Entries tagged with family: adoption

Fashion, Identity: Our First Role Model at Shybiker

My mother was not really my first fashion role model, but that's mostly because I didn't (and still don't) have much thought for fashion beyond function most of the time, and while I have worked to develop a bit of a fashion sense as an adult (mostly by relying on my younger sister and some dear friends to help), I really didn't give a shit as a kid. Mom never taught me to wear makeup or do my hair because I didn't care about those things.

But I remember how carefully she would dress herself for church, how she would sit and brush my long, straight hair for what felt like hours (I didn't get my riotous curls until I hit puberty), how she would apply make-up when we traveled together, how important it was for her to dress nicely. I know a lot of that came from growing up a woman when she did, being terribly shy, and growing up so desperately poor; new clothes, make-up, the money for a perm, those were things she could use to gird herself against the world.

I'm adopted. I didn't grow up seeing myself in my mother. This rang true to me still, in so many ways.

I really love Shybiker's blog, and have for a long time now.

For most of us, our mothers are our first role model. For everything including fashion. Was that the case for you?

It was for me -- which was hard 'cause I was considered a boy. Everyone, including my mother, discouraged me from emulating her. But I tried. And tried.

Eventually I realized that path was closed; I wasn't allowed to be openly like her. I did, however, pretend to be a girl in the privacy of my bathroom; I used a bath-towel as a makeshift skirt.

Lately, as I've been re-claiming a female-identity, I find connections to my mother that are surprising. For example, I vividly remember how my mother's arms had freckles. Lots and lots of freckles. I thought that was unusual -- until I started shaving hair off my arms and was shocked to see that I too have freckles on my arms. I never saw them under the hair. I suspect I have many genetic similarities with my mom.

I talked to my dad for about an hour tonight. One of the things we discussed was Monsters & Music, my current novel writing project. (I also have review writing projects and short story writing projects, not to mention law school projects.) I've sent the first twenty or so chapters to my first readers, which includes Mom and Dad, and though Mom gave me her thoughts on the first ten chapters awhile ago, I hadn't heard from Dad about it.

(Dad is actually one of my subject-matter experts for all my writing, even the stuff that goes under the professional pseudonym; I run all the car details by him starting early in the writing process -- sometimes as early as the outlining stage -- and then have him double check the details. Sometimes this is only a line or two in a short story, though a novel like Werewolves in Love which has a mechanic main character is a lot more work for him. He's also one of my musician consultants, because he's a guitarist.)

The amusing part of all this is that neither of my parents actually likes what I write. I mean, not my work, but the genres and styles. They are both readers, but neither are fans of horror or monsters or paranormal romance or whatever. They don't really read teen fiction, either. Basically, the only reason they read my work is because it's mine, which is really sweet and supportive. I mean, Monsters & Music is teen fiction about a girl who can see the ghosts of murdered people and who ends up in the middle of some werewolf politics, and Dad has pretty much zero interest in any of those things, but was super supportive anyway.

I love that, even though they aren't interested in the genre, they are always eager to read more. My parents are awesome.

This reminds me of a story I shared with

bewize the other day, but meant to share here, too. I was outlining the end of the chapter I'm currently writing for Monsters & Music and realized there was going to be some serious making out and fooling around. For a moment, I was all, oh, Mom and Dad are going to read that, they're aren't really for sexually active teens, kinda awkward. Then I remembered it was ridiculous to be nervous, because a) I believe in my characters and their actions and support that but also b) they've already read the masturbation scene anyway, so how in the world was kissing awkward?

I'm entertained by us.

I'm sometimes amazed by how close Dad and I are, considering how different our beliefs. I was telling him about Obama speaking at graduation, and made sure to reassure him that it wasn't the same ceremony Dad's attending, because he's not interested in hearing Obama speak, while I'm thrilled about it. For some reason, we started talking about politics, too, and health care reform, and tax reform, which gets us both riled up, but in the end, even though I so deeply disagree with a lot of things, he still supports me completely.

I think the point I'm getting at here is how incredibly lucky I am to have such amazing parents.

Actually, this is sort of an aside to a rant I'm drafting about adoption stories and how frustrated I've been with them in the media these days. I should finish that up and post it, maybe Thursday. (Wednesdays are busy days for me at school.)

Dad actually wanted to talk to me today because he got his passport for our bar trip and was giddy with excitement about it. I'm giddy, too. While we were talking about it, he said he no longer thinks our original schedule is enough, he wants to more than double the time we'll be out together. I told him I was free from August 1 to November 1, so however long he wants to make this roadtrip, I'm game.

Basically, this entry can be summed up as this: My family, totally awesome.

[family] Mothers, Identity, and Self

[writing] family approval