Broad magazine issue 76, january 2015 cAGEs

Issue 76, January 2015 part 1

BROAD A Feminist & Social Justice Magazine

Cover Art: Robert Mahosky

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Submit your stories, art, opinions, poetry, and politics by 1/26:

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BROAD 2014-15 ISSUES September

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In g/God(s) We Trust November

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December

BROAD Love January part 1

c(age)s January part 2

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In Labor

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April

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adjective: 1 having an ample distance from side to side; wide | 2 covering a large number and wide scope of subjects or areas: a broad range of experience | 3 having or incorporating a wide range of meanings | 4 including or coming from many people of many kinds | 5 general without detail | 6 (of a regional accent) very noticeable and strong | 7 full, complete, clear, bright; she was attacked in broad daylight noun: (informal) woman. slang: a promiscuous woman phrases: broad in the beam: with wide hips or large buttocks | in broad daylight: during the day, when it is light, and surprising for this reason | have broad shoulders: ability to cope with unpleasant responsibilities or to accept criticism | City of broad shoulders: Chicago synonyms: see: wide, extensive, ample, vast, liberal, open, all-embracing antonyms: see: narrow, constricted, limited, subtle, slight, closed see also: broadside (n.) historical: a common form of printed material, especially for poetry

BRO Sylvia Bennett

Visiting Editors & Organizations Coordinator

Meagan Cook

Website & Archives Editor

Ellie Diaz

Content & Section Editor, Art Director

Patrick Fina

Layout & Design Editor

Mandy Keelor Editor-in-Chief

Kait M

Content & S

c(age)s quotes:

~John Singer Sargent

“Every time I paint a portait I lose a friend.”

“Youth is the gift of nature, but age is a work of art.”

~Stanislaw Jerzy Lec

“Don’t try to be young. Just open your mind. Stay interested in stuff. There are so many things I won’t live long enough to find out about, but I’m still curious about them.” ~ Betty White

Madsen

Section Editor

J. Curtis Main

Advisor, Consulting Editor

MISSION:

Mario Mason

Publicity & Social Media Coordinator

WSGS:

Broad’s mission is to connect the WSGS program with communities of students, faculty, and staff at Loyola and beyond, continuing and extending the program’s mission. We provide space and support for a variety of voices while bridging communities of scholars, artists, and activists. Our editorial mission is to provoke thought and debate in an open forum characterized by respect and civility.

Founded in 1979, Loyola’s Women’s Studies Program is the first women’s studies program at a Jesuit institution and has served as a model for women’s studies programs at other Jesuit and Catholic universities. Our mission is to introduce students to feminist scholarship across the disciplines and the professional schools; to provide innovative, challenging, and thoughtful approaches to learning; and to promote social justice.

Gaby Ortiz Flores Consulting Editor

Maggie Sullivan Publicity & Social Media Coordinator

Elishah Virani

Diversity & Assessment Editor

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OAD

c(age)s

c(age)s explores an identity that biology and time have ultimate control over - our ages.

Intertwined with our other identities, how does our age play a role in how we are percieved, and how we percieve each other? welcome to the innagural issue of c(age)s.

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BROAD love, Issue 75

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Childhood: Dance of the Nightfall Brigade Kait Madsen Wabi-Sabi Kait Madsen Now we are 10 Amitabh Dwivedi Vikram The Lost World Amitabh Dwivedi Vikram

On Not B Know

older younger

stranger solidarity

NEW

advantage of your current age?

HE

A Toast to the My Life Fu

quote corner

Risi

Betty White, Actor/Comedian Ian McKellen, Actor Satchel Paige, Athlete

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Cartoons Women’s Magazines Greeting Cards Lee Jeans

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Dove

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Bill Maher “Fuck You Old People” Period Poem Maya Angelou on Oprah Kid President

screen/play Beginners Love is Strange

Dis(sed) Abilitites Ad BROADbox: Ability to Disability Living in Color Ad Annual Theme Schedule Theme, Mission, & Team Letter from BROAD: Mandy Navigating BROAD’s Design BROADs behind the scenes Contributor Guidelines

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The Tragedy of King Lear Love you Forever ?????

Crossing to Safety ?????

Time and Tide Roz Martinez Youth and Age Sheryl Humphrey Youth Rodica Toth Poiata Old Woman Naomi Shanti Time Jean Schweikhard of Slapgoods Woman in Pink Hat Robert Mahosky Rwandan Face Robert Mahosky Young girls on the Cambodian countryside Adrian Landin Surreal Age Athena Parella Waiting Vlad Borimsky

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we’ve got mail

William Shakespeare

words are useless

Insid

Dre and not fo

XX Ma

Older Adu Deconstructing th

artic The Waltz of Aging Jennifer Keelor Wombshot Emma Goldman

CONTENTS

de R Out?

on In(Justice)

Being Too Young to w Love Kait Madsen

The Pink Paperbacks The Illustrative Illusion Behind ‘The Giving Tree’ Ellie Diaz

Young Adult-ish: the collateral of growing up Sylvia Bennett

EaRt

Sanity Optional

e Fine Wine of ury X. Cathexis

Childhood was beautiful, nothing hurt Peach Stephan

ing Above

essing for me or my age Gaby Ortiz Flores

arks the Spot

In the k(Now)

Kaleidescope

The Passage of Time: Editing Our Heritage Sabrina Minhas

ults, Aging, & Theory: he Myths of Aging Meaghan Cook

cles 10 Ways to Fight Ageism, Everyday J. Curtis Main

&

Status Quo Combustion The Peter Pan Complex Lubna Baig

WLA (Re)Animated 1975: Female Biology Doctor with students

microaggresSHUNS age part 1 age part 2

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First Memories: old) stage J. Curtis Main

Letter from BROAD State of the Magazine, January 2015 Mandy Keelor, Editor in Chief

C[AGE]S Did you know...

Stephen Hawking got his PhD and won the prestigious Adams Prize when he was 24. Dara Torres won three silver medals in swimming during the 2008 Olympics at the age of 41. Ian McKellen, who is included in the pages of this issue, didn’t begin to achieve on-screen fame until his 60s (he is now 75).

The diary of a 13 year old girl, Anne Frank, who wrote about the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands has inspired and challenged readers across the world for decades. Ida Pollock used 10 pseudonyms and published 125 romance novels before dying at the age of 105. Richard Turere, 13, invented a device to save livestock in his Kenyan village from lions. Lions, I repeat. It seems to be that age isn’t everything.

Yet, many of the articles and columns in this issue discuss the limitations of age, from reliance on parents to physical decay.

But why are those people who we just mentioned famous anyway? Was it for the success they achieved?

Or because of the age at which they achieved it?

In our Search This section of this issue, why are “de-

pression,” “development,” and “egocentrism” the autocomplete choices for “adolescent”? For that matter, why aren’t there any positive autocomplete choices for age-related topics at all?

To me, it feels like age is always the elephant in the room. As a child I always wanted to talk to the grown-ups because I was too mature for my peers, but apparently not mature enough for adults. That was lonely. When I was interviewed for my first couple of jobs, the employer would always give me this wary, annoyed glance when they looked at my freshly minted driver’s license; yet, I would always end up doing the manager’s job. That was frustrating. People in the movie theater would glare and grumble at my

Is age a barrier to equality that we’ve been ignoring all this time?

What gives people the right to treat my sincere 10 year old self with contempt and my 70 year old grandfather with rudeness?

is worth keeping in mind the elephant and grass-isgreener examples in your mind not just when you are reading this issue, but also in your (admit it) binge internet browsing and interactions with others.

Do you think age is an elephant in the room? Has it impacted your life in such a way before? How often do you or the people around you discuss age as a grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side phenomenon?

Send your thoughts on these questions and the issue to broad.luc@gmail.com! Thanks for your support as always. (And if you’re over 75 and using a computer to read this issue let us know!...KIDDING of course...

Fine, fine but judge us after you read the issue.)

BROADly, Mandy Editor-in-Chief

family when we took my elderly grandfather to the movies. “Look, he would move faster if he could!” I wanted to say. Clearly, that treatment shook me up too.

Is age a barrier to equality that we’ve been ignoring all this time? What gives people the right to treat my sincere 10 year old self with contempt and my 70 year old grandfather with rudeness? As with race and gender and sexuality among others, there is a certain stereotype that comes with age. Young people are all naive. Old people are all senile. But even if they are, does that mean we should treat them with disrespect?

I am only 20 years old so (thankfully?) I’m not expected to know all the answers. But I will say that it

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Age is the elephant in the room, and it always wants to get to the grass on the other side. Every person of every age seems to have something to complain about. Many an internet meme is, in fact, dedicated to this phenomenon. Is this perpetual discontent just the symptom of a life ill-lived? Would we care less about our wrinkles if we were happy with our careers? to highlight just one example. Or is age simply a currency we use to socialize with others? “I remember in my 20s when I used to...” “Yeah, me too! Those were the good times.”

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BROAD 2014-2015 Colors:

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c(age)s BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Emma Goldman-Sherman

Wombshot When she was a little girl, she dreamed she’d go to the moon and be an astronaut, but it would also be nice to work at Woolworth’s. She liked to look at all the colors of the eye shadows on the spinning racks and the lipsticks that slipped out one by one from their stalls. She liked the ones that shimmered and dreamed of prom night and how she’d be dressed in a beautiful white gown with her shoulders bare and a crown on her head, for she was certain to make prom queen. The diamonds catching the light, the diamond her boyfriend-the best looking guy in her class-would give her to wear on her left hand, so they could be married after graduation, and live in a house, and teach their children-lots and lots of children-how to ride bikes, and go swimming, and shoot BB guns, and clean their plates, and use the potty, and dry the dishes, and say please and thank you, and love their Mama.

were happening like that all the time. She met a boy, and he was tall, and strong, and blonde, and he took her to the zoo, the cages, the lions, the bears.

“A man can take care of himself, but it’s much nicer if a woman does it for him.”

“I think she’s beautiful.”

That’s what her Mama used to say when she asked why Buddy was spending the night.

A woman, how good, what a good thing to be able to be a woman. Mama took her to Cape Canaveral where the rockets get sent up and she got to meet the wife of an astronaut. She was pretty, very pregnant too, and wore a pretty dress and her hair was red. Nothing else to wish for or want to be except that woman bearing down for the final push like she’d seen on the soaps and primetime TV. Things

She stared at the peacock.

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

“That’s a boy. The pretty ones are always the boy.”

“How do you know?”

“That’s the way it is.”

“She’s much too pretty to be a boy.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway. Peacocks never fly. They’re stupid, birds.”

“You wanna see something, huh?”

And he took her to a dark place where no one looked and touched her in a dark way she didn’t know, and then he put his thing in her and worked on her like a patient in a hospital who might die on TV until she thought he was dead on top of her. She gasped for breath under his weight. She didn’t tell her Mama.

“There are all these different ways see, how a man can get to the moon, and I don’t just mean in the space program either. I took you down to the Cape

that day. We used to go watch the rockets all the time when you were young, remember? Not far from Mama’s place. And I saw them do all those specials on TV about that woman teacher... Sally Ride! And how they’re gonna get her to the moon. I watched that, but I wasn’t surprised. You cried all afternoon, but I wasn’t surprised, not one bit. Seemed like that rocket went exactly where it was headed all along. Out and down. Just out and down.”

She started to grow and heard stuff from the girls at school. She got breasts, and they started to hurt, and she felt sick a lot. She thought she’d begin her time, but it didn’t come, and girls she knew started theirs and hers hadn’t come yet, only she kept growing out and down. And on Mama’s thirtieth birthday there was a party and Buddy took a long look.

“Hey, when you gonna be a granma, Kitty?”

“You little slut. Get outta my house!”

“Aw, Kitty, she’s got rocks to get off too.”

She liked the ones that shimmered and dreamed of prom night and how she’d be dressed in a beautiful white gown with her shoulders bare and a crown on her head, for she was certain to make prom queen.

“Not in my house she don’t. Get out! Get outta my house!”

In the morning Granma came with a suitcase, filled it with her things and drove her out to where she lived near the space station with her silence ‘til dinnertime.

“Go on. Eat as much as you want, but there’ll be work after the baby comes and prices to pay. I been through it all before with Kitty and got it worked out down to how much the diapers cost. You’ll get a job as a waitress and let your Mama live her own life now, gone to night school, able to get a good job as a secretary. Hasn’t she worked hard enough already? You wanna fool around? It’ll be the street, and the baby goes straight to the state, and the state don’t got no love for no babies.”

The baby came hard with a head like a rifle shot down through the dark place while she screamed, but the nurses were smiling and saying, “A boy, oh boy, it’s a boy,” but he was a stranger.

She worked hard as a waitress most nights ‘til the boy was five and off to school. She got a day job in a store where they sold uniforms, but Granma said she couldn’t go to night school. She met a soldier at a diner on her lunch break. He paid for grilled cheese and a milkshake and asked her to the movies.

“I know all about those movie shows in the dark with a soldier. I know about waiting ‘til I got a ring on my finger too. I get veteran benefits, you know, or we wouldn’t have this house. And you come back with your belly full of baby again, it’s the street and the state for that boy, and the state don’t got no love for little boys. Not ‘til they’re soldiers they don’t.”

The soldier’s breath wasn’t sweet at her cheek. She tried to watch the screen.

“I paid for the movies.”

He put his hand between her legs.

“I bought you lunch.”

She spilled the popcorn. He had paid for that too.

“I got you that popcorn.”

“I’m sorry.”

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She didn’t know where she could go or why they laughed at her, those rocks, why Mama screamed, or what she did, or why there was that fish again swimming, swimming inside a little fish. She slept that night in the shed out back where a spider bit her cheek and it swelled as if she’d been hit in the face.

She was almost fourteen.

“You’re gonna take me to the moon, you hear me?”

He pushed her down beside the seats where the popcorn had spilled out across the sticky floor. Her hair.

She tried to lift her head. His weight.

“The moon,” he whispered, “baby, take me, take me to the moon.”

She hid getting sick a bunch of times. There was a clinic she went to on the bus one day clutching her purse tight the whole way. When she got there, a long wait and a lot of paperwork. And no insurance.

The doctor spoke like there were marbles in his mouth or maybe she just had a hard time listening.

The rules posted on the walls about how they weren’t supposed to say certain things, but these things were quite possible anyway. Only she wasn’t too sure what they were. She had to pee in a cup. And after the cold table and the metal rests for her feet, the gloved hand inside, she squirmed. There was a lady who marked her in for next week to take the fish out for a lot of money. She had some money, but not that much.

