For Every Action

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Friday afternoon I took my kids to the play place at a local mall. They had a great time, running off some energy and playing with other kids. But about 30 minutes into our visit, I noticed a little boy playing there, who looked to be about four years old, was wearing a t-shirt that said, in large letters, “No, YOU F***ing Calm Down!” Except it said the actual word, with no lovely asterisks, but with a real u-c-k.

Seriously.

I am guessing that by dressing their child this way, his parents, (who looked like BonQuiQui Barbie and Tupac Ken) were hoping to get a reaction of some sort out of someone. Fortunately, I am not dumb enough to confront two tough-looking strangers at the mall play place, so I kept my reaction silent.

Until now. An open letter.

Dear Parents of the Boy with the “F” Word T-shirt at the Mall Play Place,

What is WRONG with you? Perhaps it is a point of pride with you that your four-year-old’s lexicon (look it up) includes the “F” word, and that his clothing gave the proverbial middle finger to everyone who laid eyes on him. I don’t know. But it made me want to vomit. And I am so, so thankful that my six-year-old, who can read (bigger words than that even, try not to feel intimidated) didn’t see L’il Expletive (again, look it up) rockin’ the F-bomb shirt. Because, really, “Mommy, what does f***ing mean?” is not what I want to hear out of MY child’s mouth.

You made me really mad by bringing your son to the mall with that shirt on. But I got over being mad, and was just thankful that my son was oblivious. Then after FLEEING the play place (thanks for that), I just felt really, really sad. Sad for your son, because I am guessing if that’s what you clothe him with, that you’ve instilled an “f-you” attitude in him as well. Perhaps he thinks already, at his young age, that the world owes him something (everything?). I gotta tell you, this isn’t going to serve him well. Not in kindergarten, not in school, work, family relationships, friendships – not anywhere. You’re setting your son up for failure. And he deserves more than that. He’s a child. Don’t give him the adult responsibilities that come with wearing that word on his chest.

And also? Pick another play place.

And also? Don’t cut me.

Love,

Jenny

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Danica Patrick SuperBowl Ads for GoDaddy.com = EPIC FAIL

I really hate football, so I always look forward to the SuperBowl commercials as a way to get me through what would otherwise be four hours of sheer boredom. Last night, however, I was more disgusted than entertained, especially by the GoDaddy.com commercials featuring Indy Racing League driver Danica Patrick. I hate that I’m even giving GoDaddy any press by writing this post, but I just can’t keep quiet. The ads were racy and one featured some gooberish college guys ogling Danica in the shower (you could only see her head & shoulders but STILL. It was inferred that the goobers were getting the whole picture.) The other ad was also in poor taste, and both offered viewers a chance to see the “unrated” conclusions online. I am sure the unrated conclusions are probably soft p*rn or worse, but I’m not going to find out for myself.

C’mon, Danica! You’ve shattered barriers for women by becoming the first successful female IRL driver, why are you taking such a giant step back in participating in ads that are demeaning to your gender? Do you REALLY need the money that badly? Because personally, I don’t think it’s worth it, and judging from all the tweets I saw about you and your poor-taste ads last night on Twitter, I’m not in the minority. (Do a Twitter search for Danica Patrick and you’ll see what I mean.)

The whole thing left me feeling pretty yucky – how about you? Am I overreacting or has Danica shelved her self-respect?

********
Ok this is Emily jumping in here. Jenny unwittingly handed me my soapbox this morning, so I’m going to jump on it.

Danica Patrick has had a successful racing career, and she has broken barriers. There were, however, women who went before her. Janet Guthrie drove in the Indy 500 five years before Danica was even born. Lyn St. James won “Rookie of the Year” at Indy in 1992. Sarah Fisher drove along side Danica from 2000-2004.

She wasn’t the first… she was (and is) the most marketable.

It’s ok for a female to be a strong contender in a male dominated sport, if – and this is a big if – said female is hot.

Hot and heterosexual. Years ago, I was just as hot under the hood as Jenny is today when I saw a life-sized cardboard cut out of Danica advertising pepsi products. She was in her racing gear, she wasn’t wearing anything provocative… it was her wedding ring that made my blood boil. The folks at Pepsi had worked really hard to make Danica’s ring blatantly obvious – somehow they made the silver dollar-sized cardboard diamond shimmer. They might has well have tattooed “Don’t worry, I am not a lesbian!” on her forehead. In addition to her hotness, this fact is also key in her marketability.

