Life used to be so simple

When did life get so complicated? When did everything stop being simple and easy? It’s so different now as we become adults, and even as we become teens; we grow up, and things change almost completely. Tensions grow, anger and hate develop, and things we believed in disappear; hope fades and dreams vanish. We stop thinking about miracles and happiness and fill our lives with stress and difficulties instead. Life used to be so simple, and sometimes, just sometimes, I would give anything to have that time back.

It was easier when the only thing you worried about catching from boys was cooties. There was a simple way to prevent cooties, I mean the regular kind, and that was the cootie shot. I know I’m really showing my ages but I remember “circle circle dot dot, now I have my cootie shot”; I’m quite positive that the cootie shot will not prevent skankcooties, but it was fairly good at keeping us safe when we were kids. It was easier when boys were gross, and kissing was something you didn’t even want to think about. Just touching boys would give you cooties and then you’d have to go through whatever the ritual was for getting rid of them. I remember those days, and while I love my boyfriend there are times when I think things would be easier if boys still had cooties, the regular kind I mean, cause some of them may have skankcooties now.

Life was simpler when cheating meant opening your eyes during hide-n-seek or changing the rules in the game of monopoly.  When we were little kids fights were about who got to be which Power Ranger or Ninja Turtle. Race meant who was fastest, and everyone was equal in our eyes. No one was better than anyone else unless they had the newest and coolest toy, but even that faded. As kids we were mostly color-blind and we all had fun together. The biggest argument was over ‘no tag-backs’ and the most drama was during the lunch trades when you tried to trade your Doritos for someone else’s Cheetohs. Those were good times, so simple and fun. The future was a millian years away back then. Now look at us.

I remember when the worst pain you felt was a skinned knee, and it could be kissed and made better. Life was so much easier when we didn’t know what betrayal and broken hearts were. We believed in magic and hope. We had faith in the world. We were invincible and strong. As little kids we lived by the rules of the playground, our domain. Now there is more to deal with, and now life is so complicated. When did it happen? When did it get so mixed up? How did it happen to us? Didn’t we swear to never grow up?

I don’t think life is any worse now than when we were kids. If anything it is richer, full of experience to teach us wisdom. But I do remember when it was all a lot simpler. I do remember a time before life got so complicated.

Quote of the Day: “When you’re a little kid you’re a bit of everything; Scientist, Philosopher, Artist. Sometimes it seems like growing up is giving these things up one at a time.” -Kevin Arnold, from the Wonder Years (1988-1993)

“Not just different, my dear — prettier!”

So I was listening to the radio and was shocked to hear that there is a Florida plastic surgeon has written a picture book for kids about plastic surgery. Called My Beautiful Mommy, the book focuses on a mother explaining her tummy tuck and nose job to her young daughter. “Mommy” also gets a boob job, but that is not mentioned in the text, merely shown by her obviously perkier and larger breasts in the pictures. The doctor actually admits that this is true, so don’t jump on me saying that it’s just an assumption based on nothing. I personally find the existence of such a book appalling for a number of reasons.

A book glorifying plastic surgery is just wrong, especially aimed at children. You can tell me all you want that it’s not glorifying surgery to change one’s appearance, that it is just to help parents explain what’s happening to children, but you are full of crap. This book shows a mother with an ordinary nose, normal breasts, and an already flat stomach, who wears belly shirts and tight pants, getting surgery to be more beautiful. The little girl tell her that she’s already beautiful, but “Mommy” dreams of being a beauty queen and assures her daughter that she needs to be prettier.

Let’s start self-loathing at an early age. It’s not enough that as teenagers and college students and even adults we are bombarded with images of so-called perfect women, let’s get to those small children too. Honestly, while the good doctor probably had the best of intentions, the book sends very dangerous and disgusting messages to kids. “Mommy didn’t feel pretty enough, so she went to the doctor and he fixed it.” “Mommy doesn’t have the perfect face and body she had before you were born, so she’s getting it fixed so she can be perfect again.” “Natural aging and body changes from being a mommy are bad and Mommy has to have them fixed.” “Mommy isn’t hot enough, so she’s going to have surgery to maker her hotter.” These are not things young girls should hear.

