Is 40 a new adolescence?

I hated being a teenager.  I pretty much hated everything passed the ripe-old thinking/reasoned 7.  I just hated to watch as life chipped away at the illusion of invincibility all around me.  People died.  I realized I was going to die.  I watched others disintegrate in the wakes, and still others day in and day out trudged their way off to jobs I couldn't imagine any of them wanting when they were children.

   I mean on one hand, being a teenager was great in that it has a certain euphoria.  First love, first kiss, coming out, first time away in your own - all very potent, horrifying but intense feelings!  Life somehow becomes worth living when you add a little dash of high drama.

   Things changed pretty drastically from 19 to 20.  Maybe it's the embrace of a new decade in life but I remember marveling in the almost overnight perspective shift.  I stopped doing things other people's way and while I don't currently subscribe to every philosophy I embraced then, just the declaration of independence was enough.  

   Maybe that same shift will occur at 50?  I imagine I'll be looking ahead to retirement by then.  The true duration of a decade will be apparent and it would be nice to be done with the banal.  If I make it that is.

   But 40 is an age where I hear about people dying a bit more often ...and with a little less hoopla about it.  I don't think even 50 is so common as at 40 the complications seem more severe.  By the time you've made it to 50, I think your constitution has been adequately tested.  Even a heart attack is less likely to be fatal.  It's just hard that once I sort of came to terms with the reality that I've lived this long, I have to face that statistically dwindling positivity.

   So there it is.  Feels like 40 is a new adolescence.  I'm scared and emotional again, more appreciative than I ever have been in my life as well as more in control (or just more aware of what isn't in my control).  Looks to me like another 10 years of high drama are in store.  Hopefully, there will be more high than low (but not that kind because who needs the headaches!)  I do have little bit more faith and wisdom now than I did before embarking on my teen years.  Well, a very little bit.

My Queer Eye on my Queer Life (Thoughts on Disney's Frozen)

Ok, so I need to take a break from my regular, concealed, judgmental, mundane, soulless life as an English teacher and address a charge I believe to be didactic and oversimplified.  

Somebody I know and respect just decided to watch Disney's Frozen recently and proclaimed it "didactic and over simplified."  I'm simply bursting with a few thoughts on this movie now from my perspective.

Ok, first of all, it is run by a Mouse.  And, let's face it, these movies are not meant for the most mature people on Earth.  What I LOVE about Frozen comes from its many many many interrelated connections to my life, ...and everybody's!

Let's begin with what struck me as a weak point of the plot: the seeming randomness of Kristoff's connection to Anna.  We begin with a vison of (an orphan?) happily apprenticing a bunch (of ice seller, master, and deliverers?) in like, the artic?  Ok, hold on a sec - this is Disney.  The orphan is male - wait, what?  Aren't they straying a bit off the forgotten damsel POV necessary to lure in all the desparate-for-connection house moms on maternity leave out there?  YES!  Wow.  Irony.  I love irony.
The truth is that just about everything I see that is wrong with the world stems from judgement as didactic and simple as that is.  I mean, we're put here to learn, no?  The one snippet of wisdom I instinctively feel a real kinship with from the Christian Bible is "Judge not least you be judged."   You'd think the Christian Right would appreciate irony as much as I do.

It's a good thing then that Kristoff's whole life was changed when he followed a trail of ice in the woods that led him to his adoptive family!  How else would he have known the truth (that his adoptive family (the rock trolls) were the only ones who could help (and hinder) the entire conflict of the story later) as he held his true love limp in his arms from her freezing heart.  Good thing he loves ice - no?  Who designed this???  Because it wasn't one person.  People don't stick with such complexity this long.

See, I have a sister.  Well, she's a cousin actually, but our parents married.  Breathe.  My mother died and afterwords my father married my mother's sister, who already had a kid - my cousin/sister - I mean step-sister/cousin.  Wait, what?  (Don't you hate how complicated these hetero's make family connections!?!)

