Actually, come to think of it, some KISS fans might commit murder if doing so gave them the opportunity to rub shoulders with Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons, Tommy Thayer, and Eric Singer for the night. Either way, not the point. The point is we will do a hell of a lot for the opportunity to be so close to greatness.


One night last summer, I was at a KISS concert… not a surprise. I was hanging out with someone I’m proud to call a friend afterwards (if you’re reading this, love you dude), and decided I was going to fly to New York City for another KISS show the following month. Remember when I said we’ll do a hell of a lot to be so close to greatness? This is just one example. I did as planned, and it was a great time. But here’s the kicker:


I never went back to Wisconsin from that trip.


I just said screw it and stayed in New York. A week and a half after arriving, I got a job at a restaurant in Brooklyn. A week and a half after that, I got a phone call from another friend. You see, when I moved out here, I started a blog about what it was like leaving Wisconsin with a couple hundred dollars, no job, and no house. This friend had seen it, and thought I was a fantastic writer. She then expressed to me that she does concert photography for a music website, and was wondering if I would be interested in her passing my information on to the editor of that site so I could possibly do CD reviews, concert reviews, and artist interviews. Of course, I said yes. Why wouldn’t I, right?


The editor contacted me and everything was quickly squared away. I told him there was a concert I’d planned on attending anyway, since they were going to be on the KISS Kruise, and asked if I could do a review on the show. He promptly said yes and that right there was the beginning of the end.
Since that night, I’ve become friends with that band, started working for that band, and my god… are they ever picking up steam! I’ve rubbed shoulders with some of the greatest in rock n’ roll. I even just got back from KISS’ European/United Kingdom tour, where the boys I work for were the supporting act.


It is truly amazing how quickly you find your life running in an entirely different direction than ever planned. It is even more amazing how quickly that different direction can snowball you into a lifestyle you never imagined yourself legitimately living, despite wanting to.
If you told me a year ago today all the things I would accomplish by this time the following year, I would’ve laughed in your face and told you I needed to get back to work. But it’s real, and I own it.




My life is not for the faint of heart.

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

The Isolation of Poverty

Poverty leads to a lonely existence. You're constantly working just to stay afloat. Even if you have the time, you don't have to money to go out to dinner with friends. In my case, even inviting people over for dinner was not an option. If I could overcome the cost, I was embarrassed by my threadbare carpet and the hand-me-down furniture which was only passed to us because it was so worn my in-laws were buying new furniture.



As I was clawing my way out of dark abyss that is poverty, I set rules for myself. If a friend invited me out, I always said I had to check with my assistant Frank first. (Frank was the name of the day planner/time management system provided by my employer.) I used this time to find the restaurant's website and check their menu. Sometimes I could afford the cheapest entrĂ©e. Other times my budget only allowed the purchase of an appetizer. If everything was out of my budget, I got back to the invitee and told him or her I had a previous commitment.



It was a great plan that should have worked. Unfortunately, nothing is fool proof.



Many nights while enjoying the company of my friends, I would watch some of them throw back drink after drink while I sipped my water or soda. There was no room in my budget for alcohol. When the check came, someone invariably suggested splitting it evenly because, "It's easier." Often the person making the suggestion was the one who drank the most.



Each time I was forced to pay for others' meals or drinks, I would do a web search for advice regarding how to handle this situation. Nearly everything I found suggested I should just suck it up and pay or not accept invites to dinners. I can understand why. You are in a no-win situation. Speaking out about the unfairness of this could not end well for me. If I refused this split based on general principle, I would look cheap. If I explained my budget situation, I would be mortified. But if I just sucked it up and paid more, I would blow my meager budget.



One evening we were celebrating a friend's birthday. I had planned my spending for the evening. I was splurging on a margarita and a nacho appetizer and I would pitch in for the birthday boy's dinner.
I arrived early so I ordered and paid for my drink at the bar. We were eventually seated and three of us decided to split the nachos because the waitress said the order was huge. After dinner, one woman grabbed the check and told us everyone's share was $34.50. There is no way I was paying that for 1/3 of our $9.99 nachos!



