Snips and snails for the win

 

The older we got, there were fewer photos together.

“Once upon a time there was a girl who did not know she was a princess. She only knew her brother was a prince.”

I wrote that as the beginning of a healing assignment. I was trying to write about my childhood like it was a fairy tale. It truly was a revelation to me. 

My mom would say that she did not believe in having a favorite child. Maybe she didn’t, yet Sam and I grew up with very different parents. The 6 ½ year gap in our ages and changing family circumstances contributed, but I think the biggest issue was gender. 

My mom would say “Boys are easier than girls.” It wasn’t a matter of fairness or rivalry, it was straight out gender roles and what was valued. My brother’s hobbies and interests were praised, invested in, given space in the house. His interests were often shared with my dad and given his time and attention. I was expected to act like a lady, be helpful, and stay small and quiet. 

It can sound petty when I try to explain how that translates in everyday life. How my brother was given expensive art supplies when he asked, but I only had two coloring books, some leftover paper, and the cheapest crayons. Work he was proud of was displayed, mine was criticized and discarded. 

I grew up with cats, snakes, and lizards because my brother liked them. I learned to sew and bake because I was a girl. But the main family hobby activities revolved around what Sam and my dad did. Sometimes I got to help. 

Like when my dad was teaching Sam about shooting shotguns. He got the equipment to reload shotgun shells. Reloading became a regular activity while watching evening TV shows. I hated the smells of the oily metals and powder. However, I became really skilled at using the small balance scale to measure the correct amount of powder for each shell. But I avoided ever touching a gun, even an unloaded one in a case.  I would prefer to never have to again. 

It is hard for me to remember the things that actually interested me, as they were always so quickly dismissed. I loved to sing, but only my mom ever attended my school performances. I wanted to learn to dance, too expensive. There was never room for a piano, and really any lessons were out of the question. Much of my daydreaming was imagining living these things that were real in some of my friends' homes. 

Sam was encouraged to do his best at school, but when he didn’t it was off limits to talk about. He had so many skills and talents that mattered more. But when I was struggling, I was lazy and needed discipline. When I did well, it didn’t seem to matter. In my later school years, I scored high on the SAT and other tests. My mom said I was just good at test taking. My dad berated me because math continued to be a struggle for me. 

Like I said, it sounds petty, it sounds like jealousy. But Sam felt it too. We talked about it in later years. The expectations my dad set on him to be a man and go out into the working world as soon as he could limited his choices. He gave up art and continued guitar only casually. He also followed my dad’s example and became a functional alcoholic and a loner.

He was surprised by how I had grown during the years he wasn’t around. He was impressed by my writing skills and the range of things I know. He also had never understood how hard my mom was on me. He never heard her constant reprimands of acting ladylike. He didn’t see the freedoms he had as a boy compared to the restrictions I had as a girl. 

Right now there are so many different debates raging in our country over genders and rights and restrictions. There are a number of people who want to go back to some earlier standard. I think they don’t realize or remember how limiting and hurtful many gender based standards are to everyone. In my opinion, we need the best of everything everyone has to offer to clean up the messes we have managed to make of this old world. Every child who is limited and discouraged, limits us all. 

The focus for a number of my upcoming stories will be about the activities we shared as a family between my late childhood and early teens. These are also the years where the cracks begin to show and sometimes shatter. But I promise you, like that song line, the cracks are how the light gets in. 

More photos of Sam alone,

doing the boy stuff he did.