The Twilight series

I'm halfway through the third book of the Twilight series. Since Monday, I've had the following conversation with four different women, each of whom is in her 30s, identifies as a feminist, and has an advanced degree:

"These Twilight books, they are so badly written!"
"Yes, and they're politically indefensible."
"And you can't sympathize with the characters. What is with Bella? She's not spunky or smart or even rebellious!"
"So why can't I stop reading them?"
"I know, they're addictive!"

What is the deal with these books? One of my friends read all four in two days (and these things are sizable). Another finished the first book and immediately read it again. Another sent her husband to the store late at night to buy the next one for her (she couldn't go herself because she was sick).

And for those of you who haven't read them, let me give you a sense of the dialogue:

Vampire boyfriend: I love you so much. I couldn't possibly love you any more.
Whiny girlfriend: I don't see how you can love me, because I am nowhere near as beautiful as you are. But I love you!
Vampire boyfriend: But how can you love me when I am so dangerous! But I love you!

To make this scenario even more troubling, the books are essentially describing an abusive relationship--one that appears to become more and more controlling and manipulative as the series progresses. The vampire boyfriend shows his love by stalking his whiny girlfriend and trying to take charge of her entire life, ostensibly in order to protect her.

I am baffled as to why I and my friends and colleagues have gotten so sucked into a series that seems to have nothing at all to offer us. I know that there are theories out there about why this might be the case, and I intend to delve into them. Several faculty colleagues and I are going to be doing a panel discussion about these books in October, and by then I hope I'll have real critical thought and not just self mockery to offer.

Disability studies

I've been doing some reading in the field of disability studies. This is a newish interdisciplinary academic field that explores the social, cultural, political, and material meanings of disability. It's a field that I've been aware of since I did my dissertation back a decade ago. One of my chapters dealt with the prevalence of freak shows in the 19th century, and much of the most interesting work on freak shows was being done by scholars who located themselves in disability studies. Freaks, these scholars argued convincingly, are constructed by narrative. Bodies that might not fit typical models become "freaks" when a label and a story are attached, and the bodies are made into a public spectacle.

I was again exposed to disability studies a couple of years ago when a local Charleston activist and attorney called me on the fact that we were holding Women's and Gender Studies events in venues that weren't accessible. Initially I was defensive--"Well," I thought, "we're doing the best we can, and there aren't that many accessible buildings on campus!"--but then I realized that she was right, and I started rescheduling things. I read her autobiography, which disability studies scholars cite, and found it fascinating. Like the freak show scholarship, it forced me to consider how much of "disability" is culturally constructed rather than inherent or "natural."

When Maybelle was born I suspected I would return to the field of disability studies, but I wasn't ready to do it for some time. Then when she'd been around for a few months, a friend sent me a link to Michael Berube's blog, to this post, in fact, a post about his misconceptions about his son, Jamie, who has Down syndrome. I remember a flood of reactions, most of them related to relief: relief that his son was able to do so many things that he hadn't expected, relief that this was a prolific academic whose career hadn't ground to a halt because of being the father of a person with Down syndrome. Almost immediately after I finished reading the post, I searched around online and found information about Berube's wife, also an academic, and I quickly confirmed that her career hadn't ground to a halt, either--so the relief stuck. (It's all well and good for one parent to get to be a super star, but if that's because the other parent has become a martyr, then that's not a model that will work for our family.)

During the spring semester I read Berube's book about his son's early years, and it was the right book for the right time. It combined personal experiences with research and scholarly musings about the history of Down syndrome, the importance of rhetoric, and the meaning of genetics. Like the freak show research, Berube's book points out that the way we describe disabilities in large part determines their cultural meaning. For instance, the question of whether someone is "retarded" or "intellectually delayed" has real world consequences.

So Berube's book has set me on a path. I'm seeking out other things like it--books and essays by academics who are grappling with disability studies from a personal as well as a scholarly perspective. I've been reading Eva Feder Kittay, Rayna Rapp, and Rosemarie Garland Thomson. If you know of others--particularly academics who have kids with disabilities--let me know in the comments section. I'm sure I'll have more to say here.

Up with People

Claire and Conseula have gotten so much pleasure from this news that I thought I'd share it with the rest of you: my parents are in Branson, MO, this week rehearsing for their Up with People reunion show, which will happen this weekend. My parents, for those of you who don't know this, met in Up with People back in the early days of the group--they both dropped out of college to travel the world performing positive, encouraging music, and they got to go to some amazing places (Europe, South America, what was then the Belgian Congo) and stay with families there. My dad was drafted as a direct result of being in Up with People (since he was no longer a college student).

My brothers and I grew up with the Up with People music (indeed, right now I could sing all the words to "Up with People," "What Color Is God's Skin?", "Don't Stand Still," and many more!). I am sort of bummed that Maybelle and I won't be going to the concert.

Father's Day

This morning, as we were sitting at the table reading the paper, Biffle asked, "So, you got anything special planned for me today?"

I said, "What do you mean?"

"You know, because it's Father's Day."