Empowered by the presence of two others who were also being asked to pay more than ten times the cost of their food, I spoke up. I pointed out what we ordered. I said I was willing to pitch in for the birthday meal but there was no way I was subsidizing other people's drinks when I couldn't afford my own.



Today I am financially secure but I haven't forgotten my 19 years in poverty. I see the signs in some of our friends because I've lived them. When a friend panics about social gatherings or cancels at the last minute, I notice. When a friend drinks only water or sips the same soda all night, I notice. When a friend consistently orders the cheapest thing on the menu, I notice.



Struggling financially is no reason to be socially isolated or embarrassed. When I plan outings for our friends, I do my best not to put people in positions I have been put in. I select restaurants that are a good value. I ask for separate checks so nobody is uncomfortable when the bill arrives. I look for free or inexpensive activities. I host dinners in our home. I will not be the one to exclude others or make them uncomfortable about their current situation.

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Safe Harbors (A blog about GirlChild)



GirlChild is fearless. She went to New York City for a rock concert and stayed. She had no job, no plan, no savings, and only two paychecks remaining from the job she left at home. She also travels all over the world - often alone. She has flown into, out of, and through many of the world's busiest airports on her journeys. See? Fearless!


Her most recent trip was to the United Kingdom. She spent the largest portion of that trip in London but she also visited Birmingham, Manchester, and Stonehenge.


Unfortunately, her vacation was tainted by terrorism. She arrived at the Manchester airport days after the bombing at the Ariana Grande concert at the Manchester Arena. GirlChild was planning to attend a KISS concert at this same venue one week later but it was cancelled for obvious reasons.


When GirlChild first heard about the bombing, she was concerned I would pressure her to cancel her trip. I assured her I would not. The UK was on high alert after the attack and terrorists don't usually attack in the same country twice in a row - or that close together - so I felt she would be safe.


Boy was I wrong!


She was in London for the attack on London Bridge. As if that's not bad enough, she was AT the bridge! GirlChild was not harmed and she did not see this unfold. That doesn't matter to a mom. Just knowing she was there was bad enough.


I considered asking her to move back to the relative safety of the Midwest. That was a fleeting thought. She might be safer here but I didn't raise her to run. I raised her to fly. You can get hurt anywhere so I will not clip her wings.


Wednesday, May 31, 2017

That Day I Almost Died

Did you ever survive something traumatic? I did and this is my story.



In July 2015 my husband and I were camping in the Black Hills in South Dakota. The elevation was more than one mile high. We weren’t used to that and we both struggled to breathe while we were hiking. I will admit that I struggled more than he did.

After our return home, we took one day to relax before heading off for a weekend trip within our state. On the first day, we stopped for lunch. I was full after just a few bites and I was sick to my stomach. I felt better within the hour and we continued our adventure. We took a ferry to an island where we attended an outdoor festival and climbed a lookout tour. The day was passing quickly so we canceled our plans for a second ferry to an isolated island.

Several hours later, the sickness returned. We stopped at a local drug store for antacids. I quickly chewed a couple and felt better until the wee hours of the morning. I chewed a couple more and went back to sleep.

I was awakened in the morning by the light coming through the space where the curtains didn’t quite meet. I played on my phone because the light was not bothering my husband and he was snoring softly beside me.

At one point, the room darkened like a cloud went over the sun and things became burry. I blinked my eyes a few times to clear the blur. A few moments later, I woke up from what my husband described as a seizure. I’ve never had one before and I felt fine immediately after so I promised my husband I would call my doctor when I returned to work the next morning and we continued with our plans for the day.

I also described to him the way the room darkened before I lost consciousness. I explained how peaceful that was. I even wondered aloud if that is what it is like to die.

