“She didn’t know her place, you know, when dealing with a
male female relationship.”
I stifled a giggle. “And what place is that?” I was driving
from an event with a man I’d just met that day. We’d decided to carpool
“I know I know, I can tell what you think about this but a
woman has to know her place.”
I didn’t stifle a giggle this time, I outright laughed. It was
more than archaic, it was …silly. He knew what I was going to say and
understood it on some level but chose to ignore the idea that a woman might not
do what he wanted what he thought she should.
“She knows her place alight, it just isn’t the place you
want for her,” I responded. We were quiet for a moment and then I asked, “What
do you tell your daughter?” His daughter is 16.
“I told her she needs to learn how to cook so she can become
a good wife. She doesn’t listen to anything I have to say though. She’s like
you, educated and opinionated. No offense.”
“I’m so glad she doesn’t listen to you,” I laughed. “And
there is nothing offensive about those things.”
“It’s ok,” he nodded at me, as if didn’t know. I assured
him, “I know its ok.”
I couldn’t be angry. How could I be angry? I mean, I guess I
could be howling at the moon but a guy like that, he already knows his thinking
is dated, he has already been approached by the people that he would be most
open to- those he loves. I don’t have time or energy or notion to try to engage
him in the merits of a thinking woman. A woman outside the kitchen, not
barefoot, not pregnant, not deferential to anything with dangling lower
genitals.
The thing that did irk me though, was when we moved on to
less contentious conversation. I mentioned an upcoming vacation and he said, “wow,
a woman traveling on her own…huh…” followed by something else that i can’t
quite remember. It was lost in the boiling irritation that rose in me in
response to that comment. Whatever he said amounted to patting small children
on the head when they say they are going to be superman when they grow up. Benign
condescension and the knowledge that such things can never be. Something about
that line of conversation incenses me.
I went on a first date a few months ago and that guy
commented on how amazing it was that me, a mere woman, drove a car while in
another country. “That’s a big deal for a girl,” he said. A girl? A freaking
girl?
“Woman,” I corrected. I was seething inside even as I smiled
and pointed out that women in most places in the world drive in their
respective countries. It isn’t as if the penis is the driving apparatus and
without them we are left flailing about wondering what that big wheel in the
front seat does.
All I can do is sigh deeply and wonder what the heck it all
means when men in my age group continue to hold such antiquated views on who I am
supposed to be. What I am supposed to do. The control over my life they think I’m
supposed to relinquish. It as if my existence is supposed to be small and easy
to manage, my personality, un-textured and un-layered, my hobbies gender
specific. That I am supposed to be uncomplicated. Two-dimensional. Flat. Easy to
manage.
I’m starting to feel a defensive edge about discussing my
love of cooking these days, as if men are somewhere off to the side nodding
their heads in approval. Like eating watermelon in public as a black person…hell…even
fried chicken. Fear of confirming not just one stereotype but all of them in
the span of a dinner plate. The catharsis I feel in working on a recipe somehow
belying acquiesce to my “place” in a chauvinistic world.
I called my dad after I dropped off the man who ardently
believes that even his beloved daughter should know, and stay in her place. I called
him to thank him for never being that man. For supporting and encouraging me to
handle my things on my own. To speak up for myself. To never let fear dictate
my decisions. And to laugh at boys, and later men, who tried to make me doubt
myself on some flimsy pretense of my appearance or the need to be nice.
The revolution takes time and space
But you as a woman gotta know you're place
That's in the front baby
I'm being blunt baby
If the get mad say it's they time of the month baby - the Coup
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