I Prefer Girls

Mommy
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When I found out I was pregnant, my mind immediately began preparing for a girl. My sister has three girls; my cousins are a dozen or so girls with my brother and one other male thrown in, and so I never thought about the other 50%.

The 50% that people all over Asia aspire to have because they will grow up and take care of their parents (meanwhile as children the girls drop out of school to help parents take care of young siblings).

The 50% that are so favored many Asian countries have stopped allowing sex tests or sonograms because of the rate of abortions of female babies.

Imagine my shock – my husband said I went white – when the doctor said, not only once, but twice, I was having boys. That’s right: me, the mother of two boys. I did the right thing and paid lip service to the fact I hoped the babies were healthy. Deep inside, I tried to manage the shock.

What would I do with a boy? How would I avoid the Asian tendency to favor and indoctrinate them with male privilege?

This Mother’s Day, I’m happy to say my boys are a delight. And I’m back at work with a second newborn and toddler at home.

Why? Because, as I explained to my colleagues, my mother sacrificed her entire life, not finishing high school, in order to get married and raise us. She’s now finishing a university degree, one course at a time, in her 50s. If that taught me anything, it’s that children need strong role models. And strength comes in different forms. Her sacrifice will not be wasted.

A friend also offered this great perspective:

I know you wanted a girl the first time, and you probably wanted a
little girl the second time too.  You say you wanted to empower her, to
strengthen women.

But you know, you've been blessed with a way to empower women in a
greater way.

On my mother's side of the family, women were to be seen and not heard.
It's the hillbilly way. But on my father's side, as you already know,
women are the leaders.

So my father taught my mother how to be strong, to think for herself,
and to lead.  And that value was then passed to all of us kids, even the
boys.

I've seen it where a daughter marries a male dominated household, and
the sons grow up with the male dominated view. Sometimes the girls are
lucky to be empowered at all. And sometimes the households fall into a
lot of conflict, especially if the boys are not taught to respect women.
In my own life, my son does not respect me. He never did and that's why
I lost him. His father is and always will be a poor example. I should
have chosen very carefully and researched his father's family well. I
did not, to my regret.

So maybe this is the powers helping you in your mission, with a very
strong weapon indeed.

 

 

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Which Employee Would You Choose?

 

Sheryl Sandberg, COO of Facebook
Sheryl Sandberg, COO of Facebook (Photo credit: jurvetson)

“You’re bossy,” someone said to me in the cafeteria. I laughed because I had read Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg’s commentary related to the “Lean In” project.

Women are bossy; men are thought to have leadership potential. Funny, but true, that even as adults we can’t invent new labels but revert to the ones we used on the playground.

I was reintroduced to human dynamics in employment issues – i.e. personalities – when our nanny went on vacation.

She’s very capable, in her mid forties, clean, honest, and hardworking. She also looks at me like I’m crazy whenever I deviate from our daily routine.

Can she take out all the buttons from the extra button pouches and consolidate for a children’s craft activity?

Maybe. If she has time.

Our temporary house help is the exact opposite. She forgets things – like turning off the stove – and she says she understands (taking out the base of the car seat along with the carrier) when she doesn’t. But. She has a terrific smile. And she always says yes.

The two are like the twin halves of my personality. I have a living lesson of the impact temperament makes on a work environment.

Our temporary helper is eager to please, enjoyable to be around, and willing to learn.
Our nanny is experienced, capable, grumpy and distant.

Who do I want to be when I go back to the office after maternity leave? Which woman would you like to have as a co-worker?

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Hierarchy of Sorrow: Boston, Delhi, Damascus

Syria
Syria (Photo credit: ewixx)

 

Last week from a sofa in a hospital room, after having delivered our second baby boy, I woke up at 1 a.m. Adrenaline or jetlag like false sense of sleep saturation had me reaching for my phone in the pitch black of the room. Across the coffee table, a good friend who had volunteered for night duty was resting. The baby was in the nursery. I went on Facebook.

 

The news feed of many of American friends, at home and abroad, was filled with the news of the bombing at the finish line of the Boston marathon. I couldn’t believe my eyes at the photos and had to turn off the phone to stem off the hormonal induced shock at the images, facts, and sounds.

 

As the facts unfolded – 3 dead, many more wounded – a puzzled reaction swept the part of the world I live in, the Middle East.

 

What about people in Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, was the question circulating on Twitter, Facebook, and the blogosphere. Where is the empathy, shock, horror, concern for them?

 

A former student and now friend posted “I’m sorry to hear about Boston, sorry for all the casualties. Pray for Syria, it deserves far more sympathy. Pray for Syria twice as much!”.

 

Having studied Arabic in Damascus a few years ago, I have been watching the escalating tensions there with dread and anger at a “leader” who would treat his people as pawns.

 

But the assertion of my student made me uncomfortable.

 

Can we weigh on a scale those who are more deserving of empathy? Is it judged by the number of causalities?

 

Or, as mainstream American media seems to suggest, do we rate based on a scale of how the tragedies happen? Are civilians in peace time, running a marathon or going to work, more deserving than those who are living in a country entrenched in civil war?

 

I don’t know. I do know from my hospital bed, recovering from having a baby, that most frail and dependent of creatures, the symbol of all that is possible of humanity, I resisted the notion that my loyalties predict my sympathies and said as much to my friend on his wall:

 

“I understand what you are trying to say but let’s remember our hearts can juggle compassion for all. Clearly the media, government and politics cannot. I stand with Syrians as the land where I learned Arabic and hope that governments will stop turning blind eyes. Sympathy is not a competition. The more we learn that, the more we can come together as one. (not intending to lecture, your post did strike a chord with me as a new mother X2 from this past Sunday). I want my children to live in a compassionate world, better than the bi-partisan one I inherited. Now we pray for Iran, regardless of how we feel about nukes/presidents/etc.”

 

We had a great discussion (yes on Facebook wall posts as he was abroad).

 

Later in the week the question came again on Twitter: “Boston boston. Pls send your view: rape in Delhi why again and again?”

 

The commenter was talking about the rape of a 5 year old girl whose body had been dumped in a dumpster and found with foreign objects, including a candle, inside. I had read of the case with horror and posted about it on social media as well. As an Indian woman, mother, wife, and daughter, I was ashamed, distraught, and troubled by not only this incident but all of them since the watershed December case with a pharmacy student on a bus. Indian media commentators were asking: why did we care so much about her? What about the 5, 6, 10 year olds (and the ones we never know about about)? Don’t we care about them?

 

All of which brings me back to the same question: how much room do we have in our hearts? Can we only care for those who know immediately? Or is there some larger, universal ability to feel compassion that comes with our “advanced” technologies in the era of 24 hour media?

 

I do know when I saw the photo of the 19 year old, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, the remaining bomb plotter, my heart clenched. Somewhere, something went horribly wrong for this younger brother. I couldn’t help but think of my own boys, presently 2.5 and 1 week old. What would they grow up to do? Would the older one mislead the younger? And could the younger use this as his excuse for wrecking havoc?

In the end, it all comes down to relationships. Right?

 

 

 

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