Let me begin with the obligatory disclaimer: I am 100 percent against any slang term that degrades another human being. The N word, the F word, those need to go and stay away. But, lately, it has come to my attention that a couple G words are now considered politically incorrect. I'm talking about "Girl' and "Gal". And I have a bit of a problem with it.
I think I get from where this comes. For African American (or Black, whichever is more preferable or correct to whomever might read this) women, "Girl" has a negative connotation dating back to slavery. So, of course, that is disallowed. Done. And I think for some women, "Girl" or "Gal" is considered a gender slur harkening back to a time when women in the workforce were treated as less than their male co-workers. And I get that too. My problem is that now, while it's not OK to use those G words, it's somehow OK for women to now refer to each other as "Bitches." I was raised with that B word as derogatory (not to mention its also-popular sister "Slut"). It was used in anger to describe a woman with whom someone had a major difference of opinion, to say the least. Or, in referring to a female dog. As much as we love canines, I don't think calling someone a Bitch is a term of endearment. Meanwhile, as someone who spent years in the South, I can testify that calling your friends "Girls" is a term of endearment. It isn't age related nor does it have anything to do with your intellect or abilities. It's just what you call each other. Let's face it - we call our breasts our "Girls" and that, in and of itself, is not a dis. I doubt Lena Dunham titled her HBO series about four young, strong-willed NYC women Girls to mean they were half-witted second-class citizens. As far as "Gals" I have no problem as long as I'm free to refer to men as "Guys". Other than the snarky definition of GAL as an acronym (get a life), I think Gal is endearing as well. Who could have qualms with "gal pal?" And, though I know the origin is different, let us not forget the current Wonder Woman's real name is Gal. I know I'm a product of my generation, and as much as I hate to be the one to cry "kids these days," I'm really mystified by women who prefer to call a friend "Bitch" over "Girl". Unless she means her friend is heroic, like Lassie (and OH the field day I'm sure they'd have over THAT word). If using the G word over the B word as a friendly reference makes me politically incorrect then so be it. I bet there are plenty of gals out there who would agree.
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I'm lying in bed on a Saturday morning. The sun is out, the temperature fine. And I feel like I've been run over by a truck. I'm not sick. Just tired. Two cups of coffee and 9 hours of sleep and I can't get motivated to rise and shine. Yet I'm having trouble relaxing and allowing myself to do nothing. Some might call this response FOMO - Fear Of Missing Out. But at 57, I think it's something different: FOGO - Fear Of Getting Old.
In my younger, wilder years, I had no problem lying around all day. In fact, my weekend routine often consisted of lying on the couch watching HBO all day, then ordering pizza. One of just a few times I'd rise all day. Of course that was often preceded by a night of varying degrees of debauchery with my friends. My roommate would be up and out almost at the crack of dawn (OK, 9 or 10 am); I didn't care. No shame whatsoever. It never occurred to me that I was missing anything. All the fun stuff happened after dark back then, as I saw it. But with those days long out of my system, I cherish my days, particularly the ones driven by my own whims. The only time you'll find me laid out is when I'm sick. Otherwise, I'm enjoying the larger world around me, beyond the confines of a comfortable horizontal surface. Most workdays are fairly routine so I value the 48 hours I get to fill with whatever I please. Feeling exhausted to the point I can't get up and at it is scary. I imagine it feels more like 77 than 57. I'm too young to feel this exhausted. It's FOGO at its best. I'm not afraid of my age. I just don't want to feel it. For my dad's 90th birthday I gave him a card posing the question "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?" Inside I wrote "I bet you're like me and you still, in your mind, feel 24." And it's true. I don't want to be staying up all night like I did at 24 - God forbid. I just want to have the energy to do all the things I never did during the day back then. Maybe I'm trying to make up for that lost time. With a body well over twice as old. Maybe I made that choice a long time ago. But I hope not. A couple years back, I read Gary Chapman's The Five Love Languages. My beloved and I have grappled with certain differences of opinions for decades and, having heard about Chapman's theory, I thought I'd give it a whirl. Chapman proposes five different ways people show - and wish to be shown - love. I must say it was eye-opening and, I think, helpful to me in understanding how my spouse is different than am I, and how I might better speak his language in showing him he is loved rather than trying to show it in the language I best respond to. Recently, I traveled to Dallas to be with my parents and siblings in celebrating my dad's 90th birthday. Leading up to the trip, people asked me if I was excited about it; if I were honest, I would have said "somewhat" because my family, like many, seem to have a penchant for drama. And it crossed my mind it could be we all speak different love languages with each other. I'm not sure this is how it works, having only taken the love language test with regard to my marital relationship, but in applying Chapman's theory to my family's inter-relationships, I can see we might need to do some group love-language therapy. Before I arrived, I told my mom I'd help with her computer - an "Act of Service" in Chapman's parlance. I usually hear about some issue or another during our weekly phone visits that is difficult for me to solve over the line. Once I got there, however, mom brushed it off, not wanting to waste precious time fixing something, but rather talking about other things. I guess mom is more of a "Quality Time" woman when it comes to me. My sister, on the other hand, is definitely an Acts of Service person where mom is concerned. When I talked to her by phone upon arriving, she was quick to request I clean bathrooms, as she and her daughter tend to do when they visit from Houston. Meanwhile, my mom would love some "Words of Affirmation" from my brother, who is much more a "Receiving Gifts" kind of guy (he on the giving end). On the other hand, the last thing dad wants from anyone is Words of Affirmation which just make him cringe; I'd say he's definitely more an Acts of Service or Quality Time man. It seems none of us are really "Physical Touch" people, so I guess we have that going for us. Somehow we managed to survive this trip relatively unscathed even without understanding each other's love languages. Still, I'm glad I read the book and think it would be a terrific idea for Chapman to issue a family version to add to his editions focusing on children, singles and the workplace. You can only count on the benefits of "mellowing with age" for so long. |
d.a.meek
Young at heart. Archives
December 2017
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