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The Weekly Shriek -- Our Many Masks
27-Oct-2005
Written by: Joyce Faulkner
Little boxes all the same
Rosa Parks died this week. A lovely lady, she was a reminder of how things used to be – and are. Let’s face it, we live in a set of nested boxes that have little to do with who we are, and every thing to do with who we want to be.
The most basic category is gender. Other than for elimination, mating and breeding purposes, a rational being might think plumbing configurations would have minimal impact on our lives – but we aren’t a rational species. We evaluate people based on their viability as sex partners. That’s probably why we find it so hard to deal with homosexuality. The phenomenon throws our preconceived notions out of whack and we have to rethink behaviors that have been ingrained since birth. For example, do we open doors and pull out chairs for little old ladies with heavy beards and Adam’s apples? Do we invite the flat-chested, bare-cheeked, be-jeaned couple next door to a Mary Kay demonstration or to a Super Bowl Party?
Although there are plenty of physical differences between the races, none of them seem important enough to create the clashes we see from time to time. Does eye color really matter? Or the relative curliness of one’s hair? Or the size of our breasts or buttocks or other body protuberances? I think not. It’s got to be something more significant than skin color to cause all the hullabaloo.
Seems to me that the sticking points between people are mainly stylistic. The British pride themselves on stiff upper lips, Monte Python and Marmite. I’ve tried all three and only Marmite satisfies day in and day out. Call me a low brow American, but I don’t “get” what’s so funny about cow catapults. In Africa, I was too immature to deal with bare-breasted Zulu maidens who only covered their charms when they married. The Japanese custom of identifying a woman’s marital status based on the shape of their obi bows left me scratching my head since knot-tying is more of a serial killer activity here in the States. Now the Swedes do have something with sitting in a hot room with a bunch of other sweaty naked folks. I love their meatballs and massages, but try figuring out what they are saying sometime. It’s almost as perplexing to an American ear as German u’s – with or without umlauts. If you want to get yourself into a real pickle, try speaking Mexican Spanish to a Spaniard and vice versa. For sheer contrariness, try dealing with Koreans who require formal introductions and business cards filled with bona fides before they’ll acknowledge your existence.
Of course, we can’t throw stones. We may be the United States for political purposes, but when it comes to ‘look and feel’, we are about as different as bonbons and bb’s. Think I’m kidding? Try having dinner with an Okie cowboy at the local Olive Garden. For a guy brought up on meat and potatoes, Fettuccini Alfredo sounds exotic. Folks from Minnesota sound downright odd to a Louisiana Cajun – and Brooklynites speak way too fast for slow talking country boys from the Ozarks. Dolly Parton’s big hair and voluptuous figure defines femininity for some Americans, sultry Demi Moore for others, the athletic Williams sisters for still others. Perky Jessica Biel thrills a new generation of women lovers.
Having said that, we often judge each other by the boxes we hide in. We label ourselves Republicans or Democrats, Tree-huggers or Land-rapers, Fascists or Pacifists. We are Christians, Jews or Muslims. We are Southern, Western, Eastern or Northern. When a sports team that we like wins, we say “We won”. We join sororities, fraternities, churches and buying clubs to be a part of a group we admire. We have contests to help us further delineate ourselves in terms of beauty or talent or pie-eating abilities. We define ourselves by our region, our state, our universities and our professions. Our value rises and falls based on the neighborhood we live in and the kind of car we drive. The sorting goes ever onward – rich, poor, old, young, middle-classed, middle-aged. We are plain or pretty, hot or nerdy – married or available. Whores have big hearts, longshoremen are gentle giants. Like in Korea, knowing a person’s bona fides makes it easier to know how to treat them. After all, we can’t treat everyone the same, can we?
The only problem with this urge to classify, with all due respect to Melvil Dewey, is that boxes sometimes become cages. Once defined, it’s difficult to break out of the “you people” syndrome. No matter how generous, Jews are proclaimed stingy. No matter how erudite, blondes are considered dumb. Decisions made on standard conventions are often wrong. In “Beauty and the Beast”, a hideous face hid a loving heart. Ted Bundy’s handsome visage belied his monstrous intentions. Generalities can only be made about ideologies, not about the people who espouse them. For all of our allegiances and associations, we approach life as individuals – unique as snowflakes.
Until next week, remember that pretty young woman with the courage to say no. Rosa defined herself – no one else. Hallelujah!
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