Mothers & Sons

How many young girls grew up wanting to emulate men? How many girls made heroes out of the movers and shakers of politics, business, and clergy? I’m inclined to believe it is a relatively common experience. Given America’s commitment to sexism and patriarchy, anecdotes and images of success will be skewed towards examples of men. Concurrently, girls have heroines as well. These heroines have braved adversity and resisted being sequestered into a role that is more fitting of tradition than self-determination. These women are the embodiment of a feminine ideal. 

To contrast, can the same be said about men? How many boys grow up with women as heroines? Better still, how many boys retain heroines as they mature into adulthood? The simple exercise of having (and retaining) a role model of a different gender is far more likely for ½ of the population. I don’t know the reasons why. That is beyond my expertise and resources, however, I do want to consider the implications of potentially having such differing experiences. 

I’m going to specifically focus on mothers and sons. I think many boys looked up to their mothers. This seems to be a common sentiment unless neglect or trauma has been perpetuated. Mothers are the source of life to an infant, without them the child would die. Mothers continue to care for their sons, and these boys in receiving love from this woman allows her to be highly esteemed, a near deification. Until her care extends beyond what the boy desires. Once that happens, she is pushed away. The memory of her care remains, and will resurface when the boy is ill or is in need beyond himself. To simplify, one mark of transitioning to manhood is to be able to set the terms of love from a woman who once held a preeminent status. 

This process of the first woman being everything and later relegated to being utilized only when the man deems her necessary has the potential to create a troubling thought pattern, sub-consciously or deliberately. The shift away from total dependence to elective personnel is a sign of human development, but housed within sexism, a subtle transfer of power occurs between mother and son. The legacy of a mother’s care remains but so does the memory of her weakness as the boy strengthens into a man. To say it another way, I’m inclined to believe that a boy makes his entrance into manhood by sapping the power of women. We can observe this phenomena in a variety of contexts. 

If the most sacred woman that will always hold a place in the boys heart can be dismissed to an option, what hope is there for a new heroine? If a woman’s might can easily be disregarded by the indifference of a man and extinguished by the solidarity of men, is she even worthy of veneration? What is a heroine who can’t resist patriarchy? There’s a paradox at play. A woman who is worthy of being followed must be able to resist patriarchy while men try to uphold their own power and privilege. What can raise a woman’s value is when her strength demonstrates itself within the confines of caring for her progeny. Then praise and honor can be bestowed to this woman who has become mother made flesh once again. Praise and honor is not respect. To praise and honor someone does not make them worthy of emulation. Regrettably, when a man has assigned value to a woman based on her anatomy/physiology and her adherence to socialization, it would be impossible for a man to be like her. With this in mind why should a man aspire towards this unreachable ideal? In order to follow a woman would mean to become a woman. Which is a non-starter for most men, however, women are expected to do just this, and have, despite the constant male solidarity that would seek to steal their power. 

So I ask the men reading this post, who are the women you really look up to? If you’re having a hard time, I would encourage you to ponder why that is the case. 

Author’s Note:

This is intended to be a critique of male misperception. I recognize that I’m making sweeping generalizations but I also recognize the power of socialization. This may not apply to every man but that does not mean this does not apply to any man. I hope this post makes all of us reflect on the ways in which we love or think we are loving. I also set this up within a cis-gender framework. The complexity of transgender, as well as intersections of race, and faith makes this topic that much more complex and worthy of further investigation.

The Lakefront

The Lakefront: An Allegory for Racism

On a midsummer morning, before the heat reached its apex, a boy pedaled up one last hill to arrive at his final destination, the beach. He had finally convinced his parents to ride his bicycle to the lakefront. They weren’t able to drive him and didn’t feel comfortable with him biking on the roads, but for months, he had been persistent. Now that he was here, it had all been worth it. 

He locked up his bike on a nearby bicycle rack and walked towards the surf. His imagination had been insufficient, because the scene in front of him was magnificent. Throngs of people peppered the beach, some in bathing suits reclining in the sun. Others splashed and moved through the water with ease. He had never seen anything like it, literally. 

“Hey, are you gonna get in the water too?” A boy asked with a kind smile. He appeared to be a similar age and sported bright green shorts. “Also, cool swimming shorts?”

“Um, I don’t know and thanks.” He paused and fidgeted with his drawstring. “I’m Tim by the way.”

“Hi Tim, I’m Ben.” He extended his hand and the two boys shook. “But come on, let’s go!” He shouted and ran into the surf. 

Tim watched Ben in the water. He moved through the water with simplicity, everyone in there did, even kids who were smaller than him and people old enough to be his grandparents. Ben, realizing Tim had not followed, turned back towards the beach and waved for him to join him in the water. 

