I am my mother’s son, born in a place and generation of men raised by women. The media recognized that women watched TV, they had money, they bought things, they were the gatekeepers of the home, choosing what comes in and who goes out. And so, TV, radio, my technicolor babysitter sent me the feminine agenda, appealed to my feminine side, emasculated me and my friends and confused our cavemen instincts. My father wasn’t really there. As an immigrant he had to work hard to keep his family fed and clothed, and not for wanting. My mom also had to work. But I still see her more, she still tried to cook and clean and take care of and keep her family together. My father was so tired, he went to sleep when he got home. My Armenian grandma and grandpa lived with us. Grandma would walk me to school, holding my hand, embarrassing me. Then cooking for me Barskahay food when I got home. She constantly battled with my mom, about not fulfilling her womanly role. My mom idolized “Rosie The Riveter,” wanted to be strong and independent, and the conflict between new world and old world was too much. My parents divorced. I don’t know who’s right, if there is a right. There must be a compromise though. Women shouldn’t be oppressed or guilted to fit an unwanted role, but hopefully with the freedom they have they will choose the best way to take care of themselves and their families.