She could get some at the pawnshop if she took in something they’d want, but she couldn’t think of what except Granma’s ring, never worn anymore from arthritis. Maybe she’d be able to buy it back after a week or two and Granma’d never know. She paid thirty dollar for just the exam, all she had, rode back on the bus not minding her purse. Nothing in it except some lipstick, a mirror and a brush. It got stolen. She was late home. The boy locked out. The key was in the purse too. She had to wait for Granma who didn’t understand any lie she could think of to explain.

“A purse don’t up and walk away. A purse can’t land on the moon.”

Without her keys, it’d be the street, and the state, and a new key to be made, and that cost money too.

She waited for payday. Cashed her check at the diner.

Fingering the ring in her pocket all day to make sure it was there and went down to the pawnshop and saw the gun. She hadn’t even thought of a gun, but it was cheap, could take care of the little fish swimming every day now round her dark place. She wouldn’t have to take the bus again or lie on the table. Granma wouldn’t lose her ring. She had enough for the gun, could put the ring back tonight and get the fish out fast so - she bought the gun.

Ring back in the jewelry box, boy sleeping like a soldier, TV shining like some blue light flickers, Granma

dozing in her chair, her crochet down, out back in the dark with the gun up close trying to aim it where the fish swum. It’s all a dark place and no one even calls it nothing, so maybe it don’t exist without the fish, and then there was the“We got a girl here,” the medic stood over her with static bursting through his walkie-talkie.

“What are you doing?”

“Late teens maybe twenty.”

“What are you doing to me?”

“Vital signs slipping.”

“I wanna see the moonshot, Mama.”

“Loss of blood.”

“Can’t we see the rocket?”

“Helluva lotta blood.”

“Rocket to the moon?”

“Pulse is- flying...”

There is a spasm that runs from under her lungs to deep between her legs.

“Ground control...”

Like when she had her boy.

“Pregnant, Jesus! What the fuck?”

Waking up to lights so bright and the nurses scowling. A policeman in the corner.

Daylight pouring from the windows, a curtain of numbness. Are her toes still there? All the questions, reporters, pictures, her name in the paper, and confusing things about a baby still alive, but she don’t understand why they want to save it. Just guessing that the state needs the soldiers. It’s a boy again, but finally it dies.

On the TV Granma was saying, “I don’t know what she was thinking. I have loved that child the best I can.

Why, every day, I’m loving that child.”

She’ll be gone out to the prison. She’ll go down there.

She’s certain. She don’t wonder anymore the right, the better, the right thing to do. They tell her now, everything, like what to do and when to do it, who to speak to and how to say things, what she thinks and why she thinks it. Yes, it all makes sense now. And she don’t even wonder what it was about the moon.

END

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At the trial, it’s not the gun or Granma, the boy, or the dark place. No one mentions her but some talk about what makes a person instead of a little fish. A fetus, they call it. Sounds a lot like little fish. Fetus.

That confuses her, but she isn’t really there. She thinks she was a person when they talk and say the fetus was a person, a person that needed, that had rights and needed protection, but she was a person. She thought then, of course, the boy is with the state, which makes sense somehow because that’s what she was told. He’ll make a good soldier one day.

microaggreSHUNS it’s the little things that count BROAD People

old lady | you’re such a baby | it’s a phase

young and fresh | young pussy | grow up respect your elders | children are innocent | horny teenagers

feeble-minded | crotchety | you need a hearing aid mid-life crists | her eggs are going to dry up | arent you too old for that?

we cannot corrupt the children | children don’t know any better

age to: drink, smoke, vote, rent a car, be independent old and tired | old maid | nothing but an old man

young and stupid | terrible twos | dumb kids you’ll learn one day | with age comes maturity old bat | old raisin | children are to be seen, not heard

* madads’ has a new name!

busted advertising, bustling economy Lee Jeans

Consider: 1. From the Terry Richardson photo series for Lee Jeans’ “Lolita” ad campaign, how does this advertisement depict youth?

2. Does this advertisement exploit age? If so, in what ways?

3. Is this depiction of age harmful?

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NOT BUYING IT!

(not) buying it

c(age)s BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities Jennifer Keelor

The Waltz of Aging As I am sitting here writing this piece, I am listening to the music from On Golden Pond. For those familiar with this movie from the 80’s, Norman Thayer (Henry Fonda) is a former university professor confronted with the cruel reality of his declining memory. While picking blueberries in woods adjacent to the cabin, he becomes disoriented, confused and frightened. In another scene, he almost burns down the cabin by haphazardly lighting the fire only to blame this irresponsible act on his ‘nitwit’ grandson. His wife Ethel, (Katharine Hepburn), staunchly defends his actions as she patiently understands that he is an ‘old poop that like a lion still needs to roarî’ His daughter Chelsea, (Jane Fonda), initially is less empathetic toward her father’s condition but slowly works toward rebuilding their flawed father/daughter relationship in his last days.

This poignant film characterizes the complexity of

family relationships that often surface during the difficult situations precipitated by aging. Family members are often caught off guard by a turn of events, either by changes that have occurred slowly over time, memory loss, or the onslaught of a sudden neurological event such as a stroke. In either case, families are frequently left navigating unchartered territory. As a health care professional (speech language pathologist) serving adults with neurological disorders, my role is to help educate families about the insidious communication challenges brought about by such neurological conditions as dementia .

The coaching I provide to patients and family members is rooted not only in my knowledge of the subject based on university studies but personal experience as a daughter and caregiver of a father with a diagnosis of dementia. In my father’s case the subtle signs of memory loss were masked due to not truly understanding his baseline because I had not lived in his proximity for years. Also like many high functioning individuals, during the early stages he was skillful in his ability to deflect challenging tasks that would illuminate his memory decline. Frequently getting lost while driving, miscalculating tax returns, and blaming the disappearance of objects on the housekeeper were all signs of his memory deficits, but seemed easily overlooked by family members.

However, on one particular occasion, my son’s graduation from college it was hard to ignore my father’s deteriorating memory. As a family we gathered around the dining table at the university inn to cele-

brate the new graduate - only grandpa was missing.

Campus security was alerted and scoured the area for a lost elderly gentleman wandering in the rain. I realized then that my father bore a striking resemblance to Henry Fonda’s character that panicked when lost picking blueberries. My father, like Henry Fonda also needed to roar. The frustration of trying to compensate for a failing memory while keeping up appearances grew and so did my father’s episodes of ‘acting out’. Confrontations with other elderly gentlemen ensued and resulted in banishment from activities and eviction from his residence. I later pieced together that heightened aggressiveness during this stage of frontal lobe dementia is not uncommon.

As a parent and former teacher I was fairly adroit at dealing with behavior; however, the rules are different when it is your father. Learning a dance with shifting roles is tricky business for a father/daughter relationship. Assuming a type of parenting role with

In fact, the drone of the TV in the background is now preferable to lessen the demands of constant dialogue. gency and anxiety in his voice as he tried to explain the purpose of his call. The trouble is that he can no longer clearly express his wants and needs due to the severity of his word retrieval deficits. Often I feel like I am playing twenty questions with him to determine the missing topic or details of the conversation. This marked decline in verbal ability is extremely frustrating for a man that used to consider engaging in scientific diatribes an enjoyable pastime.

The conversations with my dad are much more limited these days, in fact, the drone of the TV in the background is now preferable to lessen the demands of constant dialogue. This realization saddens me but then again I am just appreciative that he called for help, not unlike the parental feeling when a teenager calls from college because they are in trouble or just need money. My dad called to tell me he has a bill to be paid and in his cryptic way he communicated that he needs assistance. It is no small feat for a man that has been self-sufficient with financial matters for decades to admit that he is no longer able to manage his finances, let alone invite his daughter to be privy to this shortcoming. Aging has altered my view of my father. As in the waltz, the ‘lead and follow’ of the dance has changed; but, we are still dancing and for that I am grateful.

your parent whether legally, as power of attorney or guardian, or perhaps more informally, through suggesting they give up the keys to the car, can feel like skating on thin ice. Both parties are often floundering to find a new equilibrium.

Even as I write this, my phone rang only moments ago and it was my father. There was a sense of ur-

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we’ve got mail BROAD issue reviews BROAD People

* madads’ has a new name!

busted advertising, bustling economy Women’s Magazines

Consider: 1. What messages do these anti-aging magazine covers send?

2. What is the impact?

3. How many natural aspects of aging are removed with photoshop, and does this matter?

4. What do they say about getting older?

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NOT BUYING IT!

(not) buying it

(not) buying it

* (ad)vance has a new name!

busted advertising, bustling economy Dove

BUYING IT!

Consider: 1. In this “Pro-Age” advertisement from Dove, what is being said about the correlation between conceptions of beauty and age?

2. Are there any issues with this depiction of age?

3. What does being “Pro-age” seem to mean in this context? Do you agree?

words are useless sometimes words aren’t enough Athena Parella

Surreal Age We live in a throwaway society where six months after a product is released it is recycled for a better, sleeker, newer look. Men and women follow this mentality in an effort to gain self-worth and approval from the commercialized ideal of beauty and its reverence of rejuvenation. Caught up in the illusion, we see ourselves as flawed and are inescapably left reaching for the unattainable, struggling with our true inner and outer beauty. This internal battle hinders our ability and freedom to find our true selves leaving us constantly living under a veil.

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Words from the Artist:

broadside poetry in street lit style Kait Madsen

Wabi Sabi The buds on the branch on the aging oak, unfolding with a fluttering

hes like toddler eyelas and moth wings ering and a feather quiv air, to the wind’s hot remind me of my own thumbprint ridges in an image And the sun warms the buds and me and all of this wabi-sabi cycle of living, my freckled knuckles splaying fingers in an fleeting upturned prayer of I’m alive.

microaggreSHUNS it’s the little things that count BROAD People

You’re too young to be/do/have/want ________.

You’re not getting any younger.

But you’re so young!

It’s just a phase | How does it feel to have peeked already?

So, what does a retired person do all day? | They need to retire

I was your age once, too

You don’t know what’s best for you Old people shouldn’t be allowed to __________

Grow up | Just wait til you’re in the real world Nursing homes are so depressing | I’m the parent, you’re the child!

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I didn’t know you were so old! | But you don’t look old

broadside poetry in street lit style Kait Madsen

Childhood: Dance of the Night fall Brigade to black

When violet streaks blend air that’s fresher than dawn, and the creaky violins of a nocturnal orchestra’s underbrush hum by the spotlight of a glowing sliver, they begin to sparkle.

re, there, First, glimmers he n. a magician’s illusio ral melody swells While the orchest ndo, with woody cresce ms as flickers the scene transfor h the tune. tap-dance time wit grasp one, I tip-toe rollick to me to beauty, open palms welco th. s flitting above Ear grass-stained sole e.

This is our spectacl my movements, Cricket conductors match twirling tangles. whirls and leaps, hair in drop dances with me.

The glittering velvet back e. Light glimmers At once, I’ve captured on rs of my fist. between the tender finge sing bow, I generate a final spin, clo and as Dad’s voice cuts tone into the applause with a chirping of actuality, I hear insects e burnt-out in a backyard bush wher . street lamps lead me home

words are useless sometimes words aren’t enough Sheryl Humphrey

sherylhumphrey.tumblr.com

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Youth and Age

In the (k)now Knowledge is power. Power is change. Change is good.

Sylvia Bennett

YoungtheAdult ish: collateral of growing up Imagine, if you will, childhood and adulthood as two platforms on opposite ends of a tightrope. And there I am, somewhere between those realms of stability, wobbly-kneed and ready to poop out my heart. Yikes.

At this point in my life, it feels like I’ve hit this critical moment where I honestly have no idea where I am on that tightrope. Let’s take inventory: sure, I pay bills, do grocery shopping and have shares in an IRA, thanks to my parents’ strange concept of birthday gifts, but those are all horribly “adult-ish” things. I’ve even had my watch battery changed at a proper jeweler’s, the most mundane adult task I can think of.

I pay taxes-albeit minimal ones on an already meager wage from part-time jobs-but still, taxes!

I am an adult. Hmmm, I am an adult. I am an adult?

Wait, what? Ah, no.

Because on the flip side, the more I think about it, the fewer actual “adult” things I do and the crushing reality that I call my mother panicked at every gurgle in my apartment becomes more apparent, seemingly negating my ability to buy canned soup and almond milk at semi-regular intervals. Besides that, all those “adult” acts suck, like a lot. They all revolve around acting normal around strangers, wearing pants and spending an absurd amount of money on not fun things. Gross. I still watch Nickelodeon and worse, I still watch PBS Kids. Where do you think I am when “Little Bear” comes on? Watching the hell of Little Bear’s wonderful life in a Canadian log cabin, that’s what. Probably while eating a balanced meal of Shark

and Dinosaur fruit snacks, which are the best, no contest. I could happily hang out with a 3 year old. I feel we would understand each other’s creative licensing in our coloring books, jam out watching some Pixar movie in a juice box-fueled craze followed by a totally wonderful nap. Bedtime at 8 p.m.? Yes, absolutely.

Footie pajamas? I have like three pairs.

But still, the nagging lure of adulthood is there. Having a stable income, getting to travel, gin and tonics; the list of payoffs is equally endless. So where does that place me? The label “young adult” gets thrown around a lot, which is frankly confusing. Honestly,

I remember being younger, looking at my parents, and thinking about how at some moment, all knowledge necessary to become an adult would somehow just appear within my mind, and I would be filled with the innate desire to eat flaxseed and balance a checkbook. Like my Hogwarts acceptance letter, I am still waiting for that event.

This May, I graduate, and I have a mixed bag of feelings. ClichÈ, I know, but seriously, where did the time go? Like, I’m really not ready for this. Hey, someone press pause, please! Around high school, my life became fast-forwarded, an endless swirl of deadlines and decisions concerning a future I had and still have trouble envisioning. What do I want to do with my life? Christ, do you know how long it took me to find matching socks this morning, let alone me giving an answer on what I want to do with the entirety of my future. We are so busy trying to do all of these things we keep getting told we have to do for this amorphous “future:” getting excellent grades in our difficult degrees, making sure our rÈsumÈs are filled with impressive internships, volunteer work and e-board positions, but also holding down however many jobs it takes to fund our educations (those unpaid internships sure won’t) and oops, remember we’re still young, so go out and have some crazy adventures with friends, but not too crazy, and of course, eight hours of sleep a night or else.