Seeing Ben wave gave Tim the courage necessary to enter the water. He entered tentatively, feeling the gentle ripple of the tide. Tim continued to step forward, the water cooled him instantly. This felt better than he imagined, how had it taken this long for him to come here? The further Tim walked the higher the water rose. He began jumping to try and keep his head above the increasing depths. However, he could see everyone around him still moving with ease. They didn’t seem to be jumping, their movements were different. On one jump, Tim tried to mimic the people around him; for a moment, he thought he had mastered the way to move in the water. Unlike everyone else, his moment of levity was momentary. His stomach dropped and so did the rest of Tim as he disappeared beneath the surface.

The lifeguard sat perched in his chair, scanning the surface of the water for any irregularities. In his periphery, he saw a hand stretched out of the water before disappearing. Kids played all the time, but he watched intently to see if a head would return to the surface. He counted to 3 and still nothing. He kept his eyes focused on that spot, blew his whistle and raced from his chair to rescue the person beneath the waves. Adrenaline pumping through his body, he swam with all of his might to the spot and surface dove to find the body! The murky water made it difficult to find the body. He groped around and brushed against flesh, he grabbed, and it was a wrist! He pulled the wrist and swam to the surface with the person in tow. He swam the person back to the shore, and dragged the body onto the beach. Immediately, the body coughed and sputtered. It was a boy. It was Tim.

The beach goers had quieted but upon the boys resuscitation, they all applauded. The lifeguard quickly returned to his post rejecting the praise.

Tim collected himself and looked around, stunned. What happened!? He did what everyone else was doing, so he thought. He heard footsteps and saw Ben running towards him from the left.

Out of breath Ben asked,“Tim, what happened!?” 

Tim shrugged, “I don’t really know. I was doing like everyone else,” he began to paddle with his arms, “I thought, and then I started sinking.”

“But don’t you know how to swim?” Ben demanded.

Tim scrunched his face and frowned. He turned to make eye contact with Ben, “What’s that?”

Ben’s head jerked back in disbelief, “What’s swimming? Swimming is how you stay afloat and move through the water? Hasn’t anyone taught you how to swim?”

Tim shook his head and softly responded, “No.”

Ben studied Tim, the friend he had just made. He turned to look back to the water and saw the rest of his friends having a great time. He looked back at Tim and sighed, “Well, once you learn how to swim, come play with us.” Ben turned and broke out into a sprint.

“Wait! Ben!”

Ben stopped and turned to face Tim again.

“How did you learn how to swim?” Tim asked earnestly.

“Hmm,” Ben paused and turned his head to the sky, “I guess, I don’t really know. I don’t remember, I guess I just always have?” Ben gave one final shrug towards Tim and ran off back into the water.

Butt in the sand, basketball shorts wet, Tim sat. He observed the beachgoers. No one checked on him, save for Ben a few moments ago. For them, it was as if nothing had happened at all. They all seemed to be having such an amazing time. Tim balled his fists up and pounded the sand. Why couldn’t he do that? He had ridden all of the way here, and just because he couldn’t swim meant that he couldn’t play with the other kids? No! He refused to accept it. He stood up, and brushed the sand off of his bottom and began walking around the beach. After almost dying, he had a new reservoir of courage. He began to approach groups of people with the same question, “Can you teach me how to swim?” 

No one agreed to teach him. They all had different answers. Some said they didn’t have time and others told him they weren’t swim teachers. A few other adults asked him where his parents were, ignoring his question completely. He  asked those people again. They told him, his parents should be the ones to teach him. Tim scowled. Tim with balled fists and tense shoulders distanced himself from the activity; he walked to a tide pool and plopped in it. He remembered how cool the water felt before and now he sat in this hot sandy mud hole. 

“Hey kid, I heard you were asking for someone to teach you how to swim?” A woman approached him and stood over him.

He turned his head and smiled wide, his excitement bubbled up. “Yes, I am! Can you teach me?”

“Of course I can!” The woman squinted and bent closer to him, “Oh wait, you’re the boy who almost drowned today?”

Immediately, Tim’s shoulders dropped. “Yea, I am.”

“Oh, yea, sorry kid, I definitely can’t teach you. What if something happened to you? I can’t have that on my conscience. Sorry.” She gave him a feeble smile, turned and walked back from wherever she came.

Tim returned to his thoughts. It had only been maybe an hour, he couldn’t go home yet, and he definitely couldn’t tell his parents what happened. They would never let him come back. 

“What were you thinking? Going out in the water not knowing how to swim?” 

Tim had had enough. Without looking up he yelled, “If you’re just going to make me feel bad then go away!” He smacked his hand in the sand again. He could still feel the presence of the person. Reluctantly, Tim made a visor for his eyes and looked up. The Lifeguard. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Tim grimaced and quickly formed a smile, “Thank-you!”