The focus on how beautiful the surgery makes “Mommy” is ridiculous. If the book is about how to tell children about the surgery and the down time that comes after, then there shouldn’t be this whole spielabout her being “the most beautiful butterfly” and stuff. The line that made feel sick was the one that I quoted in the title of this blog. It’s very clear that “Mommy” doesn’t feel pretty enough so she’s having this surgery. This is a terrible thing for kids to consider. Kids should not see messages that say that you must have surgery to feel pretty, or that your genetics aren’t good enough.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not bashing getting plastic surgery. Hell, I’ve thought about it countless times; liposuction, maybe getting my scars fixed,  fixing my stupid nose. But I haven’t done it, and I’m glad I haven’t. If you feel the need to get cosmetic surgery, more power to you. But I don’t see pushing it on kids. I think that if you have kids and are getting plastic surgery, sure you should explain it to them. The shock and fear of a parent in bandages and seeming unwell can be terrible. But you should explain to them that it’s not for everyone, that it is not something you have to do to be beautiful. You should sit down with your kids and talk to them about what’s happening, not give them a book to make it easier on yourself. It’s a complicated thing, and it’s important that kids understand what’s going on. A parent should take responsibility for what they are doing and it’s effect on her, or his, children.

“Second to the right, and straight on till morning”

 “The way I flew? Do you know, Jane, I sometimes wonder whether I ever did really fly” “Yes, you did.” “The dear old days when I could fly!” “Why can’t you fly now, mother?” “Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way.” “Why do they forget the way?” “Because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless. It is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly.” ~Peter Pan, pg 222 

In case you didn’t catch it the title and opening quotes are in reference to Peter Pan and the location of Neverland. It’s sad but Peter Pan made me realize how jaded and cynical I’ve become. We read it for my children’s lit class, Children’s Fantasy Fiction, and I bawled at the end when Wendy had forgotten how to fly because she grew up. I’ve grown up too… I don’t remember how to fly anymore. And when Peter said he’d teach her how again, but she told him not to waste his fairy dust on her, I almost died. I won’t ever fly again. I’ve grown up and forgotten and can’t be retaught. I’ll never remember; I’ll have but fond memories of the days when I could. I want to fly away to Neverland and fight pirates with Peter… that sounds good right now. I want to remember how to get there and how to fly. Long ago I used to fight pirates with Peter. I used to go to Neverland and play with the Lost Boys. I want to go back there. “Second to the right, and straight on till morning” That’s where I’ll go.

But the point of this entry is that I know that many people have forgotten how to fly. They’ve stopped believing, and that’s very sad. I clapped loudest when I watched the play; I clapped for Tinker Bell, who I believed in with all my heart. But lately I’ve come to realize that my clapping has grown softer, my innocence has faded away. People all around me have stopped clapping; they’ve stopped believing, and that is a tragedy. They’ve forgotten Neverland and Peter, and Neverland is childhood and hope. Whether you believe it or not, J.M. Barrie was right. We all know Neverland and Peter; we all fly away with him and fought pirates and redskins and played with the Lost Boys, and eventually we all flew home and grew up. “On these magical shores children at play are for ever beaching their coracles. We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.”  The main problem is that we will never landon the shores of that dreadful paradise again, where adventure would sweep us away, and we would be free and innocent. Neverland is not a safe place all the time, and our companion Peter Pan is careless and cruel at times, but it is a paradise to be certain.

Maybe it is that we grow up too fast now, achieving adulthood and abandoning Neverland before we should. Forgetting our old adventures as we discover the troubles and difficulties of adult responsibilities, which are much more difficult to battle than the pirates of our youth. Once upon a time we fought pirates and redskins, we defeated Captian Hook and watched as he fell to the crocodile. But we don’t remember that; we don’t remember Tiger Lily or the Neverbird. We’ve forgotten. And I cry for us, for our past. I do not wish to be Peter, who is still a little boy, but I do wish I could remember how to fly, just once, and head back to Neverland for another adventure.