So, my sister has blond hair and blue eyes.  She likes dresses, and boys, and anything simple and common.  Growing up was a nightmare with her constantly claiming my things - my toys, my boyfriends, my father...  The truth is, I love her.  It's the kind of love you don't realize is there because it stems from some alternate plan that was laid before you were born.  After all, we don't choose are family - right?

But I stopped speaking to her.  See, I dare say it's complicated.  But simplified, I felt my talking to her enabled several other problems that I couldn't fix, or deal with.  So in the end, I felt not talking to her was the best thing I could do to love her.  This isn't so complicated, right?

So I'm watching this movie, Frozen, with my sister's first daughter and well it's nice to see blond and brunette sisters being represented on a big screen.  The premise nags at me however.  See, Elsa is the one who runs away to the mountain to express herself freely and protect the ones she loves?  She's the silly blond!  But I have to agree with my friend, the message is imposing - the ice, the fear, the direction this is all going is being witnessed by my niece, who is sitting next to me in this theater.  My niece, my sister's daughter is a beautiful, intelligent, dirty blond 7 year old who I always think of as my first practice kid, and who has known me to be the family "ice" princess (who loves her dearly) the majority of her life.  She's often asked me to start talking to her mother, even when she's mad at her.  But I know that when she's older, she'll understand all the complications I'm not sharing here, and... well forgive me.  She's a better person than I am.

So where was I?  Ah yes...  The didactic and simple.  It's difficult, given the freedom, to write a focused blog.  As an English teacher I routinely break every rule I normally purport in these.  But the tools are the same - metaphor, irony, mood and tone - all interesting ways we use to simplify the complex classics and to complicate them.

But above all, irony is always my favorite.  There's nothing more entertaining in life, I think, than the unexpected.  We laugh, we live, and we learn only when we push passed the limit of our own tolerance and expectation.

I watched that climactic moment, when Elsa held Anna in her loving arms absently and didactically judging Disney for playing with the scene in such a way that we're all actually thinking 'If only they'd kiss.  Wait, what?!?'  After all, they are the ones who truly love each other.  That would be too far, however, for Disney to ever go considering the masses - but haven't they already gone way beyond that threshold?

They do play with that edge, though don't they?  The Christians know it.  The only reason I agreed to take my niece and wife and kids to see this sure-fire blockbuster hit movie this early in the overly priced big dark room with the excess of oily popcorn and germs was because of all the hype I'd vaguely heard around it.  I never even saw the four second shot of the same sex family in the sauna or comprehended Sven to be an image of beastiality.  I appreciate it later, however.  Especially the depiction of the total superb-butch Dad politely flinging Kristoff out in his cold, entitled, wanna-be ass the one moment he decides to go all trite masculine!  And Sven, the playful nose-eating Vanna White pet?  Awesome!  That's hysterical!!  I remember when queers could only be joked about in the media.  Well we're not exactly beyond that stage, but this is just a joke too, no?  Besides, Sven is clearly consenting to it.  (Joke!)  You go Disney!!!  Too funny.

Even Olaf is a portrait of irony.  The little warm-hug-loving snowman turns out to the devoted wanna-be gayby (I think we may need to start claiming it) you keep thinking will turn out to be the Sam-sidekick hero but really just remains a comical side plot.  Ever try to build one though?  Not an efficient design.

The thing is, real life is the most interesting art I know.  It's made by a Maker I couldn't possibly ever really get know - no matter how many claim to.  And to me, Frozen captures real life and all it's absurd ironies better than most of its predecessors.  And I loved The Little Mermaid and Nemo.  But in Frozen I can see the continuum that is us - all of us from the liberal to to the conservative, from the blond to the brunette - it's woven in the marriages of opposites, and union of not-so-opposites.

Where else can the truth be found amidst the complexity of hearts "frozen" by their worse fears, "true" loves, or led by a vague dwindling faith in humanity and hope for a recovered deluxe-model ice sled? 

In truth Anna is all personality while being "completely ordinary."  