The lifeguard held up his hand and shook his head. “Just be careful, but I heard you asking everyone about swimming lessons. I’ll teach you.”

Tim barely flinched, “Really?” 

“Yea, really, just come back tomorrow as soon as the beach opens, we’ll have you swimming in no time.” 

“Seriously?” Tim inquired once more, “You’ll teach me?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow Tim, remember, as soon as the beach opens.” The lifeguard turned his back and waved, walking towards the parking lot.

It took a few weeks but Tim finally learned how to swim. Towards the close of the summer, Tim rode with parents and his little sister to the beach. He convinced them to come because now he could swim! They all piled into the family car for a beach day. 

Once his mother parked the car, Tim unbuckled his seatbelt and bolted from the car. 

    “Wait Tim,” His father called after him. He shook his head, Tim was out of earshot. 

    Tim sprinted down the beach looking for one boy in particular. Ben! Where was he? He could finally play, and everyone would see! 

    “Ben! Ben!” Tim bursting with excitement shouted.

    “Tim, hey! Haven’t seen you around, where’ve you been?” He asked.

    “I’ve been practicing, come on let’s play! Are those your friends?” Tim pointed to a group of kids splashing in the water. “Let’s go!” Tim grinned and sped to the water.

    Ben jogged behind Tim and waited to see if it was true. Sure enough, Tim entered the water without issue and actually swam towards the group of kids, but rather than stopping, Tim swam past. Wow, he could really fly. “Tim, come play with us, come on back.” Ben shouted.

    Tim popped up and reoriented himself in the water and swam back towards the group of children. Finally, Tim and Ben played together in the water that had formerly been so dangerous. 

    Tim relished the moment, he even saw his family on the shore waving at him. He waved back forcefully with a giant smile on his face. 

    “Tim! Look out!” Ben shouted and dove beneath the surface. 

    Tim turned and a wall of water crashed on top of him. The force of the wave slammed into Tim, and he plummeted beneath the water. 

    Although the lifeguard recovered Tim’s body, Tim’s smile and enthusiasm remained beneath the surface. Tim’s death was a devastating blow for everyone on the beach and the city at large. However, beneath the grief, in hair salons, break rooms, and cafeterias the townspeople questioned why Tim had been in that situation at all? Some folks said he wasn’t a strong enough swimmer, he should have known better than to swim that far. Others blamed the lifeguard for teaching someone who had almost drowned how to swim. Some people proclaimed that this scenario could have happened to anyone, Tim just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some citizens didn’t notice at all.Tim’s sister made a vow the day Tim drowned, she would never go near the water.

    A few weeks later, an investigation had been performed and they found that the wake of a large boat had caused the wave. At this point, most of the town had forgotten about Tim, especially since his family had never returned to the beach. Those who did remember talked to their children about the importance of being aware of your surroundings in the water. Others created programs to teach kids from Tim’s neighborhood how to swim. 

    Meanwhile, Tim’s parents and relatives swallowed their grief and sought action. They hired a lawyer, and the lawyer found that the lake itself wasn’t natural but man made. It had been created decades ago, before anyone could remember. Tim’s parents sought to close the lake down. The lake had a minor ecological impact, it supported no unique species, this lake was an option. They knew closing the lake would be a lofty endeavor so they were content to settle with at least eliminating boat traffic. Ultimately, the town council decided not to close the lake or minimize boat traffic. The entire city existed because of the lake. They did give their condolences and sympathies but the social value of the lake was too great to eliminate because of one unfortunate accident. No one would say it aloud but the lake was a huge source of money and fun, even if it wasn’t natural. Why should one mishap stop all of the good the lake produces?

Questions to Ponder:

• In your imagination what races were the characters?
• How did you imagine Tim’s neighborhood?
• The water and swimming are both metaphors. What do you think they represent?
• Which characters do you identify with? Why? 
• What do you think the Town Council should have done? Why?
• What action do you think Tim’s family should have taken? After the town’s decision, what do you think the family should do next?
• How would you encourage Tim’s sister? What about his parents?
• Is Ben a good friend to Tim? Why or Why not?
• Was the Lifeguard more helpful to Tim, or less helpful to Tim? Why?

Amy*

February 1, the first day of Black History Month (BHM). I’m always black, but this month I’m BLACK. In honor of BHM, I had the privilege of eating at a table with 4 other white people. It wasn’t long ago where that would’ve been unheard of, yet here I am rubbing shoulders over fried chicken with white people. Isn’t God good?

There were 6 of us at the table, my good friend sat beside me, the reason, I was at this lunch. The other 4 people were strangers. Amy, the titular character and white woman who was married to a black man, the black husband, and 2 other white people. My good friend is also white. We’re having a level of banter and perfunctory conversation: weather, sports, how do you know each other, the usual. Amy asks, “Cornell, what church do you go to?”