WHAT. WHAT. WHAAAAT. Who, when, how, why?

Aaklsdjfoaiewfn! Literally, it would take 36-hour days, a steady supply of coffee (amongst other things) and a trust fund to accomplish these “absolutely necessary” tasks. To quote Jane Austen, anyone who has or is currently rocking this life must be a fearsome thing to behold. And they should come find me and tell me all their secrets because I am the mayor of Struggle Town on this front. Please, come help me. I am still trying to “find myself” and my place in the world. I need the room to make mistakes, but the cushion seems to be increasingly removed, the stakes getting higher and higher and I am so terrified of failing.

I’m really not ready for this. Hey, someone press pause, please!

Growing up has dissolved into the equivalent of getting put into a pressure cooker. Maybe everything will turn out OK in the end, but equally likely is opening the lid to find some Franken-food that self-destructs.

Youth has turned into a cage in which we are somehow supposed to not only recognize ourselves, but also be able to function perfectly in the outside world. The recent death of Leelah Alcorn reveals that the process of growing up is deeply problematic within our society. We are continually forced to conform with these unrealistic and inapplicable standards, and there are very real and painful consequence to that manipulation. For the past eight years now, my childhood has quickly morphed into a pseudo-adulthood that I’m honestly not OK with.

Everyone seems to be so obsessed with youth and stuffing as much as possible into these years, but at what price? I started high school at 13. I had to pull my first coffee-fueled all-nighter at 16. I turned 21 only a few months ago, and while I’m sure the intermittent years have better equipped me to handle the myriad of tasks I need to accomplish, I still don’t feel prepared for the madness of the world. I so want to make a difference for the better, to change the world for the benefit of us and those after us, but right now I’m struggling to keep my bamboo plant alive and I have holes in 60 percent of my socks. On paper, I suppose I am an adult. But, from the mouth of Tumblr, I’m not really an adult. I’m a child with a drinking license.

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“young adult” is one the stupidest phrases I have ever heard. I just picture a baby in a business suit, which is adorable but completely absurd. But isn’t that just this whole concept in a nutshell? Feeling younger and younger while being forced into increasingly mature roles, with equally heavy responsibilities? I don’t feel ready to successfully live on my own, yet both my grandmothers were already wives and mothers by my age. It’s a bit shaming, really. What have I done with the almost quarter-century I’ve been around?

Besides my affinity for cartoons and preschool snacks, I often feel much more immature than the role I am ultimately expected to fill.

bookmark here find your next social justice text here BROAD Readers

Released:

First edition 1987

Genre:

Novel, aphical semi-autobiogr

Cost:

First Sentence:

“Floating upward th rough a confusion of dream s and memory, curving lik ea trout through the rin gs of previous risings, I su rface.

$5.50

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words are useless

Waiting

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sometimes words aren’t enough Vlad Borimsky

quote corner

“

just words? just speeches?

Betty White

Don’t try to be young. Just open your mind. Stay interested in stuff. There are so many things I won’t live long enough to find out about, but I’m still curious about them.

You know people who are already saying, ‘I’m going to be 30-oh, what am I going to do?’ Well, use that decade! Use them all!

I may be a senior, but so what? I’m still hot.

It’s your outlook on life that counts. If you take yourself lightly and don’t take yourself too seriously, pretty soon you can find the humor in our everyday lives. And sometimes it can be a lifesaver.

Retirement is not in my vocabulary. They aren’t going to get rid of me that way.

I think it’s your mental attitude. So many of us start dreading age in high school and that’s a waste of a lovely life. ‘Oh... I’m 30, oh, I’m 40, oh, 50.’ Make the most of it.

message me we asked. you answered.

BROAD people

BROAD January 2015

Just about every day at work, with one of my favorite coworkers. We take little breaks throughout the day to watch silly youtube videos, or dance at our desks blaring a song for 10 seconds, or lately, chair dancing in the lobby as if we’re on Dancing with the Stars.

We laugh a lot. Silly stupid fun perveted nutcases. We love it.

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Babysitting

Inside R Out? White? Male? Feminist? YES. J. Curtis Main

Our first memories...

set the (old) stage

Everyday, age-reinforcing comments are made. I do it. You probably do it. We all do it, so it seems. I turned 32 just three months ago, and since I hope/ plan to live past 120 years old, well, doesn’t this mean I am quite young? And, too, if modern scientific predictions are correct, my generation should live to 120 and beyond.

Yet, everyday, I claim to feel “old.” What is “old,” anyway? At this very moment, the epiphany that allows me to answer this question has to do with where we all start life: as young people.

Do you remember much before 3 years old? 5? 10? I do not. As much child psychologists seems to suggest, most people cannot remember anything before 3, let alone much in our single digits. But when we do develop those first years of memories, we are certainly young; in the single digits and teen years.

Perhaps this is our default, our norm, as humans? We encounter and discover the world as children, then with our memories more able and set, there is a balancing of our memories. Once this default is achieved, we have more ability to look back. To reflect. To assess. To

remember. To compare.

Maybe this is where our collective reaction to aging arises? We can harken back to times when we first engaged, first remembered. Those times were formative, whether good, bad, both, or forgettable.

So am I young anymore? Yes and no. No, because my young period of forming my brain and body seem to be in the past. My brain is not as open as it used to be, nor as fast. My body continues to deteriorate, albeit slowly, albeit with much pushback

What’s happening here, though? I just assumed openness, ability, strength, and speed to be young, and their opposites to be old. I also assumed young means heart-growing.

Shall I fall back, two decades back, to Aaliyah’s hit R&B song lyric, “Age ain’t nothing but a number?”

Yes, I think it applies here. Really, age is a number.

Certainly, there are likelihoods that happen more as we age. Disease, cancer, dementia, gravity, molecular degeneration, exhaustion, cell mutation, and other time-related challenges are inevitable.

It’s not just “the old” who receive a bad rep, especially in the U.S. The very young also receive a bad rep. Do you recall, as a young person, all of the challenges you faced? Not being “old enough,” “mature enough,” or “ready”?

From being kept from certain movies, to not being allowed to ride certain rides, or drive, or have sex, or handle fire, or guns, or so on and on and on, young people are not trusted. Young people are not trusted with “adult things.”

And old people are not trusted with young things.

Older adults are stereotyped as stubborn, angry, cold, closed off, boring, slow-moving and slow to adapt, and set in their ways, to name some. It’s as if what the young cannot do, the older can, and what the older lost, the young posess.

Thus, does this mean that the middle-aged, the “middle passage,” is the golden era of living? My 20s

It’s as if what the young cannot do, the older can, and what the older lost, the young posess. to 50s are just perfect? Some would say yes, they are quite nice. Others argue that childhood was amazing, intense, and anything but boring. Yet still, others claim that the golden years are really the golden era.

Where do I fall in all this? I don’t fall, I stay up, regardless of age. I believe age to be a number, yes. Beyond that, and beyond that inevitable degredation of our bodies and cells, its up to us.

My dear roommate, Gaby, and I had a joyous moment just days ago when we both shared our inner kids. Our inner kids? By this, we were connecting with how we both still find life fascinating, amusing, and fun. Many people, especially middle-aged people, seem to want us to shake this “wonder” and “wander” out of us. Yet it persists.

Again, it’s not about number. It’s about that wonderment, that adventure of life. Once we lose the excitement of the world, as if the world is old, we get “old.”

But, I think, if we keep that same energy the world offers us, that boundless, endless, incredible energy the world thrusts at us constantly, if we live like that, old is new, old is young, and in the end, young is old.

My hope is that we all give less attention and reinforcement to values on young and old. In doing so, perhaps we can relish worlds of wonder.

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from me. Yes, I am still young in this regard, though, because my heart is still growing and forming. This, I believe, to be a life’s work. I am young, young at heart? Plus, even if my brain is not as quick as I believe it once was, it’s deeper and more complex.

message me we asked. you answered.

BROAD people

January 2015

BROAD Info + Editors BROAD Info + Editors

BROAD

ADS MAD TE QUO ER N COR

tell-a-vision visions & revisions of our culture(s) Bill Maher on ageism

AL L TE ON VISI

-ATELL N VISIO

EN/ SCRE Y PLA

COR E T QUO ER N

ARK M K BOO RE HE

BROAD N ATIO LIBER ERS D LEA

LTY FACU D E E F

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ING VISIT R O T EDI

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ADS BRO

GOT E’VE W Do you agree that ageism is the “last acceptable form of prejudice in America”?

MAIL E In what ways do you see ageism in your life?

ANC ADV In your opinion, why is ageism often overlooked O when discussing prejudices?

MICR S E R G A NS SHU

Link:

youtube.com/watch?v=QyqkyvhMoUY

D A O BR

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1.

2.

3.

R NTEE VOLU CES VOI

EER CAR L CAL

AD BRO P C RE A

Consider:

WLA ED IMAT REAN

(not) buying it

* madads’ has a new name!

busted advertising, bustling economy Cartoons

Consider: 1. What do you think of these cartoons?

2. Are they perpetuating ageist ideas, or satirically poking fun at ageists?

3. What message do they send?

4. Beyond age, what else are they reinforcing? For example, who is excluded?

NOT BUYING IT!

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Kaleidescope Shifting Perspectives on Our Modern World Sabrina Minhas

The Passage of Time: editing our heritage A large crowd gathers in the center of the village, cheering in a frenzy and fueled by religious fervor.

You push through the sea of white, the traditional color of mourning in India, to discover that the crowd is surrounding a funeral pyre. A woman steps out into the crowd. She is young and breathtakingly beautiful, dressed in a white sari. Her face is stoic and determined as she whispers tender promises to her deceased husband and chants a Hindu mantra. She is surrounded by her extended family and village elders who believe a Goddess has bestowed her with the

courage and power necessary to complete the highest expression of religious piety and wifely devotion. She serenely steps onto the funeral pyre, cradles her deceased husband’s head in her lap and is swallowed by flames that crackle as they leap out from the intricate wooden structure. The stench of smoke and charred flesh pervade the air.

That is how many firsthand accounts recall Roop Kanwar’s death on September 4, 1987 in Rajasthan, India.

Many of the police reports, however, tell a different story.

They describe how an 18-year-old woman was coerced into stepping on the funeral pyre of her deceased husband or physically forced onto the burning wood.

She screamed out in agony, begging for help from the curious crowd of villagers who had gathered around the pyre. They watched in awe but did not save her from being burned alive. The reports described sati, the practice of burning widows with their deceased husbands that had been outlawed in India over a century prior to Kanwar’s death.

The story erupted worldwide in the media, sparking a feud between orthodox Hindus and progressive Indians. Hindus in Rajasthan fought to preserve a cultural tradition steeped in religious significance and social implications, claiming that a government aimed at

The government responding by creating the Commission of Sati (Prevention) Act, 1987, resulting in stricter punishments for entire communities that supported sati, including increased prison terms and fines. The act included an educational component that aimed to change perceptions of women as the culprits of sati.

Over a decade after Kanwar’s death, the police kept her burial site bare to prevent the glorification of her death. They still saw, however, villagers visiting Kanwar’s family out of respect and bowing their heads in reverence as they walked by the site.

Sati, or widow burning, existed for centuries. The practice is named after a Goddess who self-immolated because her father disgraced her husband, the god Shiva. Sati was first mentioned in the Mahabharata, an ancient Indian epic, in 300 B.C, and was commended in religious Hindu texts that followed. Sati was as glorified as death in battle. It was believed that sati would purge a woman of all her sins, ensuring her salvation and the salvation of her deceased husband.

It was popular among communities of all castes and educational backgrounds, eventually becoming most prevalent in northern India. It was estimated that 618 instances of Sati were documented each year in the 1800s, but it is widely believed that this is a gross underestimation. Women who did not self-immolate became financial burdens on their extended families and were unable to contribute as wives or mothers, the roles most valued for Hindu women. Widows became dehumanized, ostracized to the lowest caste in society and forced to live lives devoid of pleasure. They were required to dress in white saris, shave their heads, eat only boiled rice, sleep on thin and course mats and retreat from social activities.

Sati is illegal in India. Cases are rare but occur on occasion. Widows in India, however, still face discrimination and hardship.

The length of time in which activists spread awareness and fought for change nearly eliminated a destructive tradition in India. In our daily lives, the passage of time shifts the expectations of what we must accomplish and how we must behave. In the scope of social justice issues, however, the passage of time reflects a constant struggle to reconcile the tension between tradition and modernization.

Sati was as glorified as death in battle.

It was believed that sati would purge a woman of all her sins, ensuring her salvation and the salvation of her deceased husband.

This is a tension I am acutely aware of in my own life as an Indian woman growing up in the United States. I have experienced the conflict of retaining Indian traditions and expectations while yearning for the freedom and independence integral to American culture. I have felt pride for my heritage. I am astounded by the diversity within India, allowing one nation to house an array of languages, regional identities and natural wonders.

I am amazed by a culture that allows vibrant art and cuisine to coexist with steadfast duty toward community and family. I have also struggled with the aspects of my heritage that I cannot accept. I am outraged by the treatment of women in India that is only beginning to change. I am heartbroken by the poverty that leaves entire communities destitute. I am frustrated by the challenges in implementing change in a complex country. I realized, however, that India is not the only country with harmful traditions.

The truth is that tradition has often been cruel to women. Foot binding in China rendered women immobile. Genital mutilation occurs in a variety of communities throughout the world to control women’s sexuality and force them into societal standards of purity. The preference of boys over girls throughout Asia and the Middle East results in infanticide, abandonment or early marriages for girls. Violence against women and hate crimes against minority communities are prevalent throughout the world, including forms of torture and sexual violence. Structural discrimination prevented women from obtaining equal rights in nearly every community. This is not the mark of any single

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preserving Indian culture could not destroy an ancient practice. Progressive Indians argued that the practice was barbaric, dehumanizing women and destroying their right to live with dignity.

The ordination of women to the Catholic priesthood is an example of such a debate. culture; this seems to be a heritage we all share.

The passage of time provides opportunities to reevaluate our traditions. We have the choice to preserve the pieces of our culture that contribute to the beauty and complexity of our world. We can honor the languages that carry our ancestry, the art that reflects our perspectives, the cuisine shaped by our land and beliefs, the architecture that shapes our cities and the ideologies that sustain our people. We have the power to disregard the pieces of our cultures that cause harm, devaluing individuals and marginalizing communities.