And her and Kristoff are perfect for each other even as she lures him blindfolded into a poll.  Elsa, meant to be the banished witch of the mountain, is really me, except prettier.  I love the complexity of that ice palace even as I can't follow the design of its structure.  I even can see the message a little clearer right now after a fairly perfect Christmas spent in my house where I actually wound up consenting to invite my sister.  All went well enough, and I wound up feeling more fulfilled and free for having done it.  So in the end, I guess I needed to be beat over the head with the simple yet didactic message of Frozen, before I really learned to appreciate the complexities.
The one thing I know is that the show strikes a cord.  As much as I heard the critique of the music before seeing the movie saying Disney had gotten to Broadway running a series of very "forgettable" songs in a musical.  I forgot about that until the last time I was in a park where they showed the movie for free on one of those giant inflatable screens.  Hundreds, probably thousands, of family's huddled together on the their picnic blankets belting "Let it go" at the top of their lungs last summer had me secretly giggling at that critic.  What better way to help normalize families like mine?  Situations not normal?  

But who knows if my perspective would help my friend appreciate the movie.  Some of these opposites remain conflicts for very deeply rooted reasons and neither facts not opinions can often sway any of us in either direction.  Truth is, we make most of our decisions using a different organ than our brains, so one point from the movie is indisputably true: "The heart is not so easily changed.  But [shrug] ...the head can be persuaded." 😉

Fun Formalities...

I was aware the nightmare that attaining official papers can be before going to the passport office.  So I did a first practice run before the real thing.  I was told I had to have everyone present, including my oldest 5 year old in a fill length leg cast.
2nd visit to Passport Office - both kids and Ema in car outside, waiting:
I hand in all my papers.
[Starts handing everything back to me] You need an original birth certificate.  This one is a copy.  'Oh yeah, the new "original" I'd ordered.' "Here."  It had taken me 4 1/2 years to finally get an accurate "original" but that's another post.
[Reluctantly, she peruses more papers]. "What is this... Takoda?"
"He's my son."
[Starts handing everything back to me] "You cannot do this without both parents present."
"We are both present.  She's in the car with the boys."
"She?  Where's the father?"
"His other mother is in the car with him.  He's not in here right now because he has a full length leg caste on right now.  Your coworker said you wouldn't mind going out to him so he wouldn't have to climb in and out of his wheelchair just to be looked at."
"There's no father?"
"No, there's not."
[Starts handing everything back to me] "Can't do it without the father here."
"Not there is mo father here.  There is no father.  He has two mothers.  We're legally married and have been since before he was born.  Look, see?  Here is the marruage livence and we're both on the birth certificate."
"It says 'father.'"
"It says 'father/parent.'"
"Ahhh..."
Only from here on in, she gave me the benefit of the doubt and stopped handing me back all my papers.

Anniversary Post

There was a time in our lives when we were always side by side.  Amy and I woke up together, went to school together, took the same classes, worked the same jobs, laughed with the same people, and returned to the same home.  It was, for some who I've expressed this sentiment to, a marital nightmare.
For us it was bliss.
The only problem was that joining of strengths and weaknesses that happens in marriage which left me two weeks late to the first class I had to take in my own major.  16 years later however, she's still my superior in the details - and my have they grown!  Homework, Little League, Tae Kwon Doe, report cards, permission slips, lesson plans, feedback, PTA, UFT, OMG!  I feel inundated with nonsense no ethics and social philosophy major should ever face critical to the ones I love who I'm responsible for.
Thank God I have her here to blame for most of it (the true virtue of marriage!)

I'm superior in something else.
I can remember that exact moment 16 years ago - tomorrow - when I'd just returned home from a short trip.  We weren't together yet, but we were communicating and we'd left off that it was over.  It wasn't going to happen.  She was gonna go her way/I was gonna go mine, and that was gonna be it.
I can remember that exact feeling in my gut that forced my hand to that phone, dialed her number and blurted a few words that basically amounted to "Come here."
I can remember the feeling of relief and other things when I turned around and she was at my door.
   I couldn't tell you who kissed who.  I can't even tell you in all honesty that was our first kiss.  And I really can't tell you much about what happened right after that.

But I can tell you it was the right decision.

Happy "Real" Anniversary Love!  I think we both totally missed the marriage one.