But, let me play devil’s advocate for a moment, too. As quick as we are to find distaste for Danica using her sexuality to sell domain names (I haven’t quite figured out that connection yet), did we have that strong a reaction when Michael Jordan walked around in his Hanes? I doubt it. Why is it less of an issue for a man to be seen on TV in his skivvies?

What about when the ooglers were women taking a Diet Coke break?

And what if Danica did the commercial just to make money? Have you seen the advertisements splashed all over race cars? Their outfits? Their helmets? Obviously car racing is expensive, and sponsorship is big business. Are we offended by the giant Viagra car zooming around the track? (Yes, I am, actually, but it doesn’t seem to be a hot topic on Twitter).

Women have come so far in sports in the 30-some years since Title IX was inacted, but sexism and inequity are still very real. And while I could go on all day, I won’t… but I’ll bring it back to Jenny’s original question:

Are we over-reacting?

______________________
Ok, it’s Jenny again. Now for shameless self-promotion: I am guest posting at the Crocs blog today and I promise I didn’t do anything demeaning to myself or my gender over there! Please go check it out!

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Vandalizing Innocence

Driving home from a quick trip to the bank last week, we stopped, as we always do, at a stop sign that guards the corner of a side street and our street, which is a busy “main drag.” As I looked back and forth in preparation for my left turn that would lead us home, Joshua piped up from the back seat, “Mom, why is there a word on the stop sign?” I hadn’t even really looked at the stop sign, I mean, I know it’s there, and I stopped without actually looking at it (’cause dudes, I cannot afford another ticket!) As I raised my eyes to see what Joshua was talking about, I saw that below the word “stop” someone had painted with white spray paint, a hate word. One that starts with an F and rhymes with bag and hag and rag.

“What is that word, mom?”

Cars were coming each direction. I couldn’t turn left. I was stuck with hateful graffiti and an inquisitive four-year-old.

“It’s not a nice word, honey. So I’m not going to tell you what it is.”

“F*g? F*g isn’t a nice word?”

Did I mention my inquisitive four-year-old can already read? Hearing him say that word made me want to vomit.

“No, honey, it’s not a nice word, and not something we should ever say.”

Finally, my chance to turn left came. I turned and then made a quick right into our driveway, half a block and yet worlds away from that stop sign.

“Why did someone write that word on the stop sign?”

“I don’t know, baby, but it wasn’t a nice thing to do. It was a wrong choice. And you may never say that word, okay?”

“Okay. I didn’t write it.”

“I know, honey.”

“Did Daddy do it?”

“No, baby, your daddy would never do something wrong or mean like that.”

With that, I got out of the car, got the kids out, and we headed inside. I went through the motions of a normal afternoon, but inside I was simmering with anger. Why did some idiot have to paint a word like that on our corner? We live in the city – but seriously – that corner is home to a house and a church on one side and a body shop on the other. So why? I don’t know, but I’d like to take that can of spray paint and shove it down their throat, nozzle engaged. No, that isn’t very Christian of me, but hearing the word “f*g” come out of your four-year-old’s mouth will do things to a woman. Even if it’s said in the most innocent of ways, just knowing that the word exists has taken some of that innocence away – my child’s innocence. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the existence of a kind of person that would do such a thing – Did Daddy do it?- he can’t even picture the perpetrator, and for that I am grateful. He doesn’t know anyone mean, or bad, or hateful. But I know it won’t always be that way and it just makes me want to build the child a cocoon, or go live in a holler (like the one from whence I came) or dag-nabbit, maybe just blindfold him whenever we leave the house. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Blindfold Joshua and make sure Sophie never learns how to read!

All right, I’m getting a little crazy here. But seriously, mommies, does that not just make you wince?

We stopped at that corner again yesterday, and the word had been painted over. “Look mommy, the bad word isn’t there anymore!” Joshua yelled triumphantly.

He was happy that it had been set right. He hadn’t forgotten that there was wrong done in that place, but I am hoping this incident fades from his memory soon.

I know it won’t soon fade from mine.

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