In retrospect, it is often apparent which traditions needed to be disregarded. Debates in the future, however, are not so clear. After all, it is difficult to determine who will decide which aspects of a culture should be retained and which ones are detrimental.

These debates will not always be for the prevention of bodily harm. The questions we face also determine the opportunities for fulfilment and happiness that are available to marginalized communities.

The ordination of women to the Catholic priesthood is an example of such a debate.

Tradition tells us that women cannot be priests. Only baptized men can be ordained to the priesthood.

Priests act in the role of Christ or as an extension of Him, and must reflect Christ to fulfill this requirement.

The Church believes that men and women are inherently different, fulfilling different and complimentary roles. A woman simply cannot fulfill the same role meant for a man. These are unchanging truths and challenging them suggests that God made a mistake. These are just some of the reasons given for this tradition. Those who are more knowledgeable about Catholicism will have a deeper understanding of these and other reasons for the existence of an all-male priesthood.

Feminists, however, are challenging these notions.

Women were given the full sacramental ordination of deacons by the Church until the ninth century. Women share equally in the priesthood of Christ through baptism. Women are the image of Christ because Christ can be seen in every person. Women who feel called to priesthood are experiencing a sign of the Holy Spirit.

These are historical and spiritual arguments in support of women priests. Feminists argue that denying ordination for women as priests is caused by historical and structural sexism prevalent when these practices were first implemented. Women are devalued because of institutional claims that they lack spiritual power, forcing women into positions of obedience instead of power despite the potential complimentary role women fulfill. The truth may not be fully revealed and it may be time to disregard historical biases. The Church has the potential to improve economic and social justice for women worldwide by including women as equals in its leadership.

We are still in the crux of this debate. We have yet to weigh the cultural significance of this tradition to the possible harm it may inflict. The passage of time continues to provide opportunities to educate ourselves and others about theology and social justice, and fight for the changes we deem worthy. In this constant tension between tradition and modernity, we have the exciting challenge of navigating nuances and finding a new balance.

words are useless

rwandan face

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sometimes words aren’t enough Robert Mahosky

message me we asked. you answered.

BROAD people

BROAD January 2015

Name a time when you’ve acted older than your age.

In bars

Becoming financially independent

Taking care of siblings

Being the bigger person

Most always, apparently. Ever since I was young, I’ve been more comfortable with older generations doing “older” things and being more mature.

Signing my first lease

Never

Getting a job when I was 14

search this

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warning: results with assumptions Older

Sanity Optional beyond this point Peach Stephan

childhood was beautiful, nothing hurt I recall my adolescence best through Vonnegut’s words, “Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.” Nothing, that is, except in first grade when my mother forced me to wear a pumpkin-printed turtleneck to school and it matched the teacher exactly. That hurt.

But when I was looking through my old journals for inspiration about what to write this column about, I realized that a lot of things hurt. Some complaints were valid, others were melodramatic. And while I prefer to think of being so young as a mere happy blur now, the truth is that I was constantly frustrated to be held back by age and the limitations that go with it: money, location, family, residence, schooling, pressure from elders, shyness, transportation, and expectations. Being reliant can make it difficult to be your own person with your own thoughts and goals. So for BROAD’s c(age)s issue, here are only the most cynical of my naked thoughts, age 15-17.

Age 15: I really really really really really really really don’t wanna be fat.

I let another chance to break up with my boyfriend pass.

Last week I thought he was gorgeous but this week I just don’t.

Someday I will do better than my sister and I’ll be something that will wow everybody and I’ll be appreciated and prove Tom, Matt, Katie, Mrs. king, and everybody wrong.

The more I talked to my cousin who lives in NYC, the more sure I became that I wanted to be there. I even practiced telling people I wanted to be a journalist, but I never did tell anyone.

I JUST GOT PANTSED In front of James. BLAH!

I run because no matter what is going on when you leave it will be resolved when you return.

Intelligence is more than IQ and grades. It’s management, balance, and peace of mind.

I don’t know who I am. A passionless, pondering loner.

I didn’t feel good in anything I wore this week. Except Monday, which was pajama day.

Fuck you, fuck this town, I’m sick and fucking tired of all your fucking around.

I just love chocolate.

Everyone is always crossing rooms to talk to Maxine.

Dad dismissed it and talked really enthusiastically about tomatoes. He is SO weird sometimes.

I would be perfectly fine if all boys just got their dicks stuck in a fence.

I’m not good...at anything.

Sam talked to me today.

Sometimes I think my sister might be a lesbian?

How can I focus on my homework when all I can think about is boys.

I wanna go someplace do something be someone--anything to make me feel alive.

Age 16: I’m restless and need to get myself a life.

All I want out of my sister is a friend.

So fucking bored When I have alone time I think too much.

It would be accurate to say that I do not like any of the teachers I have had in my entire high school career excluding Mrs. Frederick.

My sister is quite possibly thee laziest person I have ever met.

The summer is a bummer if you cant leave this pathetic excuse for a town.

I hate the tv.

If I were an American girl doll my story would be called Peach Fucks Up Big Time.

Dear mother, I know it is fun to jump on the crazy train every now and then , but it is time to get off. You are a disaster.

With Love, Peach.

My sister needs to leave...now.

There is something about being 16 that makes you want to shrink the earth into a tiny ball and bounce it around the entire universe.

My goal is to never ever judge, glare at, or stereotype anyone again, ever.

My god sometimes Im the only adult in this whole house.

My dog died and all I want to do is sob everyday.

Counting down the days till my sister goes back to college.

I got a question why ya hatin on me?

More to life than trying to survive.

Sometimes I eat chocolate and just don’t give a damn.

Jimmy Stavinski probably doesn’t like me.

Age 17: I though I would look much different when I was seven fucking teen.

I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.

This town is boring and depressing.

My boss is a DOO-DOO BRAIN!!

Somebody is going to read this, and whoever you are, YOU SUCK I wish that it wasn’t so windy today I wish more people lived in this small town I wish I could heal mom and dad’s midlife crises I wish my mom didn’t talk to me about my sister maybe being a lesbian I wish I could read all day I wish school wasn’t so dumb I wish people wouldn’t die of sicknesses I wish I could do more to help people I wish people were nicer I wish girls cared less about prom dresses and more about global issues I wish the A-Town population didn’t have sticks up their asses

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I would be perfectly fine if all boys just got their dicks stuck in a fence.

I hate clouds and I hate pizza. I hate thinking about money I hate pretending and I hate kids. I HATE this town and work and wanna be anywhere than here. I hate sex and I hate my friend’s boyfriend I hate Bianca Jones and I hate Mrs. Kittle and I hate Ken and I hate Austin but most of all I hate Katie. I really hate Katie. And I hate hating Katie.

I am thankful for chocolate chip cookies.

Books.

I wish I could float away on a balloon I wish I could turn off my brain sometimes I got so bored today that I went to marc’s to buy bananas.

I’m hungry for wonderful.

What we have here is special, but it is not significant.

Sometimes I just don’t know.

My mother does not understand a word that comes out of my mouth.

My opinions tend to offend people so I mostly don’t say anything.

There is a difference between talking and discussing I hope to have a journey instead of a life.

I can understand how one can be overweight, but not obese.

My problems are so miniscule.

There is a fine line between being real and being mean and I never cross it.

I don’t think anybody particularly likes or dislikes me but I don’t really care.

I hate having to wear my tan shirt to work. I feel like a freak.

I can never sleep.

What is it all for?

Sometimes volunteering deeply affects me but I cant verbalize what I feel in a way that is corrigible to others.

All I can really do is wither up and weep in the corner of the shower.

The one good thing about thinking about Jacob is that I don’t have to think about Mike.

Stop getting fat you have your whole life ahead of you.

School is full of fake hoes.

I feel like myself.

When I look at the pimples on my back I wonder if anything will ever be simple again.

Why would you be content when you can be ECSTATIC This town is weird.

Being old seems less than pleasant.

Teachers’ understanding of material is sub-par.

Sometimes I’m bored but sometimes I’m baffled.

Nothing makes me happy Not even tv Or a bunch of weed Everybody is lonely. Think about that.

Do you think I will still have theses type of thoughts when I grow up?

I know I’m a bitch I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it.

If fucking and eating are what most people would do at the end of the world, does it not get better than that?

I really don’t know what its all about.

Screw it all and just have a bitchin good time.

Tests are nothing but an idea.

Moe Singh told me he’d beat me up so bad if I was a guy.

But I would kick his ass.

Everybody ought to stop trying to figure me out because it’s not going to work.

I forgive people so easily.

I wish nobody’d thrown me a surprise party. I waited 15 minutes debating to go in and despised every moment that I wasn’t drunk for. I really am sorry. What is my problem anyway The thing I like about working is that for a few hours, I can just be a simple girl who scoops ice cream.

Sometimes I swear I am a child.

I don’t really know you, and I don’t think I want to.

So over going to parties.

Sometimes I don’t want to go to college. Ok, a lot.

I am stoopid with two o’s.

I really feel Holden Caulfield when he said he wanted to be a catcher in the rye.

Got to get out of here.

I wish I could shove my ass in people’s face then fart in it.

There’s nothing left for me here.

Put that in your peace pipe and smoke it.

Andrew is cool but he doesn’t understand me.

Not going to prom, why would I want to?

This place is a pleasant nightmare.

Old peach was so innocent and different yet the same.

I only wish I could have been this free earlier.

Mother is making me go to prom she honestly gets upset over the dumbest things.

Ugh sometimes I just get so overwhelmed by my thoughts.

I think I will wear a burlap sack to prom.

Adam is a chump, much like other boys.

Prom is a night to forget.

I just wish I had someone to talk to who could semi-understand or at least absorb my thoughts without accusing me of being high.

I don’t want my grandmother to ever die.

I don’t understand how there can be about 90 versions of The Great Gatsby movies but not one of the Catcher in the Rye. Both are wonderful works. However a story of love (Gatsby) is a nice fantasy, while a story of loneliness (Catcher) is a nice reality.

Looking back on all this teen angst, I realize that the only cage around me was myself. Even though I was dying for the excitement of an urban environment, opportunities for creating change, building meaningful relationships, and having fun are not location exclusive. If only I could have gotten my head out of the clouds and been more open to the people around me-whom I had always thought were the closed-minded ones-I wouldn’t have had to be such an unpleasant, cynical little person.

words are useless

Woman in Pink Hat

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sometimes words aren’t enough Robert Mahosky

The Pink Paperbacks Novel reflections from a bibliophilic feminist Ellie Diaz

The Illustrative Illusion Behind “The Giving Tree” “Once there was a tree...and she loved a little boy.”

If you’re like me, you grew up with a story about a generous tree who watches a boy grow up. With love seeping from her roots, she allows the once playful child to return as a teenager who gathers her apples to sell, as a young man who uses her branches to build a house, as an aging man who cuts down her trunk to build a boat and then finally as an old man who sits on her stump to rest. Most readers can still imagine the vivid illustration of the full and lively tree extending a branch to drop an apple into the open arms of an overall-clad boy.

Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree recently celebrated its 50th anniversary and storms of comments flooded the bibliophilic community critiquing the beloved yet flawed children’s book.

Even after being a half-century old, The Giving Tree is still wildly popular. Published in 1964, the award-winning book has been translated into more than 30 languages. The controversy surrounding the novel doesn’t diminish the accomplishments of Silverstein, author of Where the Sidewalk Ends and A Light in the Attic. His imagination stretches from the pages of the whimsical topsy-turvy world he conjures and grows in the minds of readers. The children’s poet was born right here, in Chicago, in 1930 and began his career as a cartoonist, working his way into the pages of Playboy. He was also an accomplished musician and composer who wrote

The Giving Tree is on both the “favorite” and “least favorite” reading lists for children and it’s easy to discover why. The book touches on generosity as the giving tree, well, gives, without asking anything in return.

She surrenders her whole being for the happiness of the unsatisfied boy. In return, the boy offers no “thank you’s” or “pleases’s” and the majority of the sentences the boy speaks begin with “I want.” The boy takes, the tree gives, until she’s nothing more than a stump.

The Goodreads comment section for the novel reflects the controversy. The discussions tend to be comical, if not a bit rancorous. One user gave it one out of five stars and admits, “Co-dependent tree needs to set some fucking boundaries” while another critic explains, “It’s a story about growing up, life, love and pulling your head out of your butt long enough to appreciate and respect what you already have before it’s too late.”

The conviction of the extremely selfish boy is so popular that in 2010, Shrill Travesty wrote “The Taking Tree: A Selfish Parody.” The Simon & Schuster description describes the boy as a jerk who cuts the tree’s branches to build a house that he later burns for insurance money. The tree gets “fed up” with the boy’s actions and takes measures into her own hands (or branches).

“We all know the story of the ‘selfless’ tree that gave all she had just to make sure a young boy was ‘happy.’

Snore...While another story might end sweetly with an old man sitting on a stump, this one does not,” states the book’s humorous description.

The book also gets flack from the parenting community. Some believe that the tree, acting as a motherly figure, sets a bad example when she relentlessly provides for the child without expecting anything in return. In “The Uncomfortable Truth in The Giving Tree,” author Elissa Strauss claims both characters can’t seem to resolve their problems of co-dependence and compares it to Disney orphans such as Aladdin, Peter Pan and Snow White.

“Orphans are the embodiment of every childhood fantasy and fear,” Strauss writes in The Week. “The moment we become aware that we are separate beings from our parents, we begin to experience conflicting desires. We long to escape our parents as

well as never leave their side...We worry about what might happen should we become independent, yet we struggle to gain freedom.”

It’s true that both the tree and boy depend on each other, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the love in the book is reciprocal, at least not in the same way.

It’s true that both the tree and boy depend on each other, but that doesn’t necessarily mean the love in the book is reciprocal, at least not in the same way.

One passage explains, “And when he was tired, he would sleep in her shade. And the boy loved the tree...very much.” Would the boy visit the tree if she didn’t have anything to offer? I don’t think so. If the book was simply labeled, “The Tree,” I don’t suppose the boy would visit for a chat.

If applied to the popular “Five Love Languages,” the boy and tree communicate and receive their love in different ways. The boy finds love in receiving gifts while the tree finds affirmation in quality time or acts of service.

When asked to defend the book, Silverstein would repeatedly reply, “It’s just a relationship between two people; one gives and the other takes.” This isn’t what I expected to hear from the creator of the tree that left a mark in my imagination. Apply this quote to any relationship you’ve had and you hit a wall.

