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Gender Stereotypes: Unmasking the Truth from Friction
Wake up Chuck, your sleeping your life away. The lawn isn’t going to mow itself. I am from a place recognized globally as the birthplace of cheese steaks. I grew up in Philly on the banks of the Delaware. I’m part of the minority with a yard in this asphalt jungle. I’m part of a few that has to mow, weed, mulch, rake, and put gas into a lawn mower. My Sister is off with my mom doing God knows what. “What’s up, Danielle help out with the yard work, “I asked. “Because this is man’s work and your sister is only eight years old. She will get hurt!” my father stated. I remember being eight and helping out in the yard. I also remember getting hurt. I also remember my father saying it is no big deal. In fact, I can never remember not helping out in the yard.
Unfortunately, for my lawn mower I was a tinkerer as a kid. I used to take things apart. When I put them back together again, I always had spare parts. My mom would get mad because I would take things apart and test them, and eventually break them. But then at least I would know they worked. My parents swore I would get a degree in electrical engineering. I never did. Although I still question the use of is rapidly dwindling energy supply for lamps, humidifiers, phone cell chargers.
Our conversations turn to the present future, where my childhood lessons become imbedded in my psych like a computer robot to form my reality. I’m currently enrolled in Community College to become a Nurse. A Male Nurse, it’s an oxy moron. It’s like some compact paradoxical phrase. Where words uttered like bitter sweet, cheerful pessimistic, Christian party or male cow makes sense. My girlfriend calls me gay every time I use my hands when I talk. I often ponder if she will ever realize it’s just an Old Italian hand gesture to express my deep irritation with her. I enjoy reading books. I do not care much for most sports except my love of Ice Hockey. Because...