If you don’t know church has been challenging. Not because my faith is wavering but because White Supremacy is deeply embedded in American Christianity. I need church to be safe, so I’ve worked to find a church home that is safe for me and other black people, while still having a measure of racial diversity. Now this woman is a stranger, and most of my audience is white and I’m not searching to find a way to be peaceable. I don’t just want to drop “White Supremacy” on the table. So I’m deliberately ambiguous. Amy..won’t...be...denied! She keep pressing me, until finally I tell her.

“Since white supremacy has infiltrated nearly every structure of society, the church included, I’m just looking for a place that harmonizes with my need to fight it, rather than passively ignore it.” I wish I had been that eloquent and succinct, but that was the gist. I waited, I felt anxiety knocking on my heart, but I was cool.

I’m not going to share the entire conversation in this post but I’m going to highlight 6 key points from that conversation.

Getting me churched

I don’t know Amy at all. I cannot express enough that WE HAVE NEVER MET! She kept coming back to trying to get me involved in church. She asked me did I listen to this pastor, or heard of this church, etc. And I’m going to assume she intended to help. I can’t help but wonder if seeing a dark-skinned black man with dreads who is frustrated about white people, would need an extra dose of Jesus, ie Church. However, I’ve done church. I grew up going every Sunday, even if we were on vacation, much to my chagrin. On Sunday we’d pile in the car and ride around looking for a church. Also, I like church, when it’s not racist. My lack of attendance in a religious assembly has little bearing on the condition of my soul, sure, it can be a factor in my overall spiritual health, but attending the wrong church would advance the debilitation of my soul at a breakneck pace. My patience in searching for the right community, is far more life giving.

Personal Choice

“But Cornell, don’t you think that personal choice has a role to play. For example, my husband, I mean, not to speak for my husband but, he grew up in the inner-city and it was other black people that were the ones breaking into his home and causing harm. I think personal choice has to play some role right?”

Inwardly, I rolled my eyes as hard as I could but because Jesus and Dr. King I responded, “Certainly, personal choice is a factor. God has given us free will, our choices matter. However, what I would like to ask is, why was this group of black people in this position to start with? Why was there a neighborhood of a singular race exclusively poor? How did it get that way?”

 “Cornell that’s a good question. I guess I haven’t thought about it. I don’t know the answer.”

Speaking for black spouse

Note that she said she wouldn’t speak for her husband, and promptly did so right after.

Healing?

“Cornell, do you feel like you’ve been able to heal from all of this racism? I mean, do you feel whole?”

Inwardly, I rolled my eyes as hard as I could but because Jesus and Dr. King I responded, “Well Amy, let me answer it a different way. Certainly, the personal racism that I’ve experienced, the name calling, the actions, the words, God has helped me. He’s healed me, and been my fortress, refuge, and protector. I trust He will continue to do so. When it comes to systems and structures, honestly, I’ll probably be okay. I have a 2 parent home. My wife and I have college degrees, we both have wonderful family support systems. We’ll be okay. But my friends, and extended family, and the families of kids I taught, they might not. That’s unacceptable to me, so I’m going to work to fix it. I think the church should play some role in that because these people, often times, are other Christians, whom we claim to love.”

Sin

“Cornell, but the reality is, it’s never going to be fixed. There’s sin, and as long as sin is on Earth, it will never be fixed. Racism will always be here because of sin.”

This response more than any broke my heart. What I heard, based on her response is, ‘you’re going to have to learn to deal with racism as long as you’re on earth, and working to stop it is futile. So get over it and move on.’ She may as well have called me a nigger, that may have hurt less. Nevertheless, because Jesus and Dr. King I responded, “Amy, what I am speaking of is Christians. Sure the world will be what it is, they will do what they want, but it’s Christians who perpetuate and facilitate racism. It’s this version of Christianity that has partnered with white supremacy that's a problem. It’s Christians who have made and continue to make laws that harm black people that are a problem. I’m talking about Christians.”

“Discussions like this need to happen more, especially among Christians.”

This is how she ended the conversation. I agreed, and literally said good-bye to everyone and made my exit. If I hadn’t been so eager to leave this conversation and return to my ‘Self-care Saturday’ I would have responded by asking, “Why?” This conversation didn’t leave me feeling encouraged or affirmed, furthermore she didn’t even ask me how I felt after sharing so much of my life and my story. Instead it was used for her purposes and set aside in her “Race Conversations” box. Meanwhile, I have to get in my car once again and drive home knowing that I could get pulled over for anything and die for absolutely nothing at all.

*Amy’s name has been changed for anonymity.