The ending of The Giving Tree seems like it comes to a resolution, but the truth is still hidden behind illusive words that conflict with the illustrations.

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Jonny Cash’s “A Boy Named Sue.” He was born into a family that struggled during the Great Depression and may have suffered from dyslexia. His triumphs in the art world are significant and honorable.

After the boy strips the tree of her appearance and uses her resources as money, transportation and a playground, is she finally happy? I argue yes. The last line of the story reads, “And the tree was happy.”

But are the readers happy? What about the boy? As author Rivka Galchen notes in The New York Times book review, “Silverstein would have made it funny, if that was what it was meant to be.”

The last illustration shows a barefoot old man.

His back is curved as if he carries an enormous weight and his nose sags toward the ground. He’s left staring expressionless out into the forest and readers are left wondering if he’s replaying childhood memories or planning his next disappearing act from his leafy friend. Readers wait for the boy to find out that happiness can’t be found in the material value of wood or apples and one can’t escape from one’s problems with a canoe. Readers want the boy to realize that happiness can be found in the company of a familiar friend. But this revelation never explicitly occurs and we’re left with a diminished tree and a sad aging man.

“The boy and the tree are just like the rest of us: they can’t get no satisfaction,” writes Strauss. “Neither (one) can break away from this pattern, which is why the ending is so tragic.”

Although the tree is happy, the once playful boy seems lost and dejected, leaving readers with a pang of realization as they close the book and imagine the once youthful boy swinging on the tree’s branches and remember how he once used to be satisfied with the simply company of an old friend. The book ends on a false note of happiness and even Silverstein admits it “has a pretty sad ending.”

The novel’s happiness may be an illusion, but that doesn’t mean I won’t read it to children, or anyone that will listen. I love The Giving Tree. I love the whimsical illustrations and I especially will always remember how the tree shook her leaves with joy when the boy arrived. It seems that other readers found something to remember too. When you type “The Giving Tree” into Google, you’ll find pictures not only of the original illustrations but also of iPhone art, artists’ interpretations, tattoos (Ryan Gosling, is that you?) reimagined comics, craft ideas, nonprofit organizations and counseling offices.

The beauty of books, or any work of art, is that you can interpret it however you please and fit it into your own world experiences. One could argue that the message of the story is that you can always keep giving until

it seems you have nothing left or one can even make the case that the book touches on themes of environmentalism. There’s a myriad of choices waiting to be expressed in online comment sections or between friends.

The Giving Tree means something. What does it mean to you?

words are useless

OLD WOMAN

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sometimes words aren’t enough Naomi Shanti

XX Marks the Spot Remapping Our Destinies Meagan Cook

Older Adults, Aging, & Theory: Deconstructing the Myths of Aging “Oh, no. I don’t know any elderly people. I don’t have anyone over the age of 60 that I can talk to. Who am I going to interview? How will I complete this assignment?” These were the thoughts that ran through my head on the very first day of Social Work 305 when we discussed the requirements for our third paper assignment. I was honestly at a loss for what to do.

I didn’t have any close family or friends that I could turn to; my maternal grandparents passed away when I was very young and my immediate family is somewhat estranged from my dad’s parents. I spent a majority of the semester pondering who I could possibly interview and as time passed, I felt increasingly discomforted by my failure to come up with an acceptable candidate. It’s always been hard for me to accept the fact that my paternal grandparents don’t wish to be a large part of my life, and I’ve never had the opportunity to form a lasting relationship with any other older adults.

As the semester sped by, I still couldn’t think of anyone I knew who fit the criteria for the paper. The Clare was right next door to campus, but I was extremely hesitant to contact a nursing home. I’d heard nothing but great things about The Clare from my friends who volunteer there, but I still had so many preconceived notions about what nursing homes were like. The one and only time I had ever set foot in a nursing home, it felt too much like a hospital; everything was so sterile

and bland, yet it still somehow managed to smell like urine. None of the residents looked happy, either.

Eventually, I realized I had no other options and I was rapidly running out of time. I contacted the director of resident services at The Clare and she responded with the names of a husband and wife who were willing to meet with me. I was incredibly grateful that the director had responded to me so quickly and that she was able to match me with residents, yet being asked to interview two older adults instead of just one only increased my apprehension about the whole endeavor. I now had a whole new set of concerns: how was I supposed to tie two people into an assignment that is only supposed to cover one individual? What if one or both of them didn’t like me? What if, like my grandparents, they were abrasive and judgmental?

By far, one of the most challenging aspects of this assignment was moving past my idea of old people as crotchety and uncaring. This is a population which I had very little personal or professional experience with, and the few interactions I’ve had in the past did not encourage me to pursue work with this population in the future. That was another very challenging aspect of this assignment; I knew it was going to be a rather long and involved process with three separate interviews and a subsequent paper, and I felt like I did not have much intrinsic motivation to complete this assignment. In addition to my biases against older

adults and my motivation being completely extrinsically driven, I knew that finding the time to do the interviews was going to be extremely challenging.

Among the myths of aging that Harrigan and Farmer discuss in their article “The Myths and Facts of Aging,” “leisure time” perpetuates the idea that older adults “desire to be left alone and spend most of their time watching television” (1992, p.55). I’d heard from classmates that the residents at The Clare are extremely active and that it was often hard for them to coordinate their busy student schedules with residents.

I knew from previous personal experience that the elderly often live very involved lives. My grandparents are often too busy traveling or working to attend graduations or family vacations, which are things that are very important to me as a young adult. I knew that the leisure time myth was false, but in its place I developed a myth that perpetuated the exact opposite. I believed that older adults were almost too active and that they were so involved in so many things that they didn’t have room to fit anything else into their already full schedules, nor did they want to.

To be honest, I used my biases against older adults as an excuse to procrastinate the interview for as long as possible. After receiving their contact information from the director, I let over two weeks pass by before reaching out to the couple at The Clare because I was so afraid that they wouldn’t have time to meet with me, and if they did finally meet with me, they wouldn’t like me very much. I contacted the couple (who for the purpose of this article, I will refer to as the “Smiths”) for the first time while I was home for Thanksgiving break. While I was home over the break, I had a chance to reflect on my personal biases and move on from them. I realized that as a professional social worker, I will not have the luxury of letting my

When I finally picked up the phone to call the Smiths, I reached their voicemail and my spirits were crushed.

I left them a message, not expecting to hear back but planning to try again in a few days. To my surprise, the very next morning the wife, who I will call “Jane,” returned my phone call. She told me that her husband had already been paired with another student, but she would love to share her story with me. Her voice was so kind and inviting and she was so enthusiastic about sharing her experiences that I felt immediate relief. We agreed on a date and time to meet in person without any conflicts and since I had her attention, I went ahead and asked her to tell me a little bit about her life at The Clare.

Jane and her husband moved into The Clare in September 2014 after dividing the past few years between their vacation home in Florida and their condo in the city. Her husband has both prostate and lung cancer and the traveling back and forth just became too much for him. While her husband underwent chemotherapy, Jane was responsible for overseeing the move from their Chicago condo to The Clare, as well as ensuring that all of the things in their Florida home were sold or put into storage. On top of all that, her husband had come down with pneumonia and lost a majority of his hearing so Jane was responsible for making all of his medical appointments for him because he could no longer use the phone. Jane informed me that she and her husband chose to move to The Clare as a way to prepare for their anticipated future needs. Her husband, who is 10 years her senior, could no longer take care of himself and she could no longer take care of him on her own. Jane has health issues of her own that make it increasingly difficult to do the bulk of the care for her husband. She already had two knee replacements and is in need of a hip replacement.

While Jane was sharing her story, my mind kept going back to the dependency myth that Harrigan and Farmer discuss (1992). This myth states that “old people are dependent and need someone to take care of them” (p.46). I felt as if this myth was being both deconstructed and reinforced at the same time.

Jane is still wholly independent; she can still perform “basic self-maintenance functions, such as dressing, cooking, shopping, and handling finances” (p.47). She clearly feels a sense of pride in her ability to maintain control over her life and that she still has the capability to make important decisions, such as the choice to move into an assisted living facility.

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Her voice was so kind and inviting and she was so enthusiastic about sharing her experiences that I felt immediate relief.

personal life get in the way of completing a task.

Her husband, on the other hand, reinforces the dependency myth as he can no longer perform basic self-maintenance functions. Harrigan and Farmer point out that: “Normal aging processes lead to increased dependencies among the elderly...As physical changes such as hearing and sight loss occur, the older person may become dependent on someone else for transportation, home repairs, and house work. If chronic medical conditions exist... the aged person may be dependent upon others for the basics of daily living.” (1992, p.47) Unfortunately, old age and poor health rendered Mr. Smith dependent upon his wife and the staff of The Clare. However, I was extremely impressed with the way Jane handled all of the changes that came with her husband’s declining health and how the Smiths had been so proactive in making preparations for their future. As Harrigan and Farmer mention in their article, independence is a trait that is highly valued in American society (1992). Yet, it is easy to forget that growing old is inevitable and with old age comes unavoidable challenges that change the way we live.

I must admit, before my interviews with Jane, I held many of the myths listed in “The Myths and Facts of Aging” to be true of all older adults. I thought all elderly people were senile, set in their ways, sickly and not only unattractive, but smelly and unclean. I think that my stereotypical ideas about elderly people could be explained by the “subculture of aging theory” presented in the article. This theory “presents the elderly as a minority group. Thus, behavior is predicted when minority status propositions are applied...the elderly have an affinity towards

each other and are simultaneously excluded by other groups based on age alone, however this theory does not always account for the high degree of heterogeneity within the aged population” (1992, p.31-32).

As I mentioned before, older adults are not a population with which I interact on a regular basis, so in my mind I had grouped them into one all-encompassing category. I had never before fully considered the fact the elderly population is actually quite diverse. Everyone gets old. It’s a fact of human life, which means that those who fall into the age range of older adults are of different races, ethnicities, religions, sexualities and socioeconomic backgrounds. Just like social work practice with any other population, making assumptions about an elderly person based on stereotypes and biases is extremely harmful.

Because my grandparents are so distant from the rest of my family, I believed in the “isolation” myth for most of my life. My grandparents live on their own in Florida, as far away as possible from any number of family members spread across the country. They never come to birthday or holiday celebrations or take part in family gatherings. They are fine on their own and they actually prefer it that way. With that said, it was incredibly refreshing for me to hear that Jane sees her family essential to her experiences in older adulthood. Jane and her husband were both brought up in relatively big families; Jane has two brothers and her husband has five siblings. In turn, they managed to raise a large family of their own. Jane has two kids from a previous marriage and her husband has five; combined they have eight grandchildren and two great grandchildren.

Rather than discuss her own personal past and development, a large majority of our second and third encounters was spent talking about the lives and accom-

Jane graduated from Pembroke College, the sister school of Brown University, in 1966, at a time when there were not many career options for women. She got married right out of college, had children and was a stay at home mom for many years. After she got a divorce from her first husband, Jane got a position as a secretary at a healthcare company. Though she moved between various companies, she remained in a secretarial position for the majority of her career. Jane was proud of what she’d done in her thirty-two year career, yet she was more excited to tell me about her granddaughter, who is studying civil engineering at Purdue, than she was to talk about herself.

Jane is extremely close to her children and grandchildren. When I visited her for the first time in person, it was a Wednesday afternoon and she had just finished cleaning the apartment after having a son and his wife and kids visit them over the weekend. She was preparing for the next set of family to visit the following weekend. Some of her family lives as close as Naperville and some live as far as Indiana, but they all make the time to visit, which has clear positive impacts on her mental health and helps relieve the stress she feels from caring for her husband. When he was in the hospital with pneumonia, for example, the whole family joined together to offer love and support. Jane told me that it was this support system that kept Mr. Smith alive, and it is this support that keeps her healthy and happy. This is perfectly in line with what McInnis-Dittrich says in Social Work with Older Adults: A bio-psychosocial approach to assessment and intervention. McInnis-Dittrich states, “The presence or lack of a family support system has a dramatic effect on an older adult’s ability to remain living independently” (2009, p. 5). At the end of our final meeting, when I asked her to tell me some of the most significant accomplishments in her life, the very first thing she listed was her children.

Speaking with Jane really changed the way I view older adults. Her stories were unique and entertaining, and she had many insightful things to say as she looked back through her life. Jane is a person who lives her life free of regret. She is happy with the choices she made and the people whom she surrounded herself with.

Although her life now has added challenges, she takes it all in stride and never once complained during our time together. After pondering over the “The Myths and Facts of Aging” and considering how many of them Jane didn’t fit, I was shocked by how deeply embedded my stereotypes of older adults truly were. Before this assignment, I had only ever considered a caricature of

older adults, specifically those in residential facilities, as someone with grey hair and wrinkly skin who spent most of the day knitting or reading. What I learned from this assignment can be summarized perfectly in the words of McInnis-Dittrich: “How older adults adapt to the myriad bio-psychosocial changes that accompany aging is as unique as older adults themselves. For example, although physical changes inherent in the aging process follow a definite pattern, how biological changes affect each older adult varies based on difference in genetic makeup, lifestyle choices, and even personal attitudes toward the aging process...the psychological and cognitive challenges facing all older adults may be similar, but not every older adult will face loneliness, depression, or intellectual decline...all the bio- psychosocial changes associated with the aging process have both objective and subjective components” (2009, p.2).

Before this assignment, not only did I have biases against older adults but I also had stereotypes of social work with older adults. I imagined gerontological social work to be routine and boring, but after hearing all of the programs that are offered at The Clare, which is just one facility, I understand that there are more options than I ever could have imagined. McInnis-Dittrich points out that like older adults themselves, the role of social workers in elder care is extremely broad: “Older adults’ need for social services falls along a broad continuum. Likewise, social workers’ roles range from the traditional assistance as broker, advocate, case manager, or therapist to nontraditional roles such as exercise coach, yoga teacher, and spiritual counselor...With only 4.5 percent of the older population in nursing homes, geriatric care management, social service agencies, home health care agencies, adult day health, independent and assisted-living settings, legal clinics, and preretirement planning are more common settings for direct service or clinical practice.

The future roles of social workers in the field of aging are limited only by practitioners’ imagination and initiative” (2009, p. 10).

In short, this assignment has taught me many valuable lessons about social work practice. For one, it helped me recognize and overcome a huge bias I had against an entire population, and it showed me that real life experience is more impactful than just reading a book. click for CONTENTS

plishments of her children and grandchildren.

