Equal?

California First Lady Mrs. Schwarzenegger is hosting a big shindig for women and giving out Minerva awards to five women. Maria Shriver is honoring Gloria Steinem, Billie Jean King, and three other women. Maria, Gloria, and Billie Jean were on Oprah.

We were told to be the heroes we've been waiting for. We were told to strive to be like men. We were told this by a bunch of women dripping in make up. Ms Shriver had enough eye makeup on to "highlight" her eyes but mostly made her look like a raccoon. Ms Steinem came out on stage in a see through brown blouse with heavy patch pockets and skin tight leather pants. Even Ms King was made up and wearing a single strand of pearls.

I usually am in my house and don't venture out much. I rarely wear makeup. But on Fridays when I go to work as a volunteer, I put on "my face." Except it isn't my face. My face is what I usually have on when I'm sitting here in front of my computer typing away. I put on society's face when I go to the hospital.

There was not a gray hair to be seen on Oprah's show even though both Ms Steinem and Ms King managed to tell their ages (74 and 64 respectively, if I'm remembering correctly). I looked it up, I did remember correctly. Both Ms Shriver and Ms Winfrey are in their 50s. And all these women who advocate for equality have not one gray hair.

Men let their hair go gray. And they may wear some makeup on television, but only enough to make sure the lights don't shine. They aren't made up in the same way women are. They don't wear skin tight clothes unless they are some sort of rock band or something. They wear a suit with a jacket covering up a multitude of sins.

Instead, three of the four women were wearing tight, curve enhancing clothing. The jock wasn't. Thank you Billie Jean. I can forgive the pearls and too much makeup just for the fact you wore non-sexualizing clothing.

Sure, we all want to look good. But why can men look good with gray hair and no makeup? Why have we worked so hard worrying about who loads the dishwasher while still courting to men's tastes by wearing clothing and makeup that make us look like tramps? Why hasn't this been part of the message? Why are we still so focused on looks.

As Steinem came out on stage, Oprah said, "This is what 74 can look like!" So what? Are looks what we should strive for? Not intelligence or morality. Just looks? Am I only as good as I can appear? What about my ability to be a responsible citizen of the world? Is that only secondary to how well I can age?

"Baby, you've come a long way" but "Baby, you have a long way yet to go."

Who's Job Is It?

Bringing children up in today's society is treacherous. Discipline is looked on askance and then when children behave outrageously, the unwashed masses want to know what went wrong. Well, what went wrong is the parents did not teach the child how to be in the world.

Discipline is not hitting or even spanking. Discipline is teaching a child how to control the primal urges so we can live in society. As very young people, only concerned with the ego, they need to be taught we live closely in community and must restrain our wants because they impede the other person's needs.

Discipline is showing a child that unsocial behaviors have consequences. Acting inappropriately causes untoward events. Discipline is also teaching the child what the appropriate behaviors would be and giving them the space to incorporate that lesson into their own idea of how to be in the world.

So when the big brother swats the little brother, a mother might separate them and discuss other options to the big guy while letting him sit still for a while and think it through and offering solace to the little guy and perhaps find out just exactly what set the assault into motion and if necessary, teaching how to not be provocative.

These are not easy lessons to learn and usually take many instances of teaching and separation to incorporate them into one's life choices. It is a job lasting for years. Babies are nothing but ego. Toddlers know there is 'other' but don't really care about it. What the self wants is paramount and the only concern when choosing behaviors.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the young child is taught the rules of society. It is the work of years to make an entirely ego-based baby into a functioning adult. There are glimmers of hope spread out teasingly during the years. A small child shares nicely. The magic words are spoken without prompting. Words are used instead of fists. Self-sacrifices are offered to the younger, the weaker, the underdog.

All this work, years of labor, is the job a parent takes on when electing to have a child. There is more to raising babies into responsible adults than merely buying groceries, clothes, providing housing, and carting their ungrateful butts to school. It is more than wiping runny noses and attending games or recitals. It is, in the most important part, teaching the offspring how to behave in the world.

The world will not accept those who don't learn this lesson. The world shuns them, dismisses them, or locks them away in prisons. A child must learn to live within society.

As a grandparent, what is my job? It is the parents who teach discipline, self-mastery, the right way to behave. So what is left?

I think, perhaps, it my job to teach forgiveness. To teach a child that making a mistake means it must be corrected, but the child is loved, cherished, and will rise above the mistake. The child, the precious child, is forgiven. Not because of the child, but because the world cannot demand perfection. The world can only demand effort towards perfection. Perfect doesn't exist.

Aiden banged the chair against the wall. Joe told him to stop. Aiden banged again. Joe looked at the paint chipped away. Aiden looked at the white spot on the blue wall. The spot that wasn't there just moments ago.

In all honesty. If Joey had made a hole in my wall when he was five, I would have been angry. I would have pointed out the hole and how I had just told him to stop and now look. Look. At. The. Mess. I told you. That's what I would have done. That is what Joe did.

