Tuesday, May 7, 2019

Those toxic good old days

One of the interesting things about living through a lot of social changes is the looks on my almost teen granddaughter's face when I tell her about things when I was her age.

Almost anyone that used Facebook knows we didn't use seat belts and car seats. People smoked all over the place and full ashtrays were a feature of everyday life. And yeah, we had to get up to change to one of the limited channels we got through the antenna on top of the house. And I walked a mile to the school bus stop, up hill, both ways (this is actually sort of  true; it was uphill in the morning when I was in Elementary and uphill in the afternoon when I was in Jr. High).

What is harder to talk about is how different gender and sexuality was handled then. For the most part, it wasn't.

I grew up in a small arts community in the '60's. I knew three same sex adult couples, two lesbian and one gay. Yet when the word lesbian was used on some friends by a bully I had to go look it up in the dictionary. I didn't dare ask. Anyone.

Developing kids are often put in this protective bubble, but sometimes that ignorance is so hurtful. Not only does is leave them more vulnerable to abuse, but is can also leave them confused about natural feelings. And when I was coming into the feelings of stirring hormones, the culture was also going through stirrings. I mean, just think about TV.

Like the hit show Rowen and Martin's Laugh In. There were all kinds of jokes about sex, the pill (which was a new thing) and mocking portrayals of gay stereotypes. And we laughed out heads off.

At the same time, mini skirts were way in, but pantie hose were a year of two away, so I started Jr. High in just barely dress code allowed short skirts with garter belts and fishnets. We look at teen fashions and worry about sexualizing kids, but this is how us 60 somethings were dressing when we were 12 or 13.

It was, on the surface, a more innocent time. But when we were close enough and could talk openly, every girl I knew had stories. Stories about someone in their life touching inappropriately. We would whisper them to each other during sleepovers, filled with shame. We kept each other's secrets.

There were always boys who were "sissies" and girls who were "tomboys" that may or may not meant long term gender or sexual orientation. But if you had those feelings, you kept them to yourself. It has taken years for me to even be honest with myself about things that I felt as young as 8 or 9. I cannot wrap my head around the bravery of the men and women who came out back then. I can't begin to understand the price they had to pay.

I'm an old fat grandma now, and unlikely to ever play out any of the old desires that still knock around my brain. Sometimes I envy the growing freedom that younger people have to explore and understand. But it breaks my heart that there are so many people that would want to go back to shoving people in the closet, to keeping toxic secrets, to publicly protecting kids in ways that privately endanger them.

When ever I hear a bunch of old people, usually white men, sitting around talking about the "good old days" I just want to call them on it. Good for who? Good for the white, straight, cis men. They ran things then, and they want to keep running things now. If equality threatens them, then it just really isn't my problem.

I don't have a cute or uplifting point to make. There was another school shooting today, I read a story about a homeshooling convention for dads to pick mates for their teens, and I say a guy get out of a car on a rush hour freeway to punch another driver repeatedly. The last thing I worry about is who is loving who.