Gender continued...
Men Don't Talk Like Girls
Continuing with my chronological lessons on gender and masculinity…I’ve already shared that I was expressive, outgoing, and fairly energetic. My parents supported these qualities in me, certainly never intentionally tried to squash them. My folks valued verbal communication, being verbose themselves, allowed me to witness and participate freely in adult conversation. Additionally, and due to my pep, in early elementary school I’d often prefer to run around the playground unencumbered rather than join others in some organized activity or game. My father, endearingly I think, called me Tigger for an early part of my life due to these spirited characteristics. But a few other peers were not so gracious.
I remember being called a “sissy” for the first time in the fourth grade. It was actually on my last day at Parkview School due to my family’s moving from Parkway Boulevard. I’m sure it was the jeering tone that accompanied this fella’s choice of words that stunned me most in that moment. This was obviously not a term of endearment. But what did it mean that he chose to heckle me with such a pejorative term…a term that even sounded like a hiss when spoken? Was this simply what guys did to pester and pick on one another? Or was it something more particular about me that caused him to choose such a word? I wasn’t sure. But I was glad to be leaving the deliverer of the word physically behind. The word itself however, and even more the tone in which it was conveyed, went with me.
As I now write, I am reminded of the truth of the childhood maxim, “Sticks and stones may break my bones...” But perhaps the overly sensitive side of me can’t so boldly agree with the rest of the adage. Words can hurt…in childhood and as we grow older. And when they are combined in such a way to form whole sentences and paragraphs that judge, shame, or marginalize they can cause real harm to one’s psyche and health.
I now know, many children, endure put-downs or negative labels from their peers at times as most of us struggle to find our place and make our way through childhood and adolescence. However, as I completed elementary school and entered middle and junior high, and partly I think because I was so visible and vocal, this set me up at times for additional critique by my peers. Being elected school president in the seventh grade led to broader recognition and I guess therefore popularity among the student body, as public life can do. I was among the “Who’s Who” of the seventh grade, and at the end of the school year was voted “Most Dependable” and “Mr. Magnolia Middle School,” which was a total surprise to me.
Elementary school was not the last time the sissy sentiment was hurled my way and by middle and junior high the word changed to “faggot.” Where this word comes from exactly etymologists aren’t sure. But its meaning is known by most speakers of the English language. I wasn’t called this by many, and in my early years also wasn’t so clear on the intended meaning even as the tone could be harsh and biting. Although one beautiful spring day after school in the eighth grade, feeling extra lively and apparently equally loquacious, I got a little more information when I was scolded by a male peer not to talk like a girl. Again, I guess it was the manner of the reprimand combined with the content of contempt that stopped me in my tracks. Maybe it was the way I expressed myself, animated and lively. Or perhaps the modulation of tone and pitch in the way I spoke that some guys didn’t like. I suppose my manner of speech could have been considered “effeminate” (having or showing characteristics regarded as typical of a woman), by some. Slowly becoming more obvious to me was yet another line. And I cared.
Below is a cassette tape recording of me from the summer of 1977. I was six and clearly not so concerned at that age about how I talked.
*Thanks for reading and/or listening. Continue to next and final post on Gender Men Don't Act Too Silly. To read from the beginning go to Why I'm Writing in the Archives.
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