Why gender equity at work starts with gender equity at home (and not the other way round)

I was educated in a girls-only school from the age of six until I entered university. My husband was educated in a boys-only school from the age of eight until he entered university. He comes from what I call a “boy household” – two brothers. I come from a “girl household” – two older girls, then a much younger boy (8 years my junior).

I mention these personal facts to make the point that is at the heart of my argument – that our childhood experience of the different sexes is the most influential factor as to how we regard the sexes in adulthood. If we want to change discourse between the sexes in society, we need to start at age 5, not 35, or even 25.

When I entered the world of co-education aged 18, I was a champion of single sex education. I was brimming with confidence in the female ability (and statistically, girls are more academically able than boys). Girls from my school earned a negative reputation and I could not, for the life of me, understand why.

Fifteen years later, I can see the deficiencies in my understanding of the other sex and indeed, my own sex. So far as the actual study or work is concerned, perhaps I was not disadvantaged. But outside the classroom, where most of life occurs, I was terribly naïve.

From my observation, people from single sex upbringing can become either: over-developed in their sexual identity – identifying strongly and perhaps exclusively with the external characteristics of maleness (e.g. athleticism) or femaleness (e.g. beautification); or they can become under-developed in their sexual identity – that is, they do not appreciate the complex differences between the sexes or do not particularly enjoy their own gender, having developed their personhood in the absence of the opposite sex.

I belong to the latter category. I walked into my course expecting to be judged as a sexless human being but I could not negotiate the dance between the sexes. I admired my female peers who could be confident without being feminist, feminine without being a fading violet.

Project this to age 40, is it any wonder that aspiring women still complain of discrimination and objectification in the workplace? Could it not be due to the fact that the established majority, the men, have an overdeveloped maleness and naturally incline towards the all-boy culture that they knew in their formative years?

Perhaps one way to dismantle the old boys club is to rethink the old boys school. Of course, school is but one facet of childhood but for some, like myself with little socialisation outside of school, that was my entire world. I think boys too would find great relief in the company of girls. The all-male culture can be mercilessly aggressive and men, like women, occupy the whole spectrum of personality. They will find a space to be masculine without being macho, manly without being muscle-ly, a leader without being a jock.

When children from mixed-gender upbringing enter adulthood to interact with both men and women, they can be respectful and confident. Theirs is a confidence that comes from a deep understanding and acceptance of the other, and not an arrogance that comes from empowerment in the superiority of their own kind.   

And we would all get along better at age 45.

香港的行人天橋

行人天橋 - 是香港其一的特色. 因香港人多擠迫,大厦向高發展,駕車和行路都向上搬,整個城市已變得立體,有3D的感覺.

我家有個有趣的講法,當要步行到謀地方,會接着問,'懂得行馮'? 因為行人天橋從一幢大一厦穿出來,又到另一幢大厦鑽進去.有時要去的地方眼見到,但腳行不到,碰錯路.

假日,銅鑼灣軒尼詩道的行人天橋聚滿了正放班的菲傭丶印傭丶泰傭坐在一塊塊的野餐膠布上,佔了每個角落,甚至在榴梯上,尤其在雨天,那怕難找到有瓦摭頭的地方.她們有些在吃零食,有些在聊天,有些在化裝.這天是整個星期中唯一天可以去見同是獨在異鄉的朋友了.她們快樂嗎?這是個我完全不能插入了解的世界,没有語言是其中之因素.但對我這愛静的人來說,放假被迫趕出街, 實在覺得有點可憐.天橋, 畢竟對無家可歸的人是一種避難處.

我呢?我愛站在天橋中央,望着下面來來往往的人和車,覺得城市已包溶了我,我也擁抱着城市.在這個地方,没有寂寞,没有空虛,因眾人的忙碌给我力量.

香港 - 究竟是一個怎樣的地方? 它沒有巴黎的羅曼蒂克,沒有纫约的童話雀躍,但處在天橋中央,我感到它有與別下同的浪漫親密.

My favourite radio shows (and podcasts)

In this age of media interactivity, one of my favourite habits, still, is listening to a good radio show. I like them partly for practical reasons - it's easy enough to bung on whilst doing some mindless chore or in the car. But mostly, I still very much enjoy the pure, unadulterated spoken word.

Stripped of the distracting allure of the face, the naked human voice is very engaging. I would argue that more can be said (that is, communicated) in 5 minutes on radio than on most other mass media. It is matchless in its sincerity. There is something conspiratorial about focusing on someone's voice, with its tremors and inflections. Some people call it a confessional medium - case in point are the lonely hearts who ring up on a late night show to pour out their troubles.

Here are three of my favourite radio shows (or podcasts) to entice you to fall in love with radio all over again.

Interviews with Margaret Throsby (ABC FM)

To me, Margaret Throsby has the best job. She spends an hour every weekday talking to some of the world's most interesting people, from ex-Prime Ministers to Masterchef winners and everyone in between. The conversation is interspersed with music chosen by the guest which often becomes a springboard to discussing the guest's personal life.