Ack! It's Father's Day! I had completely forgotten. He was mostly joking in asking whether I had any special plans for him, but I felt terrible to have forgotten--particularly since he made me brunch for Mother's Day.

And then I remembered that the reason he made me brunch was that I kept talking about Mother's Day, and the reason I kept talking about it was that people--my family, mostly, but not exclusively--kept asking what Biffle was going to do for me for my first Mother's Day. So it was on my mind, and I made sure it was on his mind. (I'm a big believer in making your wishes known--if I expect a gift or any other sort of specialness, I try to put those expectations out there as clearly as possible rather than expecting someone to know or remember.)

But nobody asked me what I was getting Biffle, or reminded me that Father's Day was coming up and that he is a father!

I don't know if this is some gender double standard, if we don't care as much about Father's Day because we consider mothers more important, or what, but I hold all of you blog readers personally responsible for not reminding me!


P.S. We ended up having a really nice day--bagels and the New York Times for breakfast, a long walk in the blistering heat, and later we took Maybelle to the beach for the very first time.

Sitting up for real

Sitting up with Daddy, originally uploaded by AlisonPiepmeier.

Within the last week, Maybelle has learned how to go from sitting with her hands propping her up, to sitting unsupported. Apparently this is a big deal for a baby's cognitive development, because it means that her hands are free to explore the world around her, and she can learn about cause and effect, gravity, object permanence, not to mention how a wider variety of things taste.

Prenatal testing and reproductive rights

Eliza alerted me to the fact that there's some discussion going on at Double X about late-term abortions. It started as a series of articles about the truth behind late-term abortions; in response to the death of Dr. George Tiller, the magazine wanted to allow women who've had late-term abortions to discuss their experiences as a way of cutting through all the anti-choice hysteria. It quickly progressed, however, into a discussion of whether or not it's a good idea to abort all fetuses identified as having Down syndrome. Some quotes from the articles:

• "Do we really think aborting all future Down babies amount to 'curing' a disease?"
• "Despite our fascination with Sarah Palin, I don’t think we want to become the great American Palin family, adding Down’s sons and babies born to teenage daughters at a fearsome clip."
• "I absolutely believe that it's fine to abort a mentally retarded baby. I have no doubt in my mind that I would do the same thing again. I'd go to any legal length to defend another woman's right to do the same. But then aren't I simply saying that people with developmental disabilities are better off dead? Or, perhaps more accurately, that we as a society are better off without them?"

The answer to the last question, by the way, is yes.

Commenters have gotten all hyped up--I didn't read all the comments but skimmed through enough to see that people were all over the place. But there were a number of commenters who discussed what a huge burden disabled folks put on families and how unfair it is to the families, and the babies themselves, not to have prenatal testing and not to abort disabled fetuses.

I will have more thoughts on this, but here are three things I would like to say today:

1. The right to terminate a pregnancy is incredibly important. A woman's whole life is affected by a pregnancy and a child, and if we want women to be allowed to be fully human, we must allow them the right to abortion.
2. Many times decisions about abortion are difficult and complex, but the woman involved (with her partner, if applicable) is the best able to make that decision. Even if we might disagree with her decision, no one else--no individual, no institution, no agency--is better able to weigh all the factors and make that decision.
3. People need real information about life with a disabled child in order to make the best decision they can about whether or not to terminate a pregnancy. At this point I think what they're getting is a lot of hype, stereotype, and misinformation. If the Double X comments are any indication, people out there seem to believe that having a child with Down syndrome will be the end of life as you know it. Everything will change for the worse, and you will rue the day you didn't abort. I thought those things when we had Maybelle. My experience as her mom so far, and my far broader understanding of life with Down syndrome, shows me how wrong I was.

I'm offended by the defensiveness I see in these articles and many of the comments. I get the sense that these folks want to justify their own decisions by making sure everybody knows how awful it would be to live with a child who was intellectually and developmentally delayed. I support their right to make their own choices about their pregnancies, but when they start talking about the burden that disabled people put on families and on the state, then they are actually making the world a worse place for my daughter.

Straight hair

Claire and I got our hair cut yesterday. It was long past time for me to have my hair cut, because I'd reverted to my old habit of wearing my hair in a ponytail everyday out of frustration. Claire actually made us the appointment--who knows how long it would have taken me to get around to it.

It seems to me that pregnancy and breastfeeding have sucked all the life out of my hair. Instead of having gorgeous curls, lately I'm mostly stuck with frizz and unruly tendrils. So I told the stylist that I wanted a better haircut, with three requirements:

1. I will not do anything to my hair. I don't own a blowdryer, and I will not do any at-home styling.
2. The only exception to #1 is that I'll put product (and lots of it) in my hair.
3. No bangs.
   

So she chopped and thinned and layered--there was a lot of hair on the floor when she finished. And then she decided that, for her own enjoyment, she wanted to see what my hair would look like straightened. I told her it's never been done before, so she decided she would be the first. She got out the straightening iron. An hour later (yes, a full hour!), here is what I looked like:
Pretty wild, isn't it? Apparently it'll stay like this until I wash it, so I'm enjoying having a completely different head of hair for a couple of days.