"One More Tomorrow"

My Pop-pops used to stay up all night and nap all day.  I knew him mostly on vacations, when I'd sleep over my Granny's house or be staying in her country place upstate during the summer.  - Different times - off times, when being up at night could be part of the norm.  My most vivid personal memory is of his waking me in the middle of the night to go see a skunk that was passing by outside.  He was urgent about it, excited.  Even then I giggled at the absurdity - but I got up!  And I marveled at that skunk.  ...Come to think of it, I think it was the first I'd ever seen.
   We lost my Pop-pops during a time in my life when death almost seemed the norm.  It was a bad run, - my mom, my 20 year old aunt, cars, freak crimes and tragedies, etc.  The day my step-mother told me my Pop-pop died, I remember one tear and a kind of "...is-what-it-is..." thought bouncing around my tired vacant 9-year-old brain.
   Now I think back to the kind of man he was.  Surrounded by women, (one wife, two daughters) smiling all the time.  The kind of man who's family actually owned "Granny's" country house  - who'd worked it his whole life.  The kind of guy who would be told by his women that two eggs a day was not good for him, just before he walked down to the bar (2 miles away) for his 5 o'clock daily martini especially when they got on their kicks about not giving him the keys.
   To this day cigar smoke triggers a familiar vivacity, an occasional burst of energy - a force that wakes me in the middle of the night to go outside and see what's there.
   I can relate to Pop pops.  I even have the Graves disease probably in through his side of the family.  I'm not skinny like he was (because the other side apparently taught me how to eat!) but the hyperthyroidism wakes you.  It can make you anxious.  And tired.  And sad.
   Of all the people I've lost I feel him the most.  He had haunts.  He had loves.  All of them I share.
   My wife and I have a song - one I played for my Granny today and told her I'd always wished she could really hear the words.  (Granny's hearing is not what it once was).  Granny related the title of a song Pop pops had said was their song.  It was an obscure song that never made it big, so she usually can't remember the title.  Earlier this week, she said she looked up and said 'Oh come on Zip [Pop pops] and help me out to remember' and that's when it occurred to her.  She's told me the story before and I'd looked up the title she'd given but somehow couldn't find it.  Tonight however, I did find it.  And I was able to play it for her and order her the record.  It was 1946 "One More Tomorrow" by Frankie Carle and his orchestra - with a woman singing?  There we sat head-to-head, ears and hearing aids, arched around my iPhone playing a You Tube video sporting a pic of a red 78 vinyl, tears running down both our faces.  It was dark.  Didn't matter.  Kids laughing and playing all around us were not even aware the different kind of moment we were experiencing.  So much goes by so quick if you don't stop.  And tonight I'm up, listening to it again… kind of even looking for a skunk.  

Don Juan not Dona Juana!

Then you have these moments where the little teach the big volumes.
So Kody is approached by a cute little girl who playfully asks him his name.  I was surprised when he responds with a mumble.  (He's usually so responsive to this approach.)  This happens a few times until she eventually gives up.  A few minutes later, I'm alone with him.  I could tell he wanted to play with her.
"You gotta look her in the eye and tell her your name Bud.  Otherwise, she'll think you don't like her.  You like her though, right?"
"Oh.  Yeah."  So he runs back to her and tries to announce his name over giggling and playful swinging on this mass swing-boat thing.  It doesn't work.  I yank him back.
"No Bud.  Try this: Just hang out around her, and if she says anything else to you, just be ready this time and tell her your name."
So he did.  He went back, got right in the middle of things, worked the proximity, but she wandered off before our big moment.
One thing leads to another he winds up in the swing-boat with another girl.  I figure this is good for him and push until they're both laughing and giggling happily.
She comes back.
He's giddy, but dumbstruck.  He really is different with this girl.  I swear, it's too funny to watch.
But he's getting nowhere.  I step in again.
"Kody, give the lady a turn."  He does.  She promptly steps into the swing-boat.  "Push her" I nudge.  He does.  So do two other guys.
He's never pushed another person in a swing before, but I'm impressed by how he's doing and how motivated he is to learn.  I kinda quietly teach/demonstrated how to push and get out of the way.
We do this a while and it works.  Some conversation is started, a little laughter is exchanged.  I leave him to it until I begin to think he's hanging on to his hat too much.
"Kody, gimmie the hat.  Walking around holding your hat to your head is too much.  If it blows off here, it's no big deal.  [He'd lost another hat on a boat in Lake George.]  You're better off giving it to me to hold."
He doesn't.  He expresses some kind of loss of "Kody" if the hat comes off.
"It won't make a difference.  [Doesn't budge]. What's the matter?  Don't you trust me?"
"No Mom.  Sometimes when you do these things that means that you don't trust me."
Boing!  Dumbstruck.  Duh Mom.  I back off.  The two happily play and he later has two girls plying for his attention.
Touché my boy, touché!
What did I ever really know about women anyway!