Such is the sensibility of Margaret Throsby (she's dubbed "The Velvet Throat") that you feel like you are eavesdropping on a conversation between old friends. Plus it is highly educational - she has a wonderful, curious layperson way of drawing out fascinating facts from experts. 90% of my general knowledge - science, music, history, anything - comes from my loyal audience of Margaret in the last 10 years.

Move over, Andrew Denton, Michael Parkinson; in my mind, Margaret is the best of them all!

A Prairie Home Companion with Garrison Keillor (American Public Broadcasting Service) 

Garrison Keillor might not be very well known in Australia, but in America, he is beloved enough to have a movie made about his show, starring Kevin Kline, Meryl Streep, Lily Tomlin and Lindsay Lohan.

I first came across Garrison Keillor's comedy through "A Young Lutheran's Guide to the Orchestra" his parody of Benjamin Britten's "A Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra". One thing led to another and I stumbled upon the (free) podcast of a segment of his show, "News from Lake Wobegon".

It's a 15 minute fictional news broadcast done in the form of a monologue. It is wonderful, wonderful story telling - funny, evocative, spontaneous, wistful. His northern American accent (and occasional singing) tops off the small town nostalgia. So vivid is his cast of characters from Lake Wobegon that they have spawned novels - of which I have bought one - though not as good as the show.

You might laugh out loud, you may even shed a tear, but you will be smiling inwardly long after the closing credits: "That's the news from Lake Wobegon, where the women are strong, the men are good looking and the children are above average."

Thank God It's Friday (Radio Sydney)

I love Richard Glover's column and I love the show he hosts. TGIF is a variety show of the good old variety with guest comedians, guest musicians and people ringing up to answer quizzes. Sometimes, the reason we start following a show is entirely fortuitous. In my case, I happen to always be driving my son back from his grandparents, and in a terribly good mood after a day off. One of these days I will be in the studio audience cheering and laughing out loud.

* * * 

For my 30th birthday, my husband bought me a professional quality microphone complete with a pop-blocker - a circular mesh screen to accentuate your consonants and make you sound like love god Richard Mercer - to start me on my podcasting career. We did make a hilarious episode explaining Chinese idioms. It even had Kirby's original composition as opening credits. I think we quickly realised that a radio career would not be forthcoming but by golly it still sends me into fits of laughter - for the wrong reasons. Back to the listener's chair, for now!

Happy anniversary

On our sixth wedding anniversary - a little something I wrote for your twenty-seventh birthday recalling our seven years of courtship. Happy anniversary Kirbs!

The first year of love,
Taps on the shoulder –
Hesitates a pause before the song
To grasp at promises unformed
Only to receive its lonesome letters.

The second year of love
Laughs at sour faces.
Soft, like a ripened fig, slits
To find pleasure in a kiss
and reaches for farther places.

The third year of love,
Storms to a truce.
Boxing each within itself
In quietness of a darkened well
And still there is nothing to lose.

The fourth year of love,
How easy it does please.
free them will, unhurried dandelions,
let them pulse to lighter rhythms,
let summer make the peace.

The fifth year of love,
Lingers like little children.
One leaves to find her fame
The other stays to grow his pain
And so both seek a lighter burden.

The sixth year of love
Imagines a way home.
Might it so be defined,
the shape and contours of our time,
or might it go alone?

The seventh year of love
Brings a weighty question.
Yes, yes, a resounding yes!
No tears, no years make less
So loud an affirmation.

The eighth year of love,
He makes one flesh, one vow,
From imperfect then to imperfect now,
most perfect hence – a Son of sons,
a sun that burns where no love runs,
in days of silver and gold and diamond,
to love, like love has just begun.

X marks the spot: poem for my pirate son

Have you heard of a treasure in a distant land?

Buried beneath a pile of sand.

Better than silver, better than gold,

Waiting to be found by a courageous soul.

 

So Pirate Karsten who loves a mission,

Set about fulfilling his grand vision.

He put on his eye patch, fixed his cap,

Studied with glee his old treasure map.

 

Ahoy! The ship sailed with a mighty jol­­­­t,

Full power ahead! To X marks the spot.

The sea was smooth, the wind was high,

The seafarer’s heart was light as a fly.

 

With his hair a-flapping, his hands a-clapping,

To sea shanty tunes his feet a-tapping,

“We’re on a mission, we’re on a quest,

where X marks the spot, is my treasure chest!”

 

Suddenly the sea parted with a roar,

Up rose a dragon, fifty feet tall!

Its eyes were amber, its scales were green,

It looked so horrible, it looked so mean!

 

But brave Pirate Karsten didn’t even flinch,

He jumped on its nose and gave it a pinch,

With a painful shriek, the dragon fell with a splash

And disappeared beneath the sea in a flash.

 

Spurred on by his victory, his spirits buoyed,

Karsten sang loudly with a great big voice,

“We’re on a mission, we’re on a quest!

Where X marks the spot, is my treasure chest!”

