FD3: My Life as a Girl

Margo Alvillar
6 April 2011
FD3


Tonight, I tested out a pot roast recipe that I had previously kept tucked away in a kitchen drawer as a silent symbol of protest. I still remember my happily married friend's encouraging words, "You know the way to a man's heart is through his stomach!" Even after all this time, the words manage to sting my never-been-married heart. Nonetheless, I happily carry the carefully garnished plates to the kitchen table and to my boyfriend of nearly a year. "I hope you like it," I cautiously say, "I've never made pot roast before." Daniel nonchalantly responds after a quick bite, "I'm sure it will be great," he adds, "Besides, it's a home cooked meal, which I haven't had since my last trip home to Texas." [THESIS] We eat quietly, and I inquisitively go over in my mind, how it came to be that a non-trusting, fiercely independent and prideful woman could find peace and even joy in preparing a home cooked meal for her mate. [THESIS]

My childhood was filled with conflicting ideals bestowed upon me by various women and men in my life, about what it meant to be a girl. As a young child of an incredibly driven and busy single mother, I often found myself in the company of my grandmother. These visits were tough for me, as my grandmother was not the typical matriarch that baked cookies, pinched my rosy cheeks and told me how much she loved me. She made no qualms about having her favorites in the family, and unfortunately, I didn't quite make the grade. I suppose it didn't help that I was the spitting image of my father. She hated that man. It might have been because of his constant drunken state, his blue collar job in construction, or the nerve he displayed when he purposely arrived at a park, known to be frequented by my family, on Fourth of July weekend with his mistress on his arm. Unfortunately for me, my father didn't stick around long enough to suffer my grandmother's punishment, so I became the next best thing. Although I now know her comments weren't purposefully spat to hurt my feelings, as a child it often seemed she stopped at nothing to tell me my role as a future woman. One particular instance comes to mind. I remember arriving at her house one weekend with a report card full of A's. My grandmother glanced at it briefly and remarked, "Being smart isn't going to make you a good mother someday. You may know how to read a book, but will they teach you in college how to cook for your family?" My grandmother was fiercely traditional in her ways. I remember taking her comment to mean, that eventually I would have to choose. I could either be smart or I could be a good wife and mom. I chose in that moment to be smart.

My mother is my hero. She has always been for me, that pillar of strength in the eye of a storm. As a child, she reinforced that bravery in her teachings to me. When at seven years old, I lost my twenty-five cents in the unreliable grocery store gumball machine; she insisted that I personally request a refund from the service desk attendant. Despite the fact that my 3' frame was impossible to see behind the large service counter, she waited patiently for me to gain the courage to speak up and be noticed. Anytime she would face disappointment at the hands of another, she would make it a point to reinforce a lesson she told me many times before, "Never rely on anyone but yourself! No man, no amount of money, and no material possession will ever be worth more than self-reliance." I can't deny that I often overheard her unedited message behind closed doors as she would complain to her friends about my father and his lack of parenting. She would remark that although he was current in his monthly child support obligation of $200, he seemed to think that was all that was required in being father. "Some influence," she would sarcastically remark, "I guess Margo will have to grow up knowing that a man is nothing more than a drunken baby maker and a cheater." I suppose this idea of my father wasn't helped when my mother became unable to care for me during my teenage years, due to a traumatic brain injury. Rather than stepping up to the parenting plate, he left that job to my 24 year old brother. Maybe it was better that way. Or maybe it wasn't. The tremendous pressure my brother found himself in raising a hormonal teenager and simultaneously dealing with the grief of nearly losing his mother made him a strict disciplinarian unrelenting in his authority. He kicked me out of the house my Senior year of high school for missing curfew in order to spend a few extra hours with another bad boy, my favorite type. Thankfully a friend from school invited me home with her, and despite living with a large family that was struggling before having another mouth to feed, I thrived and managed to graduate in the top of my class and earn a new home at college. Being smart had saved me.

Years and many boyfriends later, I found myself in the presence of a real man. He was nothing like the men of my past. He came from a loving family. He was driven and motivated to succeed. He was eternally polite with that sweet southern drawl, "Yes ma'am," and, "Thank you sir." He claimed that he had never cheated on a girlfriend, ever. Can you believe never? I was doubtful, but I pressed on and sought to learn more about this unique man that kept my interest despite the fact that he had a job, a car, and good credit. These qualities had oddly enough never been at the top of my short checklist. What was my exact thought when I found love in spite of myself? "God help this man for loving me."

Our year has not been without challenge and conflict. When I found out he had not told me about a girl he casually talked to via email, before he and I had met, I hit the roof. "You are exactly like the rest of them," I raged, "No good!" He sat me down and told me everything, an unexpected response to my rant, as I was used to the typical response, "Deny, deny, deny." Although my pride told me to run for the hills and close up this battered heart of mine, I shocked myself by staying. We worked through it, and my trust in him actually grew. He supports my academic endeavors and often times takes on the financial brunt of our household responsibilities in order to make my dream of a degree a reality. His role of primary breadwinner is never held over my head, however. There are times when I feel weak for allowing a man to help me. I express my concern, and he always manages to ease my uneasiness by telling me that this is what teams do. We are partners in this life; together and equally. I suppose the best moments are when I see my daughter gaze at him in admiration as he teaches her how to throw a football properly or how to complete a challenging math problem. For the first time in my life, my intelligent brain agrees with my hopeful heart. Maybe it is possible to be a woman and have both love and independence. 

I watch Daniel as he savors the last bite on his empty plate. He sends a smile in my direction as a quiet signal. My pot roast rocked! My heart skips a beat when he insists that I rest on the couch, as he proceeds to the kitchen to do the dishes. He makes sure my daughter Isabella has her teeth brushed and is ready for bed. He brings me a dish of ice cream, for dessert. "Mom and grandma, are you watching?" I happily think, as he leans over me, gives me a kiss, and thanks me again for a wonderful dinner. "The pleasure was all mine, my man. The pleasure is all mine."

Log of Completed Activities
_X__ Mar. 3- Intro to Paper #3: Personal Essay.
_X__ Mar. 7- Complete readings: all of chapter 12.
_X__ Mar. 10- Laulima Discussion 1: “Chimera“
_X__ Mar. 14- Laulima Discussion 2: “Notes of a Native Speaker“
_X__ Mar. 16- Laulima Discussion 3: “Under the Influence“
_X__ Mar. 18- Laulima Discussion 4: “Being Brians“
_X__ Mar. 29- Laulima Discussion 5: “Warring Memories“ and “Snakebit“
_X__ Apr. 1- RD3 due [50 pts]
_L__ Apr. 4- Submit three RD3 evaluations. [50 pts] Review the guidelines.
_X__ Apr. 6 - FD3 due [125 pts] You can submit it anytime during this period.