QUOTE CORNER

tell-a-vision

MADADS

visions & revisions of our culture(s) “The Period Poem” by Dominique Christina

TELL-AVISION

SCREEN/ PLAY

BOOKMA RK HERE

TELL-AVISION

QUOTE C ORNER

BROAD FACULTY FEED

BROAD RECAP

BROADSID

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Consider:

1. Did you experience any shaming during coming-of-age moments?

MICRO 2. What effects did it have?

AGRES 3. How does “The Period Poem” address shaming of women’s bodies?

SHU NS

LIBERATIO N LEADERS

CAREER CALL

VISITING EDITOR

ADVANC

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Link:

youtube.com/watch?v=4vu2BsePvoI

BROAD

WLA REANIMA TED

VOLUNTEE R VOICES

MESSAGE

ME

WE’VE GO T MAIL

bookmark here find your next social justice text here BROAD Readers

First Sentence:

Released:

1986 and 1995

Genre:

ture Children’s Litera

“A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.”

otes: Notable Qu you for always, as

Through illustrations by Sheila McGraw, Robert Munsch shares the story of a mother who watches her son grow from a newborn to a toddler, a 9-year-old preteen, a teenager and finally into an adult. Throughout each transition, the loving mother creeps into her son’s room and silently sings him the “Love You Forever” song. When she’s too old to sing it to him, the son cradles his mother’s frail body and repeats it to her. Then he comes home, picks up his baby girl and rocks her back and forth while singing the lullaby about eternal and unwavering love.

Limitations:

Recommendation:

million copies It’s no surprise that 15 beloved chilhave been sold of this e of unfaltering dren’s book. The them ns makes this a love through generatio arents, parents perfect story for grandp equal give and and children. There’s an and their chiltake between parents love lullaby will dren in the story. The , especially after echo in readers’ minds ote the song for Munsch explains he wr . his two stillborn babies

The award-winning Canadian book has gotten some flack from the parenting community who feels that the mother shouldn’t coddle her adult son and suggests she loosen her grip on her only child. The illustrations in the 1995 version are detailed yet forgettable (except for the picture with the frail mother climbing a ladder into her full-grown son’s home to cradle him on her lap) while the cover evokes some flashbacks to potty training. One can’t help but feel the mother should also focus on her own well being instead of obsessing over her son.

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Overview:

e forever, I’ll lik be.”

“I’ll love you y y bab you’ll m , g in v li I’m long as e had a teenager. H s a w e h l ti n othes “He grew u ore strange cl s the w e h d n a s d ometime strange frien nge music. S ra st to n e st li and he a zoo!” ke she was in mother felt li e got oldgot older. Sh e sh r, e th o lled up “Well, that m e day she ca n O r. e ld o d an see er and older er come and tt e b ’d u o ‘Y , said ’ So her son her son and old and sick. ry e v I’m se e door me becau he came in th n e h W r. e h came to see ” ng the song. she tried to si

Status Quo Combustion La Masculus vs La Femina Lubna Baig

The Peter Pan Complex There is this little girl in me who wants to grow wings and fly. She’s the one still waiting for a prince - with a glass slipper of my size. Ever since I hit puberty, I have just heard one thing from my parental units: GROW UP! They did not understand why I wanted to dye my hair purple or wear skirts so small you could al-

most see my thongs. They did not understand my sudden interest in boys and why I demanded push up bras and yes, thongs! They thought there was nothing wrong with sport bras and granny panties.

When I reasoned with them that wearing such hideous things would make me a social pariah and I

Someone once said age is just a number and maturity is a state of mind. If you ask me, I believe within every person lies an inner child waiting to act out. Everyone is a Peter Pan in some way. Peter Pan is an infamous fictional Disney character who never wants to grow up. Things like growing up, getting a job, getting married or having kids doesn’t cross his mind. Peter Pan is just happy having happy thoughts, talking with Tinker Bell, using fairy dust, flying, playing with the lost boys in Neverland and messing with Captain Hook.

Peter Pan is so famous that psychologists termed anyone who lacked a sense of maturity and responsibility (i.e. anyone who did not want to grow up) as having the Peter Pan Complex.

The Peter Pan Complex is well illustrated in J.D. Salinger’s novel, The Catcher in the Rye. The protagonist, Holden Caulfield, is said to be suffering from the Peter Pan Syndrome. He doesn’t care about school, family or friends and thinks people in the world are “phonies.” He has a fantasy prone personality where he believes the world is full of fake people and he is kind of like a messiah that saves children from losing their innocence. In essence, he wants to be the “catcher in the rye.”

There are many out there who have the Peter Pan Complex. You have the college man screaming like a little girl in a room full of people during Super Bowl weekend, the 24-year-old marketing intern obsessively waiting for her hot date to call back, the just turned

21-year-olds drinking like there’s no tomorrow (and then spending the night with their heads down the toilets), the just turned 21 frat boys running around drunk and half naked across the college campus, the 40-year-old virgins with minimum wage jobs living in their mother’s basement playing World of Warcraft during the evenings, the middle-aged married men (or should I say mama’s boys) not having the balls to defend their wives, and the 60-year-old grandparents still going at it in Vegas. In a nutshell, there are many who just hesitate when it comes to growing up.

Right now I am 24, trying to finish my degree, struggling to hold a job to save up for college loans, attempting to get my own place, trying to keep my boyfriend happy and alive, trying to make sure my siblings show up on time for school/soccer practice/ cheer practice and trying to make it to the weekly Sunday dinners with family. Most of the time I am just “trying” and a lot of times I just want to hold my hands up in the air and scream, “We are adults! When did that happen and how do we make it stop?” Despite the “adulthood” of it all, a part of me does have the Peter Pan Complex: I still get all giggly and blush when a hot guy flirts with me, I still ogle at all the handsome hunks out there, I still like to skateboard my way across campus, I like to rollerblade and ice skate as well and I still am obsessed with Hello Kitty.

I am also a hopeless romantic waiting for a Prince Charming to my Cinderella. I believe in fairytales.

I believe that a white Christmas brings luck and I believe in going to New York to fall in love. I love to go to Six Flags to ride roller coasters and scream my lungs out. I still prank people like I’m Ashton Kutcher’s female twin. The dude, being 36, punks people all in the name of showbiz and gets away with it (He has a show on MTV called “Punk’d”). There’s a part of me that defies maturity in certain situations and refuses to grow up.

My mom likes the kind of guys that are old school and want to wait until marriage to have sex. In their world, that’s their way of showing me respect. I had to undergo this dating nightmare when my mom set me up with one of her saintly, holier-than-thou virgins.

The guy was 29, older than me, and average looking.

He knew my mom through family and called her first to ask if he could ask me out. Oh dear lord! He wanted her permission...to ask me out! Once was fine, but in the days that we err “courted” (as was his way of defining the dinner and movie outings) the whole time he was on the phone with my mom talking about me and asking her whether he should do this or that.

The guy got my mom’s number through family then asked her if he could ask me out, then was on the

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would have to die a lonely death with only my 20 cats at my funeral waiting for my body to decompose so that they could give in to carnivorous temptation, my parents just said this: grow up. Well that’s just how parents are; they expect us kids to be 4.0 GPA honor roll students, members of the math club, chemistry club, Model United Nations club, chess club, cooking club, knitting club, helping homeless people club, students against drugs club, students against alcohol club, students against sex club and graduate as valedictorians on their way to Ivy Leagues wearing our purity rings. That’s the ultimate universal parental dream. For them, maturity is defined by how high the GPA is, whether or not your body is clean from alcohol and drugs and whether or not you’re a virgin. With how fast things are these days, parents just about expect their children to indulge in all such adolescent norms. Society perceives a good person with good morals and a good family background as someone who is well-educated, employed, successful and who knows how to conduct themselves with decency and dignity ‡ la abstaining from sex, alcohol and drugs.

phone with her practically the whole time talking about me and about my preferences rather than asking me. On our first date, he actually lied about his age. Dude said he was 26 when he was actually 29.

Then after a few more dates he confessed he was 27 and that age is just a number. Then after some more dates, I found out he’s actually 29 (this I got to know by peeking at his driver’s license and not from Mr. 29-year-old saint himself ). I kept quiet at this. All this happened while my mom just couldn’t stop gloating about how decent he is and how he doesn’t party or touch me. The touching and not partying part was true. On yet another dinner (how much does this man eat?), he told me he doesn’t understand, or even like for that matter, the “American way of drinking, kissing and sex.” That was understandable, given the fact that he was from India. But dude doesn’t like roller coasters, rollerblading, ice skating or even getting wet in the rain, throwing snowballs or buying Hello Kitty things because these are things “kids” do! Dude, you lied about your age on every date we went on and when I found out you were 29, your reply was “age is just a number.” Do you even know what the phrase means?

Well, I was done with this early man from the Stone Age. I made it clear to my mom that I was only going to be with someone of my choice and that she should stop all the matchmaking mumbo jumbo. So out went the early man and in came the dashing, hot, childish yet caring modern man who is now my beloved boyfriend (one amazing and fun year)! The first thing that I absolutely loved about my boyfriend was he was the mayor of pranks. That’s how we initially connected. He was game for doing things that might otherwise seem immature to most 24-year-olds. The sex was hot and he had no problem eating pizza and ice cream with M&M’s on the couch or bed. He loved ice skating, was popular at parties and always showered me with Hello Kitty Plush dolls. Not only this, but we always had loads of things to talk about. We would text each other all night. We would make plans to sneak off during the afternoon lecture for makeout sessions. And although we are 24, our texts are corny: Me: Hey babe! Do u want to come over when I get off? <3 The Boyfriend: Do you want to get off when I come over? ;) He does all this and still has a great job, pays all his bills on time, is respectful to my family and takes me

to his parents’ as well. What I mean to say is people need to act their age. They can fulfill their priorities and still be childish at the same time. Screw societal expectations. I firmly believe people should do what they want to when it comes to having fun, provided it’s safe for their health and legal in the eyes of law: you can drink but have a designated driver so you get home safe, you can have sex provided you know all the necessary precautions that need to be taken and know that your partner is trustworthy. Know what I mean?

It doesn’t matter how old you are. Fun is fun. You are allowed to do what you want to do. Maturity is a state of mind and everyone has their own perception of maturity. Once, on a summer trip to India, I was at a restaurant with my cousin and uncles. Some boys stared messing around with me. They were being openly lewd, shamelessly asking me to check their heart and erect penis! I asked my uncles and cousins to do something about this and guess what? They had the audacity to say that the mature thing to do would be to simply ignore them and maybe I should wear some clothes as well! Excuse me; I was wearing a Loyola t-shirt and jeans. How can jeans and a t-shirt come across as slutty? When I argued, they said they couldn’t fight those boys because they would be disgraced in society for beating people up. When I argued again and stated that they could call the cops at least, their retort was that calling the cops would also give them a bad name in society since people would know those boys misbehaved with me and I am a family member. I would have none of it! I checked into a hotel that night and got on a flight the next day to good old U.S. of A., swearing never to come back to this godforsaken family.

I’ve seen the way my cousins and uncles treat their wives and kids. There were no honeymoons when they got married because it wasn’t the mature thing to do. They act more like brothers with their wives when they are in public. They don’t like date nights in public with their wives. In their world, sex is taboo and only to be performed for reproduction purposes.

Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen my uncles even kiss or hold my aunts’ hands even at home. Not only this, but when my grandma complains about their wives, my uncles would scold, berate and humiliate them in public. Many times they have threatened my aunts with “Talaq,” the Muslim way of a male-dominated proclamation of divorce and abandonment of kids. Too often my aunts have even been kicked out and sent back to their parents for a time period of a week or a month as punishment for their mistakes.

My aunts are always quiet and seldom smile.

I know boys mature slowly and girls shoot up fast when it comes to maturity and responsibility. This new year, as I turn 25 and grow a year older, I can’t help but feel that a real grown-up is one who’s brave enough to stand up to society to make life fun and worth living for their friends and family. Real maturity stems from having the perfect balance between fun and responsibility.

It doesn’t matter whether you are 16 or 60, it’s perfectly OK to enjoy your life the way you want, no matter how childish you may seem to others. A very happy 2015 to all my wonderful readers out there! Let’s all resolve to be a bit more like Peter Pan shall we?

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I told all this to my boyfriend and he said, “Relax babe, I would of course kill anyone who dares to mess with you.” And he stuck to his words. On November 14th, my boyfriend and I partied with our friends at Spy Bar, a hip club in downtown Chicago. My boyfriend made sure all my drinks were non-alcoholic because I don’t like to drink. Not only that, like a perfect gentleman he had a protective arm around me shielding me from the lusty eyes of other men. When we went to dance, an old man, probably in his 50’s, pulled me toward himself and grabbed my butt. My boyfriend was outraged and punched the man so bad that the cops came and took the man in custody. They didn’t arrest my boyfriend because the man was found with illicit drugs and he didn’t want to press charges either. My boyfriend’s cousins were in the club with us. He didn’t care about his family, friends, cops, school or society. All he cared about was safeguarding my honor and protecting my dignity. Nothing could change my boyfriend’s love and defense for me. He had the balls to stick up for his girl because he has the utmost respect and sense of responsibility toward me.

screen/play film review, justice take Beginners

Released: 2010

Director: Mike Mills

Major Cast:

Ewan McGregor, Christopher Plummer, Mélanie Laurent

Where to Find:

Netflix instant streaming

Quick Description (no spoilers!):

After a forty-five year marriage and the death of his wife, Hal Fields (Plummer) comes out of the closet at the age 75. Shortly thereafter, Hal takes on a young male lover and begins to live a happier, more fulfilling life. Hal eventually passes away from cancer, leaving his son Oliver (McGregor) to care for his Jack Russell terrier named Arthur.

The revelation of his father’s true sexuality and his subsequent death leaves Oliver in a perpetual state of shock and disbelief. A few months after his father’s death, Oliver meets the charming and mysterious Anna (Laurent), and they endeavor on a deeply personal relationship. As their relationship evolves, Oliver reflects on the relationships between his mother and father, his father and Andy (his boyfriend) and between himself and Anna.

BROAD thumbs up?

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This movie offers a wonderfully diverse representation of relationships, both heterosexual and homosexual, between old people and young people, between father and son, husband and wife and girlfriend and boyfriend.