Role Confusion, Shifting Paths, and the Speed of Progress

It's an easy issue to succumb to in our world.  I remember dealing with the "Other" mother role.  On one hand, I was not the person giving birth to our child.  On the other, I'm a woman.  I wanted control over every aspect of our child's initiation to this world: from his genetic make up to his independent sleeping rituals.  More important than my gender identification, was my title.  I was (and still am) a mom, not a dad.
Dad's can be aloof.  They can find comfort in being second.  It's part of their role.
So that was fine.  We did it "my" way inseminating with my uncle (so that I was genetically connected) and I co-breastfed and surprisingly often felt like "first" in his life, but 4 years later he still sleeps with us.  (You negotiate these things in a same sex household.)
Then I became "not other" mother.  I'm "first" with one but solidly "second" now with the other.  I lost it in a torrid of tears the other day in a separate room after he casually mentioned how he loves Ema more.  I think the dependency of our second on my breast milk hurt the first and now, well the bed is really crowded now.  It's not always easy to really connect with the first.  I think Ema will still be primarily "first" as long as I'm primarily "first" with our second.
Someone referred to me as "the butch" the other day, and I think it's because they, a fellow "other" mother, felt like a butch.  My high school students refer to "butches" as "Aggs" (short for "Aggressives") and refer to me as such if I wear comfortable clothing.  If my shirt has a low neck line however, or a couple sparkly touches, I've noticed I instantly lose my "Agg" status.
How ridiculous, right?  My role, my status, my very personality changed by whether or not the laundry is done?  I'd utterly reject these roles as a heterosexual if that were my plight and I was keen enough to notice them, but we don't.  It took me a lifetime to become aware of how all encompassing my life was affected due entirely to the fact of my being born a woman, let alone the additional years it took to compartmentalize my life as a queer (although that happened quicker). Now we add family dynamics to the mix.
It makes you worry.  Like when the notion that because we have two boys, we'll "lose" them when they grow up and marry.  This notion reduced me to tears when I found out the sex of my second!  But now, I imagine Niky as a female and can't see how he'd really be any different than he is.  And the way attitudes are changing - like how I read a blog off Facebook about an overheard conversation between two heterosexual dads on a subway as they discussed their gay sons.  When one asks what they "do" now (that they've discovered they both have gay boys) the other says “We don’t do anything. We let em be gay and if some kid calls em a faggot we go to their house and raise hell with the parents like normal.” - This seems normal to me, like it shifts a lot of nonsense around until the path becomes simply obvious.
Maybe that's the way it's going to be with us.  It bothers me when Kody refers to me as a "dad" of sorts, or expresses discomfort with male/female genderized dichotomies but he knows I'm the one who softens the consequences his Ema imparts on him, and I'm the one who makes him his chocolate chip pancakes.  I daresay the differences between the roles of "mom" and "dad" are less and less important as we move away in time from the initial difference of who gave birth.  I think breast feeding perpetuates the mom's role as "first".  How is he going to negotiate all these expectations as he grows to humanhood under our care?  Will it matter much to him?  Will he even notice the differences?
My guess is no, at least not right away.  Until then, at least the speed of progress appears to be increasing.