This is turning out to be an enlightening week. It starts with David Leser, an op-ed journalist writing for the Sydney Morning Herald, crafting a seminal article called “women, men and the whole damn thing“. And as a result of this, Dr Joanna Martin, tearful, snot-filled, passionate and articulate challenging us – her One of Many cohorts and coaches- to get out there and Lead the Change.
Joanna’s challenge does not go unheeded and I ponder how I can really affect change in a country riven by gender imbalance and gender conflict. Of course the answer is much closer to home, it needs to start in our home and how we are raising our boy-man. Only by looking at what I’m doing today can I go out and be authentically challenging tomorrow.
I know why I don’t really want to do this. It’s because I don’t like what I see. When Roscoe was a baby, Craig and I had a conversation about how we would raise him. This was not driven from a Utopian desire to have a child who was rich, well-fed and indulged. This was a deliberate choice to raise a child with experiences so far removed from my own childhood that there could be no chink of similarity in comparison. Ironically, perhaps our choices conform to the stereotyping we were keen to avoid. On the positive side, ours is not a child who cowers in fear from an adult voice, who waits for the blow from the hand or the psychological sting from the sharpened tongue. He is not treated as an unpaid, silent house servant. This is not a child who goes to bed trembling. By comparison, our boy is loved and cherished, he has a secure base from where he knows the world is his for the exploring; he’s confident, assured, articulate, funny, loving and, normal for a teenager, self-absorbed. As a result of belonging to various and not always successful football teams, we see emerging qualities of empathy and teamwork. We also see just how much our influence is waning while the peer group is becoming ever more important. Only yesterday this child was happily wearing geek-cool red sunglasses. Today a derisive comment from a 15-year-old mate in the back of the car means those sunglasses will never be worn again.
He attends an international school here and although he has 10 different nationalities in his class, there are only 120 pupils in total so in senior school they all hang out together. As he’s already 180cm at 13 years old, this means that physically and mentally his peer group are more likely to be the 15-year-old boys. Boys of this age are more advanced in what they are interested in, talk about and look at, so having restrictions on Roscoe’s devices is incredibly important. Despite this I know he has seen images that a generation ago would have been so much harder to access. But today we can all watch the latest music videos to see female ‘popstrals’ twerking and twirling to sell their wares. 
Did anyone watch the JLo Super Bowl performance on the Saturday evening before the game? It was as if she was auditioning for a part in a soft porn movie. On this basis it’s difficult to argue with Roscoe about his much-loved rap music with its red-raw expletives and chants of women as objects to be done unto, vilified, dis-respected, used and discarded. Not while Mothers like JLo and Beyoncé undersell their talent and debase femininity by using their over-expressed ‘sex-kitten-bitch’ to engorge the male brain. Double standards are not solely a male preserve.
Of course we are not the only ones struggling with the challenges of teenage boys with questionable music taste and hormonal carnality. During half term we ‘enjoyed’ four teenage boys staying over; boys of different nationalities and upbringing. It’s shocking to see the similarity in behaviour. Just how much of their stuff they lose, how little they are capable of feeding themselves (aside from chocolate bars and fizzy drinks), how their clothes are discarded where they have been taken off, how beds don’t get made and dirty dishes stay on the table without a verbal reminder to clear. They alternate between bouts of screen time and bouts of physical play, eating, belching just out of earshot (so they think) and shouting obscenities at each other as if they are deaf. I’m aware that they don’t view me an individual, my role seems to be invisible serf and I boil inside.
The ugly truth is I’ve enabled this child to be solely focused on his pleasure and play. His contribution to the smooth running of the household is negligible. He is my adored little prince and up to this week I’ve been pressed into service running around picking up the dirty clothes, making the sleepover beds, changing the sleepover beds as different friends come and stay, making vat-sized quantities of pasta and crepes; washing, drying and putting away dishes only to do it all over again about 30 minutes later as teenage boys seem to have bottomless hungry stomachs. The Lesner article and Jo’s challenge conjure up a massive magnifying glass that makes me squirm. For although he is much-loved and adored, I am raising a lazy boy-man that no women in her right mind would ever want to become shackled to. A boy-man with latent but emerging social stereotypical thinking about the role of women. I have to take responsibility as a Mother to make sure my son goes out into the world as a fully functioning, contributing and supportive adult. A male able to positively contribute to society with little prejudice and judgement, who sees alternative genders as equal. A man who is sensitive to the needs of others and willing to co-partner, co-parent, co-create.
