Sexual politics between Tweenies
I think I received my first complaint of home-place harassment this evening. It should send me spinning to reassess my whole attitude to child-rearing but I’ve done that once today already.
Davide in his pyjamas, still, muttering about boxers. I lose it when he does that thing of talking without parting his lips.
-Davide, speak! Just tell me what it is!
He backs off as if I’ve just hit him. Or raised my hand as if I was about to.
I walk off. To the radiator where I’d put a supply of non-boxer pants last night. I bring them back to him. He smiles, I brush his cheek with the outside of my fingers and go to brush my teeth, feeling like shite that I’ll never manage to clean away.
He took a step back.
On the other hand, I might try to console myself, I take more than one step back when he launches into some of his stuff. We’re in the corridor and he tells me to get ready to catch him. I look at him with his feet positioned to spring into my arms. He’s like two suitcases about to be thrown off a baggage conveyor belt. Catch them and you’ve got your luggage, drop them and…
-Davide, there isn’t the space to do this.
At least that’s an excuse, given. I’m not giving enough explanations. He took a step back.
At dinner we talked about the birthday party Giacomo and Davide had been to this evening. There was talk of the football the boys had played while the girls did their dancing inside. And something about boys peering into windows to make fun of the girls.
It’s as if the mystery gift inside one of the ultra-cheap weekend Easter eggs was a machine-gun that has gone off without anyone even near it. Giacomo keeps his head buried in his mum’s shoulder (where it was before the sexism incident) but Davide’s got nowhere to hide and he gets hit by the glowers and the glances full on. He bears up very well.
Marta’s desperate to say something and Giacomo’s even more desperate for her not to say it.
The boys get ready for bed. Marta comes to tell me what I’d asked her to tell me later. I’ll have to think about this a bit more but he either offends her or irritates her by making comments during films along the lines that she might not like to watch the next bit in case she gets frightened. Girls are weaker than boys. Etc. Davide sticks up for her but Giacomo just bamboozles on.
There are explanations (“he’s in a class with completely moronic boys whose parents leave porno films in the dvd player”) which are more of a question than an answer (they go to a nice church school), but Marta’s right. She’s right to be offended by the way her brother talks about women.
I’m upset because it’s going on and because I didn’t know it was going on.
I saw Davide step back and I saw things I’d done that were wrong. I listened to Marta and heard things I hadn’t imagined at all.
This is a less cheery start to things than I’d envisaged. Ah well, it’s Monday.
Things will get back to light-hearted mood soon.
I think I received my first complaint of home-place harassment this evening. It should send me spinning to reassess my whole attitude to child-rearing but I’ve done that once today already.
Davide in his pyjamas, still, muttering about boxers. I lose it when he does that thing of talking without parting his lips.
-Davide, speak! Just tell me what it is!
He backs off as if I’ve just hit him. Or raised my hand as if I was about to.
I walk off. To the radiator where I’d put a supply of non-boxer pants last night. I bring them back to him. He smiles, I brush his cheek with the outside of my fingers and go to brush my teeth, feeling like shite that I’ll never manage to clean away.
He took a step back.
On the other hand, I might try to console myself, I take more than one step back when he launches into some of his stuff. We’re in the corridor and he tells me to get ready to catch him. I look at him with his feet positioned to spring into my arms. He’s like two suitcases about to be thrown off a baggage conveyor belt. Catch them and you’ve got your luggage, drop them and…
-Davide, there isn’t the space to do this.
At least that’s an excuse, given. I’m not giving enough explanations. He took a step back.
At dinner we talked about the birthday party Giacomo and Davide had been to this evening. There was talk of the football the boys had played while the girls did their dancing inside. And something about boys peering into windows to make fun of the girls.
It’s as if the mystery gift inside one of the ultra-cheap weekend Easter eggs was a machine-gun that has gone off without anyone even near it. Giacomo keeps his head buried in his mum’s shoulder (where it was before the sexism incident) but Davide’s got nowhere to hide and he gets hit by the glowers and the glances full on. He bears up very well.
Marta’s desperate to say something and Giacomo’s even more desperate for her not to say it.
The boys get ready for bed. Marta comes to tell me what I’d asked her to tell me later. I’ll have to think about this a bit more but he either offends her or irritates her by making comments during films along the lines that she might not like to watch the next bit in case she gets frightened. Girls are weaker than boys. Etc. Davide sticks up for her but Giacomo just bamboozles on.
There are explanations (“he’s in a class with completely moronic boys whose parents leave porno films in the dvd player”) which are more of a question than an answer (they go to a nice church school), but Marta’s right. She’s right to be offended by the way her brother talks about women.
I’m upset because it’s going on and because I didn’t know it was going on.
I saw Davide step back and I saw things I’d done that were wrong. I listened to Marta and heard things I hadn’t imagined at all.
This is a less cheery start to things than I’d envisaged. Ah well, it’s Monday.
Things will get back to light-hearted mood soon.
Labels: Easter eggs, pants