Deep within us, there is a sprinkle of fairy dust and a happy thought, and that will let us fly. In the shadows there is a boy in a garment of green playing the pipes or brandishing a dagger. He’s crying as he tries to stick his shadow back on with soap or perhaps he’s crowing with glee and delight. Some night while you are sitting in your room, you’ll hear a crow and the window will blow open and a boy will drop in on the floor. He will be the same as ever, and he will have all his first teeth.  Now he might forget you from time to time, but you mustn’t forget him, for he will come back eventually. He is a careless little boy. Peter doesn’t change, we do. But if you listen closely you can hear him whispering to you.

“Just always be waiting for me, and some night you will hear me crowing.”

How ‘Bout Them Cowgirls?

So it dawned on me that I’m not sure I ever actually did a post on who I am. I think I’ve done a few things with little tidbits of information, but never a full post on exactly who Lucky is. I’ve given you teasers, but nothing more than that. And so, I give you “How ‘Bout Them Cowgirls?”, an entry who’s sole purpose is to fill you in on who the girl behind the blog actually is. Let’s see, what should I tell my readers?

Lucky is a twenty year old southern woman, that you already knew. Well, she’s a college junior, in her second semester of junior year, and a pre-law major, minoring in English. She’s a writer and occassional artist, a total camera whore and picture junkie. She’s a red head with hazel, almost green at times, eyes and stands a whopping 5′7″. Weight will forever remain a secret but lets just says she’s curvy. She’s addicted to music and is a total bibliophile. Yeah, that sounds weird and dirty, but it isn’t. Click the link for a definition of the word. Lucky is also a theater geek, addicted to the stage, and making no effort to reform. If life were a musical she’d love it. She’s a cowgirl and country hick, so to speak. She grew up on farms and spent her formative years in the mud and in the dirt. Tomboy, much? Hell yes, and proud of it. She speaks with a drawl and a twang, making it fun to talk to her if you don’t speak ‘Southern’ or have a translator.

Anyway, those are some basics. Now onto a few interesting things about my growing up, since that’s what makes me who I am. I was born in a small town and that’s where I’ve lived most of my life. I was eating real food by the time I was a year and half old. By three I’d already been to the hospital twice for injuries that I still have scars to show from. I was run over with a riding lawnmower, in some kind of freak accident that could only happen to someone like me. I was two and half, and it savagely mutilated my left leg. I’m lucky to still have the leg, much less be able to use it. I do have nerve damage and really hideous scars, but I can live with them. Then I busted my head open on an electric organ and had to have stitches in my eyebrow, I still have a scar there, as well. By first grade I was wearing glasses. I could read ‘big books’ before I reached kindergarten and had to have extra work to keep me busy in school. I only spent three years at Hobgood Elementary, a city school, where I never belonged. Even as a little kid you know when you are different.

From 3rd grade to 8th grade, I went to this tiny little county school called Walter Hill, and that was where I met my best friend S, D–, C-lyn, and Jonathan. The place was small and cramped, and we had ‘portables’, which are basically trailors for classrooms. But some part of me loved that place, and there are times when I long for it’s simplicity. As you can imagine going from tiny WH to great big Oakland High was like taking a little fish from a tiny pond and throwing her in a huge ocean. It was at Oakland I met Wallis-san and his sister A, and developed my passion for the stage even farther. Salty taught me that I could do something great and I owe a great deal to the man who became my director. I spent two years at Oakland before I became a Star.

