Make Room for Sissies
I was never really a robust child. Sure, now my metabolism has delivered a hefty and poignant "fuck you" -- but once upon a time I was just a little wisp of a thing. A sissy, if you will.
I was called sissy for a lot of reasons. I liked to read. I liked having my hair brushed. I enjoyed dressing my teddy bear (named Teddy) in doll dresses letting him act out his favorite scenes from Gone with the Wind, which just happened to be my favorite scenes, too. I didn't care much for sports. I didn't like to be loud. And when my mom would take my brother and me out to the county dump to shoot her .22 pistol at the rats, I'd cry quietly in the back of the pickup truck and wish that I had a unicorn to ride swiftly away on.
Yeah.
As an adult, I'm not quite the sissy I was as a boy. For one thing, there are a lot of hard lessons out there for sissies to learn. The things that I valued: good books, nice discussions, tea -- these were things no one else valued, and this wasn't kept a secret from me at all. I was taunted, tormented, and bullied into the fairly "straight-acting" gay guy I am today. Sometimes, though, I still miss the tea parties.
I mention all this because we're going to switch from my cloying, sepia-toned memories to a work anecdote. We have this publication that [redacted] is putting out, and in both the publication and the marketing material that we'll use to try to drum up subscribers, there's a pull-quote of someone saying, "There's no room for sissies in this industry," or something like that. And it made me mad and sad, this idea that there's no room for sissies. And I realized that no one else was going to make room for sissies; it was going to have to be me.
"This is a little offensive," I told the writer. "I know you didn't necessarily write it, you're just quoting someone else, but still. (As I'm writing this, during lunch, Bronski Beat's playing on my radio. Neat.)
"Which part?"
"That 'sissies' part."
He giggled.
"You don't see it, really, do you?"
He giggled some more. "Say it again," he said.
"Great. Could you put an adult on the phone? Is your dad home?"
"Sorry. So, what you're saying is, you think the word 'sissy' is offensive."
"Yeah. I mean, it's not the c-word. Or the n-word. Or the f-word--"
"'Fuck'?"
"No. 'Faggot'. Besides, it's misleading. You think sissies aren't tough? Have you been a sissy? You think it's all Easy Street and unicorns being less masculine than your cohorts? The strongest people in the world, I think, are sissies and women who forgo epidurals."
He sat thoughtfully for a few moments. I pushed on. "The thing is, it makes me very uncomfortable to be involved or associated with a publication that's going to resort to that kind of elementary-school name calling. If it has to stay in the publication, that's one thing; it's a quote, someone stupidly said it. But I don't think we should use that quote in the marketing material. It looks like we're both valuing that statement and condoning it. And if we're doing either, I'm not sure there's room for me here."
"You feel that strongly about it?"
"Yeah. And I'm disappointed that you don't."
"No, no. I hear you. I just, you know: it's just a word. I don't think I thought about it from your angle before. You know, 'political correctness' and stuff."
"It's not about political correctness. It's about not using names. It's, like, basic kindergarten."
And I won. The quote's coming off the marketing material, and there's a chance that they may take the "sissy" part of the quote out, too. I don't know that I struck a huge blow for sissies everywhere -- but it felt really good, in the way telling someone "You know, that Pollack joke? So not funny and so not appropriate. Stop being an ass" feels good.
One small step for Michael Bevel: British Adventuress.
One giant tea party for Sissykind. BYOU.
I was called sissy for a lot of reasons. I liked to read. I liked having my hair brushed. I enjoyed dressing my teddy bear (named Teddy) in doll dresses letting him act out his favorite scenes from Gone with the Wind, which just happened to be my favorite scenes, too. I didn't care much for sports. I didn't like to be loud. And when my mom would take my brother and me out to the county dump to shoot her .22 pistol at the rats, I'd cry quietly in the back of the pickup truck and wish that I had a unicorn to ride swiftly away on.
Yeah.
As an adult, I'm not quite the sissy I was as a boy. For one thing, there are a lot of hard lessons out there for sissies to learn. The things that I valued: good books, nice discussions, tea -- these were things no one else valued, and this wasn't kept a secret from me at all. I was taunted, tormented, and bullied into the fairly "straight-acting" gay guy I am today. Sometimes, though, I still miss the tea parties.
I mention all this because we're going to switch from my cloying, sepia-toned memories to a work anecdote. We have this publication that [redacted] is putting out, and in both the publication and the marketing material that we'll use to try to drum up subscribers, there's a pull-quote of someone saying, "There's no room for sissies in this industry," or something like that. And it made me mad and sad, this idea that there's no room for sissies. And I realized that no one else was going to make room for sissies; it was going to have to be me.
"This is a little offensive," I told the writer. "I know you didn't necessarily write it, you're just quoting someone else, but still. (As I'm writing this, during lunch, Bronski Beat's playing on my radio. Neat.)
"Which part?"
"That 'sissies' part."
He giggled.
"You don't see it, really, do you?"
He giggled some more. "Say it again," he said.
"Great. Could you put an adult on the phone? Is your dad home?"
"Sorry. So, what you're saying is, you think the word 'sissy' is offensive."
"Yeah. I mean, it's not the c-word. Or the n-word. Or the f-word--"
"'Fuck'?"
"No. 'Faggot'. Besides, it's misleading. You think sissies aren't tough? Have you been a sissy? You think it's all Easy Street and unicorns being less masculine than your cohorts? The strongest people in the world, I think, are sissies and women who forgo epidurals."
He sat thoughtfully for a few moments. I pushed on. "The thing is, it makes me very uncomfortable to be involved or associated with a publication that's going to resort to that kind of elementary-school name calling. If it has to stay in the publication, that's one thing; it's a quote, someone stupidly said it. But I don't think we should use that quote in the marketing material. It looks like we're both valuing that statement and condoning it. And if we're doing either, I'm not sure there's room for me here."
"You feel that strongly about it?"
"Yeah. And I'm disappointed that you don't."
"No, no. I hear you. I just, you know: it's just a word. I don't think I thought about it from your angle before. You know, 'political correctness' and stuff."
"It's not about political correctness. It's about not using names. It's, like, basic kindergarten."
And I won. The quote's coming off the marketing material, and there's a chance that they may take the "sissy" part of the quote out, too. I don't know that I struck a huge blow for sissies everywhere -- but it felt really good, in the way telling someone "You know, that Pollack joke? So not funny and so not appropriate. Stop being an ass" feels good.
One small step for Michael Bevel: British Adventuress.
One giant tea party for Sissykind. BYOU.
posted by Mike at 1:21 PM
2 Comments:
Huzzah Michael Bevel: British Adventuress! You don't know me, but I do know how hard it is to speak out about something you feel storngly about. I'm glad that things out the way they should.
so good. I am kind of a sissy too, but I didn't get that wat until a few years ago.
Thanks for the story.
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