I console myself with the knowledge that we’ve very open and direct conversations together. No subject is taboo and with the result I know I influence much of his thought process even though this may not immediately translate into action. I recently spoke with him about gently letting down a girl who liked him. I explained that male and female ways of thinking were different and although he can say “I like you but just as a friend” , what she may hear is “I’m not pretty enough/good enough/just enough” so he needs to tell her his feelings face to face, look her in the eye and stay in the moment to allow her to feel his positive intention by being there. It’s a big concept for a boy and during the following days of him pondering, she dumped him. By text.
However, his burgeoning interest in girls means we need to step up our efforts to have him recognise that women are so much more than visual distractions in a day full of “boring” academia. It’s difficult in a place like Barbados where daily wear consists of few scraps of cloth and much shaking of booty. Here, local girls are queens of sexual suggestion and promise. Their role model, Rihanna, is much admired and adored.
So I must influence him and encourage his female friends to not feel their value only comes through how they look or behave. Here at home, we need to make sure we are seen and heard to praise female intelligence and facets of personality not visual attractiveness. Both Craig and I have been guilty of this in the past and from now this will change.
Now my awareness antennae is awakened, I am shocked at how much I’ve personally conformed to gender-social stereotyping. How much of the “boys are strong and girls are feminine”; “boys are physical and girls talk all the time”; “boys like football and girls like fashion”, etc, I shorthand in my head. I’m going to have to consciously challenge each of these thoughts to get out of this habit. I know these are not what I believe – it’s just lazy thinking.
I am also guilty of silent rage as I pick up dirty clothes and generally tidy up after him. This too will change. Clothes not in the laundry basket will not get washed. Beds not made and rooms not tidied will result in the loss of electronic privileges. Silence will be swapped for firm insistence. Yes, we are due for a period of pain but it’s necessary for longer term gain.
If we ever get to a point where we attend his wedding, I will look his partner in the eye and know they are committing to a fully functioning, loving, intelligent, self-aware and co-creating adult.
This is the goal. The change starts here. Now.
This was the time when as a young girl, I could open the cupboard and be greeted by the images of semi-naked/bikini clad girls on my Dads beer cans. Where I would beg the babysitter to let me stay up to watch Miss World, broadcast on the BBC. This was the time when a grope was a way of saying “I fancy you” and standing on a crowded underground tube train could engender the indelible feeling of hand on thigh, bum or even boob with no chance of reprisal. My first ever communications role was for an automotive company which produced ‘tasteful’ naked girly calendars to rival Pirelli and they expected us to distribute these without a bat of an eye or blush of cheek.
So I’m emboldened and heartened by the ‘Me too’ movement. With clearer sight of right and wrong both men and women have more visible guidelines for what is appropriate and inappropriate in today’s workplace. Flirting is fine as long as both parties are mutually interested, both now know where the line is and the potential consequences of crossing it. However, I fear that old habits can be hard to break and the male power and ego dynamic which lurks in so many large corporations means it is likely to take a generation and several prosecutions until the message is rammed home. In no circumstances should a lewd suggestion or hand be placed on an unwilling subordinate. In no circumstances should any woman be made to feel lesser, inferior, because of a mistaken misogynistic, outdated male view-point.
The people of the world, no matter where they’re located, are beginning to hear and see that society is changing and its possible to take a stand. And the brave women who speak their truths need to be supported and listened to for they are today’s pioneers and change catalysts, shining beacons of worth and courage.
I’ve been stuck in my bubble, wallowing in its silence and peace. A less stressful, slower life beat. An opportunity to pause, to breathe, to observe. I focus on family, I make good on my promises. I am grateful and fortunate yet at the same time still unfulfilled.
He knows these words are not to be used in everyday conversation but it seems to be a right of passage of teenagedom to ‘talk dirty’ in front of your friends. I stand on the cliff top this evening watching him learn to surf with a bunch of school friends and the winds carry a clear bell tone of colour which causes an inward wince. Occasionally, he will use a colloquialism for a body part or sexual act and always I try to ignore it, so the word loses its power.