Christopher Plummer’s performance as an elderly man who choses to drastically change his lifestyle is brave and genuine. Plummer gives the role a truly human aspect; he plays a man who is in turn scared, self-assured and happy. Oliver’s memories of his father post-mortem give the viewer a complete understanding of who Hal was as an individual. This level of character development is not common for characters over a certain age and Beginners offers a refreshing take on the lives of the elderly.

words are useless sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Jean Schweikhard of Slapgoods

Time

etsy.com/listing/198967626

broadside poetry in street lit style Amitabh Dwivedi Vikram, PhD

the lost world

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uds shed no rain?

What happened to the world; clo every hope is faint.

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People are lost; new machines your sound.

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HEaRt The beating, beating, beating, of this cerebral female heart.

X. Cathexis

A Toast to the Fine Wine of my Life Fury Some people think adolescence, and even more think childhood, is the easiest and happiest part of their life. I think it can be the hardest.

into this world, and then leave them vulnerable to psychological and physical harm for 18 years with no educational or legal means to defend themselves.

People will tell me they miss naptime during school, summer camps, and chasing butterflies a kid. I cringe every time conversation shifts to memories of privileged childhood like this... What about the kids who go hungry every night? Who witness domestic abuse? Who don’t have a stable home?

I don’t think it would ruin the innocence of childhood to educate children about the bad things they could face at home or school at an early age. Why can’t we teach our children how to react and cope with parents who fight a lot, or what alcohol and drug abuse is, what sexual abuse is, what domestic violence is, etc...as a child who experienced and witnessed some of these, I will tell you that I wish the school counsellors would have told us about these things. I wish I

What about kids like me? Who did all of those privileged things like play on sports teams, go to art camp, and create adventures in my safe neighborhood... but who also had to endure invisible abuse, traumatizing absence, and the switch of parent-child roles? In middle-class America today, when there are two parents, two children, a nice home and a pet everything is still expected to as perfect as it was in the 1950s. So for a young, white, private-schooled girl like me...my suffering was silent. The silence was indifferent. The indifference was deadly.

I think childhood and adolescence can be the most difficult time of a person’s life...even if that person is as socioeconomically set up for success as I was. To be that vulnerable and defenseless to everything that’s going on around you, to not be equipped to handle what’s happening, or know its significance, to not know to ask for help, or who to turn to for help, or that you CAN ask for help. These are universal characteristics of every childhood that I think need to be changed. It is so so unfair in my mind to bring a child

What I’ve also learned is that age is more than a number. I don’t think we quite remember these days why we even celebrate a birthday. It’s not just a celebration that we exist, but a celebration that we’re STILL ALIVE. Age doesn’t come with a number or certain amount of time, but a wisdom that only comes from pain and subsequent survival. It’s true. The scorn and bigotry I faced in my high school when I was psychologically and physically ill made it clear that the pain I endured, even at such a young age, had made me more mature than almost everyone (adults included) in that environment.

There can be 50 year olds who are still 20. And there can be 11 year olds who are 50. Age should never be something to be ashamed of. It’s something to be proud of. Each wrinkle has a valley for a scar, but another hill of happiness next to it-another wrinkle to symbolize the fact that one more woe has been overcome for this face to see another hopeful sunrise.

Age is beautiful. Which is why, when I look at a child’s clear skin, I am (momentarily) sad. I know what pain will do to that face-and it’s almost too much to bear.

Some have it better than others in this life (or so we think). And sometimes I think the ones who have it ‘worst’ are the luckiest. (When they age, they age like a fine wine fermented by heartache and struggle.

They know what it is to have body and breath.)

So maybe that’s the point of this life. To realize that we are human and accept the beauty of aging- the beauty of overcoming trial after trial, overcoming what you once held as dogma or who you once thought you were-and to realize at the end that, while we search for eternal wisdom and knowledge, it’s right in front of us, in us, if we would only live our lives. If we would only face our struggles rather than running away from them. If we would only open up to new experiences and forgive the people we’d rather forget. Aging is beautiful.

These days, people don’t want to feel anything. They

Why can’t we teach our children how to react and cope with parents who fight a lot, or what alcohol and drug abuse is, what sexual abuse is, what domestic violence is… don’t want to age. We have our relationships set up for us on TV shows, we interact through screens because we are uncomfortable with the responsibility or possibility of someone’s feelings, and we get plastic surgery to even look like we haven’t aged. We hide ourselves within virtual worlds and behind game screens because we can’t face the real ones. We abuse drugs and alcohol and trust, thus decreasing our childrens’ ability to cope. We’re afraid to fail. We’re afraid of the pain. We’re afraid to actually live.

And so we’re stuck in an age of immaturity, where we never face our problems and age gracefully. And because we’re stuck in that age of immaturity-we’re selfish, defenseless, and unable to solve the world’s problems (if we even know or care about them). Why are we so afraid of pain? Why are we so cushioned by our cars, and granite kitchens, and fluffy rugs that we are unable to accept the pain in life, and instead shut ourselves up and run from it? Why don’t we embrace the beauty of our humanity, the beauty of our aging?

I, for one, intend to make 2015 the beginning of a life in which I will age gracefully. And by gracefully, I mean raising a life fury for as long as I can in my effort to live to the utmost extent while embracing every valley and mountain of my wrinkles, understanding that the point of this life is to survive - which will allow me to mature and attain wisdom equal to the pain of my experiences - and in the end gracefully accept that hopefully, like a fine wine, those who have experienced my life fury by the end will have appreciated and been enriched by the taste.

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hadn’t been suffocated in a privileged bubble for too many years where everyone, including the school counsellors, assumed that everything in my home life had to be fine. That perhaps the worst thing I could be experiencing was absent-rich-parent syndrome or parental divorce. Yeah, right. They could at least educate themselves about the ways a middle-class, white girl might be forced into expressing her trauma (*cough* eating disorder *cough* severe dislike of pop-culture superficiality *cough* isolation *cough*)

words are useless sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Rodica Toth Poiata

Youth

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tell-a-vision visions & revisions of our culture(s) “Fuck You, Old People”

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1. What do you think about this poem?

2. Is it ageist? Liberating? True?

3. Do you think it’s fair? Warranted?

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Insight on (In)Justice Because sometimes justice starts with a conversation...

Kait Madsen

On Not Being Too Young to Know Love I fell in love when I was sixteen, and I haven’t fallen out of it.

I met Brady when I was a sophomore in high school and looking for a “boyfriend” was the last thing on my mind. I was a quiet, straight-A student more concerned with re-reading the 7th Harry Potter book for the third time and already anxious to leave high school for college. Brady was an outgoing, popular senior known for his humor and talent in sports and music. The first thing Brady noticed about me was the way I walked (or waddled) with my feet turned out through the school hallways. He asked me for my phone number one day before a football game, and I honestly assumed he was looking for a tutor.

Brady and I came from different worlds. We met when he was looking at colleges to play football, yet he couldn’t envision a life for himself past lunchtime. He was going to be the first Wells son to go to college, a symbol of success for his family from North Omaha to aspire to instead of joining a gang like his older brother and cousins had.

He wore big faux diamond-studded Superman earrings and owned an impressive collection of flat-billed hats. He had secrets and history and a darkness inside him, but he also exuded so much joy and light. I lived my world internally, through the books I read, the stories I created in my head on walks, and the ideas I painted on canvases. My

family is Danish and Irish and most of my relatives’ social interactions throughout their lifetimes had

I’m not a religious person, but I don’t know how to explain what drew Brady and I together other than that we connected immediately at a spiritual level. I loved his energy, his spirit. I loved him for who he was and for what he brought to the world. He loved me for all of the things other people told me they loved me for already - my brains, my big smile, my blue eyes - but he loved me even more for the parts of me at my core that usually stayed hidden. He drew me out of myself and I grounded him. So without knowing what hit us, we dove in.

Loving somebody before adulthood is a whirlwind.

It’s passionate and joyous and terrifying and filled with exploration. I am forever grateful to have experienced the total abandon that comes with falling in love at sixteen, with learning from the skin and sounds of another person what it means to be human and woman and alive. Love at sixteen is an incredible combination of innocence and hormones, of learning to express your needs and desires, of understanding forgiveness and compromise. Brady was my teacher, my student, my muse, my favorite friend. I found liberation in love, a recognition of my own strength and independence.

Yet with my personal sense of liberation came an unsolicited concern from acquaintances and strangers about the importance of me “not settling” and “not knowing love yet.” I could go into detail about the sexist and racist undertones that often accompanied the “advice,” but overall, the advice was degrading, patronizing, and ignorant. For example, during

When I was getting ready move away for college, the advice and concern intensified. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been told I’m missing out on key life experiences because I happen to be in a relationship. I refer to the advice as a verbal head-pat, a way in which older individuals downplay my experiences and self-knowledge. There is an obsession with protecting me from my own decisions. The funny part is that little has changed for me today; everyone has

advice or comments for me regarding the “appropriate” way to love. I’ve found that now, the advice-givers fall into two main camps: the “you’re young so live your life without a relationship” group and the “when the heck are you two getting married?!” group.

Here’s the deal, for those of you wondering: I don’t know when I’m getting married. I do know without a doubt that I’ve made the right decision in maintain-

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been with other white people. I was also stubborn and fiercely independent in my own quiet way, and I refused to call Brady my boyfriend for months at first for fear of losing my sense of self.

high school, Brady had a flat tire and needed a ride home. My mom called the school to get me out of my lunch period to drive him home quickly. When I returned to school for my 4th hour class, I received a note from the school principal asking me to come to his office. I had never been disciplined by him before and walked nervously to his desk. When I entered, he lectured me about the importance of not getting “carried away” with a relationship because I had “too much going for me”... all because I missed a 30 minute lunch period (with permission) to drive Brady home. His concern was totally unfounded: at that time, I was first in my class, heavily involved in school activities, and going on college visits across the country. My relationship was a part of my life, but a comparatively insignificant one. Yet as a white, middle-aged man, he felt the need to intrude into my personal life and bestow his wisdom upon me.

ing my relationship with Brady, and I know that I am a better woman, feminist, friend, and human because of it.

I need to point out that I’m not claiming that starting a seven-year relationship at the age of sixteen is ideal. In fact, I would argue that for a lot of people and a lot of relationships, that kind of commitment can be harmful and limiting. I absolutely believe in the importance of taking time for self-exploration, travelling, identity formation, and establishing personal independence.

I simply want to stress that love is love; age does not diminish the emotions and realities of commitment.

Further, when it’s paired with self-understanding and honest communication, love can be liberation. Let’s all recognize that we cannot possibly know or understand the true experiences of others and other relationships, especially those we observe from a distance. A better approach to talking to young women about love is encouraging women to love themselves first and foremost, and then empowering them to make their own decisions about relationships.

Because we’ve been together through some of the most transformative periods of our lives, Brady and I have a great understanding of the importance of recognizing one another as growing, constantly-evolving, independent people. Love is letting go of any ideal or past version of your partner in order to provide them the space to live and change. When Brady stopped playing football, moved home, and began to pursue music, I was there with a handmade guitar strap and thumbs-up. When I decided to move to Chicago for school, and later to study abroad in Prague, Brady proudly said, “Do your thing.” Today I want to be a writer, yesterday I wanted to be a lawyer, tomorrow I might want to open a business. I am fluid and wandering, and Brady never tries to hold on too tightly. Similarly, I know that if I tried to keep him in a box of who I think he is or was, the box would burst from all the parts of him that couldn’t be contained. I love his spirit, and he loves mine. And as long as that’s our truth, we’ll be together and be just fine.

words are useless

Time and Tide

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sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Roz Martinez

quote corner

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just words? just speeches?

Sir Ian McKellen

I have lots of young friends, who fortunately don’t treat me as a guru, a person that knows all the answers. I’m just one of the gang-trying to get through it, you know?

I don’t really like being with people my own age for long periods, because all we talk about is our decrepitude, how the world is changing for the worse even though it isn’t.

It is really, really wonderful that in your old age you are protected by specialists who understand your problems and sort them out for you. Well, isn’t that what we all need?

You always think that 70 is the end of the road: ‘Somebody died when they were 73; good life’. You’re closer to death, and you better make sure you don’t waste too much of your time doing things you don’t want to do. No point in saying things you don’t believe in.

I just got hearing aids, I am going to have a cataract removed from my eyes, I am having an implant in my mouth, I am dealing with the prostate...I am absolutely fine thank you very much!

words are useless

Young girls on the Cambodian countryside

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sometimes words arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough Adrian Landin

srotidE + ofnI DAORB

search this

srotidE + ofnI DAORB

warning: results with assumptions Younger

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tell-a-vision visions & revisions of our culture(s) Kid President

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WLA (Re)Animated Reimagine and Relive our Pasts Dr. Mary Nadine Murphy

Consider:

The WLA Mundelein College online collection describes this as “Dr. Mary Nadine Murphy instructs her students in biology,” from 1975. What was it like for an older woman in 1975 to be a doctor, in biology? Are young women expected to be in science today? How about 40 years ago? How does age interact with other inequities?

WLA Mission Statement:

Established in 1994, the Women and Leadership Archives (WLA) collects, preserves, and makes available materials of enduring value to researchers studying women’s contributions to society.

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tell-a-vision visions & revisions of our culture(s) Maya Angelou on Oprah

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Watch the clip of Maya Angelou on Oprah: Now read her poem “On Aging:” ULTY

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AC a sack upon a shelf, When you see me sitting quietly,Flike FEED Don’t think I need your chattering. I’m listening to myself.

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A lot less lungs and much less wind.

But ain’t I lucky I can still breathe in.

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AD BRO P A C RE my When my bones are stiff and aching and feet won’t climb the stair, SSAGE ME ME I will only ask one favor: Don’t bring me no rocking chair. ING T I S VI OR EDIT When you see me walking, stumbling, don’t study and get it wrong.

E ID ADS O T R B ‘Cause tired don’t mean lazy and every goodbye ain’t gone.

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stranger solidarity A question, a person, an answer BROAD people via BROAD team

What is an advantage of the age you are now?

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bookmark here find your next social justice text here BROAD Readers

Released: 1623

Genre:

Tragedy Play

First Sentence:

“I thought the king had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.”

