A New Phrase

Gender theory, a new phrase to my ageing ears....one that required research, and so I did.  My reliable source, Google, came to my rescue, and I thought, No, No, No.

Because immediately my memory returned to the home on 58th Street where I had been nurtured, loved and educated in the ways of the world.   From my earliest memory until he last day the family shared that home, there were two silver framed pictures on the mantle spaced equally apart.

They were of my two Grandmothers, Dad's Mom, and Mom's "Marm."  Two incredibly different ladies, who had only two things in common.  First and foremost, they were parents of two young people who had loved and married, and secondly, and possibly equally important, they both had Lost Sheep.

I don't know if they ever met in person.  My Maternal Grandmother had not attended my parent's wedding, and the actual event was rarely discussed in my presence.  Beyond that they were unlikely to socialize.

Mary, whose picture was always on the left, was tall and dramatic looking.  She was Dad's Mother, and the only time I heard him weep was the day she departed this world.  So she obviously had been a great lady.  I didn't spend much time in her presence only because she was always working full time shifts in the hospital on 58th Street.  She suffered a stroke one day before her stint had ended, and died shortly thereafter.  Mary Kelly Donlon was 72, and I truly doubt she needed a gender theory class.

Ellen, whose picture remained constantly on the right, was a typical lady of that era with softly waved white hair and a lace collar on her dress.  I had been told all my life of her constant illness, and what an incredible Mother she had been.  Ironically, the two women died within weeks of each other.  Her family spent their remaining years on this earth grieving for their departed Mother so apparently, she too, had earned their love and respect.  Ellen Quinn King was also 72 when she left this world.

Mary had five children, three sons, and two daughters.  I know she had divorced my Grandfather, only to reconcile years later, and they remained together until her death.  I have to presume there was quite a lot of love in that marriage for it to endure.

Ellen had borne twelve children, losing six in early childhood.  The six that survived held her in adoration long after her demise, so she too must have done something right.

Why now am I remembering them?  Because in my quest for gender theory I came across Simone de Beauvoir's quote, "One is not born, but rather becomes a woman."

Please, please, I know I don't have the academic credentials of the esteemed feminist and social theorist, and I could never claim to be her intellectual peer, but I refuse to believe either Ellen or Mary had to learn to be a woman or grow into their gender.  No way.  Both these ladies took different paths in a quite different world, survived to the best of their ability, and always knew quite well they were women.

They both brought up rather large families without the privilege of day care or a village to help.  Theirs was indeed a different world.  Early in their teenage years, they left their native country to travel to a new world, so there was no older generation to babysit or run errands and both husbands desperately needed to work to support their growing families.

Nor was there an au pair to assist with their responsibilities.

Progress is wonderful in many ways, but sometimes reality takes precedent.  I totally dispute the theory that most women, including those who walked this road before us, need counseling on their role in society.

Rather I prefer another quote from the famed existentialist philosopher,

"Be loved, Be admired, Be necessary, Be somebody."

This describes quite well two remarkable ladies whose pictures remain no longer on a mantle, but in my heart.