Although I assured my husband I was fine, I knew something was wrong. I was in denial.  I knew I needed medical care but I called a friend instead of an ambulance. I described what had happened and said I was starting to think I was having a heart attack. We were both confused about the seizure though. I promised her I would pay attention to my body and seek medical attention if I felt any worse.

Driving home in the late afternoon, I noticed I could not stop yawning. My fingertips and my lips were numb like I had been drinking but no alcohol had crossed my lips for weeks. My father had complained about numb fingers a few days before his bypass surgery. Heart attack was becoming a very real thought hanging out in the forefront of my mind instead of the back.

I told my husband I needed a hospital. He drove me to the one nearest our home and dropped me off at the Emergency Room doors while he parked. Things move pretty fast when you walk into a hospital and say "heart attack." I was seated in a wheelchair and ready to be taken to a room in the few minutes it took him to park. I refused to be taken back without him. As soon as he joined me, we were off to an exam room.

The EKG leads were quickly connected and all hell broke loose! I had suffered a minor heart attack so I was admitted. I required emergency bypass surgery. I spent five days in the hospital and returned to work at the four-week mark.

My heart attack symptoms were non-typical – even for a woman. Even the seizure is rare. For the inquiring minds, that is caused by an arrhythmia. I consider myself very lucky I still recognized what was going on and sought help.

That is my only advice to others – know your body. Know when something isn’t right. It’s better to be sent home with heartburn today than to not wake up tomorrow morning.

Monday, May 29, 2017

Memorial Day, Marines, and My Sixth Sense


Memorial Day seems like a wonderful day for the topic of the sixth sense. Especially when it involves our United States Marines.


BoyChild #1 is a Marine who has done two tours in Iraq while serving in the reserves. When he received the orders for his first tour, we were not worried for his safety. We knew he would return fine. We were, however, saddened by the milestones he would miss. His first daughter was just a few weeks old when he shipped out.

His unit suffered heavy casualties on this tour. Five men were carried off planes in flag draped coffins. Each time one of those lives was lost, I KNEW. I knew as soon as I woke up in the morning - before watching TV or checking my email. As expected, BoyChild #1 returned from his tour unscathed. He celebrated his daughter’s first birthday, purchased a home, and settled back into civilian life.

A few years later, BoyChild #1 received orders for his second tour. When he told me about it, I immediately felt a dark presence. I knew harm would come to him but I could not describe exactly WHAT that harm would be. However, I could describe the location of this darkness. It was not in my head but rather, was a point just behind my right ear and shoulder. As strange as it sounds, I sometimes waved my hand in the air back there trying to clear the presence.

I could not share this dark feeling with anyone. I had to endure them on my own. I WOULD NOT trouble others with my fears and I COULD NOT share them with my husband. There was no need for both of us to worry about a feeling.

In April 2008, we received notice about a pair of casualties. The unit was in a convoy when the lead vehicle hit an improvised explosive device (IED). Two young men in that vehicle made the ultimate sacrifice and a third was injured. BoyChild #1 was driving the second armored vehicle. According to his email update, he was about 30 yards behind the lead vehicle. His vehicle was totaled but he claimed to be uninjured.

Both causalities were his friends. One was his roommate, bunkmate, or whatever the correct term is. That man was from my husband’s tiny hometown – a town which suffered heavy losses in the War on Terror. The father of this young man and my husband shared much in common and this loss was devastating to my husband. In addition to mourning the loss of a promising young life, he also seemed to experience some guilt about his son’s survival while another man with a very similar life would bury his own son.

Although BoyChild #1 initially claimed to be unharmed in the explosion, a letter arrived in the mail shortly after. In his tiny printing, he mentioned headaches, dizziness, and a constant ringing in his ears. Around the same time I received this letter, I also realized that the dark presence which had haunted me for months was finally gone. I knew BoyChild #1 would be ok.
Having a sixth sense can be helpful. If you can interpret what this sense is telling you, you may be able to prevent harm to yourself or to your loved ones. Unfortunately, my message is not usually clear and this causes stress. It’s like chronic pain – always present and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it