All good communicators know it’s harder to write headlines for the Redtops than the Broadsheets, to appeal to the working man as well as his middle manager. But it’s a lazy communicator who chooses to appeal just to the masses, as the herd mentality will never create a long-term sustainable solution; they become too preoccupied with belonging. Great ideas and solutions come from thinking differently and speaking out; even if people disagree with a decision or view, if it’s explained well and understood, there is a better chance of bringing people together and of their working for the greater good. Understanding your audience and communicating thoughts and ideas to those who may not be of your political persuasion, education or social class is a real skill. Done well, it can shift thinking and perception.
Always I am reminded that these are the experiences which will make my boy an empathetic, loving man. I know that these challenging times are what shapes him – not the surf lessons , the football or golf, the paddle boarding or sunset dog walking. It’s the tough stuff; finding your place and way at the new school; being open with your emotions and asking for help; dealing with name calling from insecure older boys; knowing who to trust and who to avoid; managing tricky situations. And through all of this, I see glimpses of the man he’s going to become and I am heartened. This boy-child is already dealing with transitions that many adults would struggle with and he’s doing so with openness and grace, with humility and patience, through tears and laughter. I know, even if he doesn’t yet, that he will be a well-balanced, fabulous human being. That each tricky situation builds his character and generates more inner resilience. These life skills cannot be taught in a classroom, they must be lived.
As mentors, parents, life coaches or guides, we best serve by acknowledging difficult experiences and talking about what can be learned for next time; by listening – not judging, shouting nor fixing. By standing by with the belay, ready to break the fall, not stop it from happening.
A deception sustained for short bursts of time – enough time for visitors to get off and back on the plane. Real Barbados is much more complex and far more interesting. An island currently experiencing a seismic shift in its culture and attitudes, where hard decisions need to be made to create sustainable changes so as to reinvigorate a flagging economy and shift antiquated working practices.
We drank rum punch on the Jolly Roger even though I was teetotal and could barely stand at the end of the day. It was here I had my first encounter with flying cockroaches who seemed to wait until I was in the shower before they would helicopter in and attempt to land in my hair ( I still go weak kneed when I see one). And it was here I was first bitten by mosquitos and directly applied the juice from the aloe plant to the bite. Flying to Barbados was the first time I had been on a plane, the first time I had been out of the UK.
It was at the beach by the Hilton Barbados that he first stuck his toes into soft warm sand and paddled waist deep in the warm salty sea water. It was Barbados that helped the sea seduce my child, where he first awkwardly jiggled his hips to soca music and where he first felt sun so hot that his skin now goes berry brown instead of Scottish raspberry red.
A title is everything and nothing. What counts and demonstrates the mark of the wo/man are their behaviours and actions. Words come easy but it’s their meaning and associated results which make the difference.
In fact on our wedding day, the only words she uttered in my direction were to tell me to get the band to turn the sound down as she couldn’t hear herself speak to her friends! But saying nothing is almost easier than stepping up to the plate. So I admire May Fulton’s honesty although it’s obvious to me now that it wasn’t personal; no woman would ever have been good enough for her wee boy.
The temple itself is a nine sided building designed to represent unity of all faiths. Its golden brick gleams in the sunlight and the green 44ft diameter dome stretches 130ft into the blue cloudless sky. After a leisurely wander around the temple, we sit in the well manicured garden, shaded by a large tree. I fuss around with eats and drinks all the while thinking Craig is quietly subsumed by the serenity and peace of the place. Below us a group of school children are listening intently to their lessons, the sound of the African lilt coming from the teaching nuns is being carried upwards in the light breeze. Craig jolts me out of my revere with a meaningful speech about there only being seven Baha’i temples in the world. That’s one for every continent so we’re sitting in a most special place in Africa, a place where all faiths and beliefs come together under the larger concept of humanity. He says some other lovely things and by the end of his discourse I’ve agreed to make a lifetime commitment and I’m wearing a stunning diamond on the 3rd finger of my left hand. Of course we hug and kiss and then look up to face an irate nun, angrily admonishing us for such a public display of affection in a holy place. We apologise and listen to a long lecture about the sanctity of innocence and the need to avoid encouraging the virginal young minds down the hill into wanton ‘harlotedness’