By that I mean there was a big spilt when they built a new high school and I chose to leave Oakland to go to Siegel High. I met important people in my life there as well. I met guys who nearly destroyed me and friends who pulled me through. J was a friend I met there, and so was Kansas, though he has since faded from my life. I met Spoony there, my senior year, and fell in love for the last time. I say that because I have never loved anyone like I love him, and I have at last found my match. I went to prom with him, and he was there when I graduated. I will some day marry him, and he will be the man I spend the rest of my life with. I developed the relationship I have with my close friends at SHS, and would not trade that for the world.

Since then, I have been in college, working my way through classes, doing Mock Trial, surviving crazy events, and living. It wasn’t until I started at MTSU that I really began living. I nearly went crazy, broke down and fell apart a million times, had my heart broken, have had it mended, have been pushed around and stepped on, have picked myself back up, and put myself back together. But I have lived and I have discovered just who I really am. I’ve refused to sell out, and it has made me strong. I’ve learned that my own self respect is worth more than all the popularity in the world. I’m proud of myself, I’m stronger, smarter, wiser, braver. I know how to take care of myself, but I also know I can trust that other people care too. I can trust myself to do what’s right, but I know I’m not totally alone. I can count on me, but I can also count on others. Life has taught me more than I can say, and I know there is a lot to learn. I may not be perfect, but I can deal with that now. And I’m damn good at being one thing: Being who I am and who I’ll always be, whatever that means and whatever that takes.

What are we teaching our youth?

The other day in my political status of women course we were talking about culture and relativism and the way it effects basic human rights especially for women. There is a culture in Africa where being a ‘large’ women is considered attractive. This means that young women are taken into huts and beaten and forced to eat and drink until they are the right size for men to find attractive. There were many people in the class who were appalled by this, myself included, because these girls have no choice at all. But Dr. Petersen, our professor, said something that struck a chord in my mind, and I think she is entirely correct. She said, “We do the same thing to our own children, our daughters, except our stick is the media, and we beat into them the idea of perfection from an early age.”

It makes sense; you just have to think about it. Look at the women on television, the teen idols for girls. Young girls have role models like the Olsen twins, Brittney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, and many other stars who have too many problems to count. The images they are bombarded with are those of thin, ‘flawless’, women in tight fitting clothing showing off lots of skin. Perfection is shown as skinny, and beauty is skewed as if to say that if you aren’t tiny you aren’t attractive. It’s no wonder that eating disorders are so prevalent. Young women feel they must starve themselves to be pretty enough and acceptable. Heavier people are always depicted as the butt of the joke, the unpopular characters. Pretty thin girls are the popular, well-liked characters.Think of the message you are sending your children when you allow them to take what they see on television and in the media and apply to real life as if it were the only truth. “Be thin and pretty and you will be loved.” That is the message that the media is sending young girls.

And let’s take it beyond that. Have you seen the Halloween costumes and toys for young girls these days? Girls dress up as a ’sexy pop diva’ or ’sexy cowgirl’ at the age of eight. It’s ridiculous. Little girls running around in skimpy costumes that show way too much skin. What are these parents thinking? And don’t tell me it’s harmless fun either. There is serious harm in allowing your daughter to run around scantily clad pretending to be a ‘pop princess’. The message you are sending is one that fundamentally objectifies women. You are teaching them that it’s OK to allow yourself to be judged on what you wear and how you look. This teaches them that women aren’t smart, strong, and independent; this teaches them from an early age that women are sex objects. And to add idiocy to the moronic, give your child a Bratz doll. These dolls with their over done make up and skimpy clothing is sending the same message. And not only that you also have Bratz Kidz and Bratz Big Babyz, two more dolls that encourage young girls to be solely concerned with being a ‘diva’.

I know what you are thinking now. Why is Lucky so concerned with this stuff? She sounds like a grouchy, bitter, feminazi. Well maybe I’m just a little disturbed by the fact that we are teaching our daughters that all that matters is image, make up, clothes, and being thin. Maybe I’m thrown off by the fact that eating disorders become more prevalent everyday because young girls are convinced that in order to be loved they have to be thin and beautiful. Frankly folks I think that it’s bull shit, and it’s time for a change.