Recommendation:

themes of artificiality, The tragedy touches on . When Lear is stripped age, nature and family rm, even clothes in the sto of his castle, title and pts re humanity and attem he’s reduced to his ba eds. Readers should be to process his past de d (including duels and prepared for bloodshe e hefty body count by th an eye gouging) and a rwo peare ensures that end of the play. Shakes ced with evil figures; thy characters are balan e hters, compared to th he creates vicious daug o is a deceiving bastard wh d an a, eli rd Co s ou tu vir Lear ssionate brother. King mirrored by his compa the an characters that have offers a range of hum ideas within a scene. ability to change their

Limitations:

otes: Notable Qu words can wield

u more than space, “Sir, I love yo n eye-sight, a th r re a e d ed, the matter; t can be valu a h w d n o y e h grace, and liberty. B than life, wit ss le o N ; re ra s child rich or r; As much a o n o h , ty u a e health, b d.” r father foun here loved, o poor old , you gods, a re e h e m e se hed in ”You as age; wretc f e ri g f o ll fu man, as both!” t hand!” t me kiss tha le , “O r: e st ce It smells Glou wipe it first. e m t e “L r: a King Le of mortality.”

Overview:

tempts to divide King Lear of Britain at ree daughters and his land among his th their love, promforces them to affirm tters him more ising that whoever fla While Goneril and will receive the land. le declaring their Regan have no troub a, the youngest and artificial love, Cordeli mains silent and the favored daughter, re ft with two conking banishes her. Le e old Lear is forced niving daughters, th d impending war into a raging storm an companied only against the French, ac

ful servant, and by the Fool and a faith ortality, insanity painstakingly faces m and age.

Since this is a Shakespearean tragedy, the play is filled with unforgettable yet dense language. It also features layering subplots that dramatizes the play but are difficult to keep track of unless it’s performed. The Fool, the voice of reason, disappears into the storm, never to be heard of again (although some critics claim the Fool represents Lear’s conscience or sanity). The ending lacks a final resolution and it’s unclear who has been redeemed and who remains damaged.

“

just words? just speeches?

Satchel Paige

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?

Don’t look back.

Something might be gaining on you

Ain’t no man can avoid being born average, but there ain’t no man got to be common.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it a hundred times, I’m forty-four years old.

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Age is a case of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it don’t matter.

quote corner

screen/play film review, justice take Love is Strange

Released: 2014

Director: Ira Sachs

Major Cast:

John Lithgow, Alfred Molina, Marisa Tomei

Where to Find:

Streaming purchase for $5, itunes and Amazon

Quick Description (no spoilers!):

After a 39-year relationship, Ben and George decide to get married with the support of family and friends. As an unexpected consequence, George is fired from his position as a music teacher at a Catholic school, and the newlyweds are forced to sell their home and move in with friends and family temporarily. The separation of the aging couple creates tension and stress for everyone involved, as the couple negotiates commitment, separation, and inter-generational differences.

BROAD thumbs up?

The film is deeply moving - you’ll chuckle, you’ll shed a few years, you’ll reflect on your own experiences with love. It provides an often-overlooked depiction of love and marriage between older adults, and a particularly rare portrayal of an aging LGBTIQ couple. The film is very human and authentic, and with stellar performances by John Lithgow and Alfred Molina.

Not BROAD enough?

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Overall, the film is incredibly well-done, and certainly BROAD enough!

BROADs behind the scenes email text meet dinner indesign T4 dropbox table photoshop repeat BROAD 2014-15 Team

The BROAD team bonds over Marioâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s social consciousness at age 17

Our monthly meeting at The Coffee Shop, with Elishah having just left and Curtis behind the camera

Mandy inpires the her team through cat pictures

Gaby trying to do her best to pull away from Dr. Who while writing her column

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Curtis loading and designing content for c(age)s, with lots of screens in their cozy living room

c(age)s BROAD Voice, BROAD Communities J. Curtis Main

10 Ways to FIght Ageism, Everyday #1: It starts with you Believe it or not, radical, positive change starts with you. Nearly everyone in the world has the most control of their own minds, which often leads to control of their actions. So, regarding ageism, start with you.

Be mindful. Understand societies, cultures, and where you can make an impact. There are so many small (to large) everyday actions you can do that make a difference in not hurting yourself or others with ageism.

#3: Don’t condescend younger people

Unless you were born yesterday (haha), there are people younger than you. Everyday, you have the option to put them down or bring them up. REgarding age, do not belittle other people who are younger. Avoid terms like “one day you’ll understand,” “you’re too young,” or “I know more because I am older.” Maybe sometimes these things are true. But do your best from assuming that age perfectly aligns with knowledge level, maturity, and experience.

#2: Age is a measurement, not a value system

#4: Don’t minimize older people

Wherever you may fall in the numbers of age, remember, it’s just that, meant to help us tell time. No, age is not to allow us to value some people over others due to age. No, age is not a race to who can beat the clock. Remember that it’s a number. One easy way, everyday, to combat ageism is to always reveal your age without shame.

And, if you’re feeling daring, ask others their age as well regardless of assumptions that women and older should be ashamed of their age.

On the flip side, be weary of putting down older people, especially “old people.”

American culture certainly celebrates youth and all things new. Older things and people are less valued.

Be careful of falling into this trap. Yes, younger and older people often have different life experiences and abilities.

DIFFERENT. Different does not mean better or worse.

Everyday, you have the choice to avoid statements like “you don’t look old,” “old people don’t or can’t understand,” or “I don’t ever want to

#5: Remember what it was like!

I work at a university with thousands of faculty and staff, most of who have forgetten what it was like to be students. Do not let this be you. Always do your best to remember what it was like to be a little kid, a preteen, a teenager, and so on. Make mental notes along the way. What was difficult? Living with parents before age 18 is hard, for example, because, legally, you have less rights. If you’re retired, remember the hustle of having to work. If you’re not going through puberty, try to have empathy for others that are!

#6: Ask and listen about what it may be like!

As much as we may want to stear clear of assuming certain things happen to everyone at certain ages, there are definitely patterns. Our bodies do go through changes, as do our minds. Everyone’s changes are unique, of course. While our minds and memories grow, our bodies often face more struggles, for examples. Menopause for many folks is a stage, as is learning to talk, apologize, or cook. I know people in their 30s who still do not know how to apologize, whereas some of my 6 year old family members get it.

Nothing is guaranteed. On that note, ask individuals that you have things in common with about what to expect. I may, for example, ask someone what balding is like. Or how to adopt kids. Or how to cope with death. Ask, don’t assume.

#7: Make intergenerational connections!

Taking numbers 5 and 6 a step further, make aquaintances, connections, and friends with folks outside your age group. Do not be closed off to others due to age. My supervisor, Jack, has been an incredible support system and (dare I say it) a friend to me, regardless of being decades older. Rather than assume we are different, I assume we can find commonality, and we do. When I head home to NC, I feel very connected to the many kids in my family 16 and younger. We play games, act silly, and enjoy life together. People are people, not numbers.

#8: Avoid age-related beauty standards A couple of months ago, Madonna posed for a magazine, which she does often. Yet in this one, the 56 year old showed her breasts. There was intense questioning and backlash toward an “older” woman showing

When you or others devalue others based in age, whether joking or serious, consider the ramifications. her body. But why? Why should Madonna or any person be ashamed of their body at any age? This is perhaps one of the hardest ways of fighting ageism: avoid devaluing bodies that have aged or are aging. Again, the hope is that we all live long, rich lives. Our bodies will change; it’s okay! Don’t hate on your againg body or the bodies of others.

#9: Actions are powerful When people harm others using age-related propaganda, call them out. Ask questions. Ask them what they mean. Find out if they were trying to cause harm.

Determine if they are mindful of their impact. Monitor yourself, too. For example, when someone says “I feel old” and is referring to something bad, which they often are, inquire. I am at fault for this. I say “I feel old” often because my body aches, or isn’t working like it used to. Really, though, there is a bigger reason my body might not feel great: I push myself too hard! It’s not my age, per se, it’s me. When you or others devalue others based in age, whether joking or serious, consider the ramifications. I doubt Madonna will let the world make her feel ugly, but the millions of older women who heard the backlash certainly heard the resounding “you’re body is a shame.” Don’t be like that.

#10: Lead, mentor, teach, follow by example Take number 9 a step further. Start conversations about age. Question why kids are not trusted and older people are put down and out. Give a kid the benefit of the doubt; let them make their own mistakes sometimes. When my dad let me sip his beer as a kid, he was telling me he trusted me. Be cautious in treating older folks as brittle, slow, and other bad things.

Instead, build them up. FInally, treat EVERYONE like teens and 20 somethings are treated: like they are in the best years of their lives!

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be old; it’s terrible.” One day, hopefully, you will be old (and keep getting older), so learn, now, to celebrate aging rather than disparaging something we cannot control!

Rising Above An act you do for yourself is an act of Love.

Gaby Flores Ortiz

Dressing for me and not for my age “For me, fashion is not really about age as much as it is reflecting your personality” ~ Gwen Stefani The other day I caught myself thinking that I really should start to dress more my age or rather what I imagine people my age are supposed to dress like.

dress the older you get (and it also tends to be more expensive). “Don’t age yourself. BUT don’t dress too youthful or you’ll be trying too hard. After all you don’t want to be like Madonna--she’s in her fifties and dresses like she’s half her age.” The voices of fashionistas echo in my head.

I recently had to get rid of most of my clothes because I got bed bugs (another story for another day) from my neighbors. In cleaning my clothing with extreme heat (in order to kill any blood-sucking visitors), I damaged many of my clothes. What is left now is an interesting collection of pieces that don’t all quite go with one another. I started thinking that maybe I needed to “upgrade” my wardrobe and start dressing like people my age are supposed to dress.

I am about to turn 32 and the more I meet people my age, the more I realize that I do not wear what is considered age-appropriate clothing and the pieces of clothing that do fit that description are the pieces in my wardrobe that I dislike the most. I imagine that people my age are supposed to wear suits, more “mature” blouses, fancy purses, expensive shoes, looser pants, etc.

Actually, yes, I would like to be Madonna. She has a stellar body, is in great health, and has plenty of money to spend on those fancy blouses, purses, and shoes that women my age are supposed to wear.

Also, there is something refreshing about a woman in her fifties who embraces the youthfulness of her heart and soul. Part of me still feels like I’m 22. I know I’m not and thank goodness for that but I remember dreading 30 because I thought I would feel so old and the truth is that I don’t feel old. I feel wiser and more empowered but I don’t feel old. I didn’t like wearing miniskirts when I was 22 because I didn’t like drawing attention to myself but my almost-32-self is craving a really cute miniskirt or mid-drift but according to an article in rantchic.com, I am not supposed to wear either of those things because I am over the age of 30.

Admittedly, plenty of younger women and girls shell out big bucks for fancy purses and shoes but every fashion magazine I read and all the fashion television shows seem to imply that there is a certain way to

This feels wrong to me. I think about JLo, Madonna, Jane Fonda, and Gwen Stefani. I think “Man, those women have some kickass style!” I do not think “Man, those women really need to start dressing like they

have children and are responsible adults.” I also think that dressing in clothes that make you feel good about how you look is one way to take care of yourself and to show your confidence. Yes, I am 40 but these leather pants look amazing on me. It is empowering for women to say they feel they look great because we have a tendency to criticize ourselves and to let others influence how feel about our bodies (and it is usually not the good kind of influence).

Wandering around TJMaxx or any number of stores, you notice that the women’s clothing is sectioned into what someone else thinks is age appropriate. The women’s section is supposed to be for women by age or older. The Junior’s section is for teenagers and college-aged women and those still lost twenty-somethings. I look at the women’s section and so many of clothes are ugly or boring or simply just don’t fit well. Once in a while, I will find a nice top or pair of pants that I absolutely love but most of the time I find myself edging towards the Junior section where I will find something more fun, more edgy, and sometimes

Recently when I was out shopping, however, I realized that I was becoming less interested in the Junior section but I still didn’t like very many things in the Women’s section. I found myself bouncing back and forth between the two sections and ultimately walked away without making a purchase. I am starting to realize that I reject clothes not so much because they are not age-appropriate as much as it is because they simply do not meet my requirements of what I want in my clothes--comfy but form-fitting, practical but a bit edgy or sexy, and not too expensive or too hard to clean (I hate taking things to the dry cleaner). I do not have money to spend on expensive clothes, I do not have the desire to meet our culture’s expectations of what is age-appropriate.

I simply want to wear what makes me feel good.

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I am 40 but these leather pants look amazing on me. It is empowering for women to say they feel they look great because we have a tendency to criticize ourselves...

more inexpensive. Unfortunately, as the years have gone by, I have felt more of a trespasser there than a native. A clear sign that I have allowed the cultural belief that women my age should not even look at the Junior’s section.

(not) buying it

* madadsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; has a new name!

busted advertising, bustling economy Greeting Cards

NOT BUYING IT!

Consider: 1. How are these greeting cards depicting women and aging?

2. What message does it send?

3. What is the cultural impact on attitudes towards women, especially older adult women?

4. Beyond age, what else are they reinforcing? For example, who is excluded?

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Contributor Guidelines How to be BROAD BROAD Team

PRINCIPLES: i) Feminist Consciousness:

(a) recognizes all voices and experiences as important, and not in a hierarchical form. (b) takes responsibility for the self and does not assume false objectivity. (c) is not absolutist or detached, but rather, is more inclusive and sensitive to others.

ii) Accessibility:

(a) means utilizing accessible language, theory, knowledge, and structure in your writing. (b) maintains a connection with your diverse audience by not using unfamiliar/obscure words, overly long sentences, or abstraction. (c) does not assume a specific audience, for example, white 20-year-old college students.

iii) Jesuit Social Justice Education & Effort:

(a) promotes justice in openhanded and generous ways to ensure freedom of inquiry, the pursuit of truth and care for others. (b) is made possible through value-based leadership that ensures a consistent focus on personal integrity, ethical behavior, and the appropriate balance between justice and fairness. (c) focuses on global awareness by demonstrating an understanding that the world’s people and societies are interrelated and interdependent.

EXPECTATIONS & SPECIFICS: • You may request to identify yourself by name, alias, or as “anonymous” for publication in the digest. For reasons of accountability, the staff must know who you are, first and last name plus email address.

• We promote accountability of our contributors, and prefer your real name and your preferred title (i.e., Maruka Hernandez, CTA Operations Director, 34 years old, mother of 4; or J. Curtis Main, Loyola graduate student in WSGS, white, 27 years old), but understand, in terms of safety, privacy, and controversy, if you desire limitations. We are happy to publish imagery of you along with your submission, at our discretion.

• We gladly accept submission of varying length- from a quick comment to several pages. Comments may be reserved for a special “feedback” section. In order to process and include a submission for a particular issue, please send your submission at least two days prior to the desired publication date.

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