And Aiden was remorseful. Tears welled up in his eyes. He's five. He had no idea walls would crumble when struck. Walls are solid. Walls don't just fall apart. Except, he learned, they do. His daddy was mad. He looked at me. Tears ready to spill.

And, instead of being the parent and the disciplinarian, I had a different lesson to teach. One of forgiveness. The wall can be fixed. The culprit was unaware, even though warned, that disaster was near. Next time, he would listen to wiser people. But right now, he needed forgiveness.

The world will not abide willful malfeasance. But the world will grant forgiveness for small errors and hope you learned your lesson. And Nana will, too. Because she loves you. (Daddy forgave, too, but his was a different lesson to teach. And he still had his mother to confront.)

Melting Pot

The idea of a melting pot as an analogy for the United States has been with us for a long time. The US is an ideal of ethnic convergence. Other cultures come to our shores and are taken into our society. They say.

I was watching a Dr. Phil show on racism. There were several guests and audience participation was encouraged. Dr. Phil mentioned the African-Americans, the Hispanics, the Asian-Americans, and the white people. What? Everyone gets to be capitalized, but the white people. Why aren't they Caucasians?

I find it annoying to have to continually type out African-American, so I don't. I have it hot-keyed into my computer so it pops up easily. I belong to a worldwide forum for writers and one nitwit, so unclear on the concept, berated another writer for calling someone 'black' and insisted they were African-American. The writer, a British citizen, replied icily but civilly, they were not American anything, they were British.

Why am I not European-American. More than that, since my ancestry is not from the Mediterranean Sea region, why am I not Northern European-American? My blond heritage comes from the Celts and the Germans. Why do I only get to be lower-cased white?

What about blacks whose immediate ancestors aren't from Africa, but come to America from some other part of the globe? Are they African-American still? Why am I a color, and a poorly named color at that, while no one else is?

And furthering the semantic problem …

Oprah had a show with half the audience men and half women and the show discussed health issues concerning one half of the audience or another. She had an expert in the field of neurology and brain study, who said over and over. "Men's brains" did this or that and then, "female brains" did something else. The counterpart to men, madam doctor, is women. The counterpart to female, is male. The terms are not complete synonyms, hence the need for different words. Women are human, females can be anything.

If we need to pussyfoot around and be all politically correct for everyone else, why does no one have to worry about my poor little feelings either as a Caucasian or as a woman? I understand the ERA did not pass, but really.

I am WOMAN, hear me roar.
Not I am FEMALE, hear me roar.

If everyone else gets a capital letter, may I please have one, too?

Thank you.

Petty and Petulant

I last got my nails done on September 16. I should have gotten my nails done sometime this week, but I didn't go. Nails grow faster in the summer. I know that. I am supposed to feel pampered when I take time for myself.

I hate going to get my nails done. They have a woman there who seems to now be my personal nail filler and she is new to the profession and takes twice as long as the owner of the shop. She usually hurts me at least once during the procedure that seems to take forever. It's not as bad as the guy who made eight of my fingers bleed, but still …

I put off going to get my nails done because I'm lazy and I don't find the task to be a pleasant one. However, I hate my home grown nails. My nails are thin and they split. My hands always look like a chew my nails for dessert when in fact, I don't bite my nails. They just look like it.

The cost of a nail fill is $15 plus a tip, even for the woman who takes for damn ever and hurts me. I did not tip the guy who got carried away and caused way too much hemorrhaging. I really should get them done every two weeks in the summer and can wait for another few days in the winter when nails grow slower.

I'm not on the verge of economic collapse. I am not eating cat food. I'm not as wealthy as I was a few months ago. I have no idea where the current economic fiasco is heading and how long it will take to recover, but it's not looking especially promising today.

I don't go anywhere or do anything. I spend four hours a week volunteering and they really don't care what I look like to do that. I wear scrubs and have to wear a paper hat and paper booties and my nails are the least of my concerns.

The nails are bothersome when they get too long. I type all the time and they get in the way and get caught on the keys. They are longer than my real nails ever could be and although I've had them long for over a year, there are still things I can't do with my hands because of the nails.

I was lowering a window last night and popped a nail off. I knew I had to go on Monday and get them filled in anyway. This isn't a catastrophe. But … should I really keep up this nonsense? It is costly in a time of economic uncertainty. I'm spending about $375 per year on nails.

I like the way they look when I'm finished, but I hate going to get them done. It's not even as though I have a long list of "Things To Do." I have nothing to do 99.9% of the time. I still hate going and I hate it taking an hour instead of a half-hour. As I approach the time to get a fill, they are too long and in my way.

And yet, I hate the way my hands look without the nails and they will look much worse if I pop the other nine nails off because my real nails are abused when putting on the fake nails. They look horrific under there. And they will continue to be even thinner, more fragile, less able to grow until they are completely grown out. That process will takes months.

I'm so torn over such a stupid little thing. I want the nails without having to go and get the nails, pay for the nails, take care of the nails.

So, with a national recession looming, the possibility of another Great Depression, and wars scattered across the planet, I'm worried about my nails.