 

The next day he found some seagulls in a bunch,

Oh dear! They’d mistaken his map for lunch!

They tore it to bits, Karsten said, “NO!

Without my treasure map, where shall I go?”

 

So he picked up the pieces, one by one,

Stuck them together in the midday sun,

It was crumpled and stained, but it did not matter,

As long as there’s “X” – that glorious letter.

 

The wind was picking up, the storm clouds gathering,

Soon there was rain, and flashes of lightning,

The ship was tossed on mile-high waves,

“Save me!” he cried, “or I’ll sink without trace!”

 

And above the din, he heard a voice say,

“Be still!” it said, and the waves obeyed.

As the storm subsided, the ship ran aground,

Exhausted, Karsten fell asleep on the ground.

 

Then from behind the sandbar, emerged a man.

In a familiar voice, he said, “Hello, my friend.”

“Were you the one who saved me just then?”

asked Karsten, “with outstretched arm and mighty hand?”

 

“Ay, ay!” he said, with a kindly smile,

“Why don’t you talk with me awhile?”

“I’m lost” Karsten said, “tell me where I am!”

“Of course!” he replied, unfurled the map on the sand.

 

And that’s when he turned the voyage on its head,

“You see, the map’s oriented this way instead.

You thought you’re going this way, but you’re really going that,

When you thought you’re heading northeast, you’re really heading west!

 

“So the ‘X’ you see, is no X at all,”

“Rotate your map,” he urged, and then Karsten saw

the “X” becomes a “+” -  yes a cross!

The Cross marks the treasure that’s worth the cost.

 

“Because, the cross is where I died,

To save your life, I paid the price.

So at the Cross, you will find treasure,

In boundless and eternal measure.

  

"It’ll never spoil, it’ll never fade,

It’ll never be spent, it’s always the same.

So now you’ve found treasure, you can truly sing,

With gutso and with your everything,

 

“We’re on a mission, we’re on a quest!

Where the Cross marks the spot, is my treasure chest!”

Crafting around: Balloon puppets

We have been steadily building our collection of balloon flour puppets over the last few months. These puppets have been great fun to make and double up as stress therapy for the adults.

Material needed:
Balloon
Flour
A funnel
Yarn or pipe cleaners (for the puppet's hair)

Open up the neck of the balloon to cover the bottom spout of the funnel. Fill the funnel with flour, tap it gently to help the flour drop into the balloon, and knead the flour from the neck to the bottom of the balloon. When you reach the desired size, tie up the balloon. It should be nice and firm and able to be squeezed into different shapes. Decorate as you please with wiggly eyes, foam pieces for the mouth and yarn for the hair.

Two inconsequences of getting older

How long do you persist with a book before giving up? A while ago, I came across a handy rule of thumb that tells you how many pages you should read before deciding whether to stick with it or leave it:

(100 – your age) divided by 2

So for instance, if you’re 30, you would read 35 pages ((100-30) ÷2) before you guilt-freely give it the boot. And if you live to be 98, well, you can justifiably judge a book by its cover.

What is the basis of this rule? I’d like to think that the older we are, the better able we are to judge a book’s worthiness - to ourselves at least. But I suspect the simple reason is that we have less and less time. The stakes get higher with each passing year. There are only so many books, articles, blogposts you can fit in a lifetime. A sobering thought for those contemplating on doing the “100 books you must read before you die” challenge!

Da Vinci, a man of art and a man of science

Or perhaps we just have less stamina. I remember my adolescence when I would faithfully wait till the very last page of any Agatha Christie novel to find out whodunit. Plus I had good book hygiene. I would patiently go through one novel before starting another – why dilute the experience? But it all started to go awry came the HSC, when I never finished reading my English text, Emma. (Got up to the bit when Emma realised she loved Mr Knightley; Clueless and Cliff’s Notes filled in the rest. It’s very hard to keep the dramatic tension going once the sexual tension is resolved, isn’t it?)

Reading fatigue is not helped by the array of words plying for our attention. A friend used to say that we only have a certain amount of reading energy each day and if that is taken up by reading bullet points and legalese all day, there is precious little left for the important or pleasurable.

And so sadly I am putting this rule of thumb to good practice without intending to. Still, I can’t help feeling a pang of disappointment at not being able to finish what I started.

* * *

On a radio interview some time ago, a scientist made an interesting observation. He said that scientists usually do their groundbreaking work young, while musicians and artists continue producing into their old age.

Case in point: John Nash famously came up with his most important contribution to game theory in his 20s; whilst Picasso painted great works into his 80s.

Why is that? The same scientist postulates this is because in science, you need to be constantly interacting with new information in order to come up with a novel idea. An aging scientist is ill-suited to do this, not least because he or she is taken up by administrative tasks like running departments and applying for grants. Whereas in the arts, the information you need to create and keep creating is acquired in youth, and growth occurs internally.

Interesting. We don't choose our vocation based on its longevity – how a businessman might last longer than a barrister, who might last longer than a surgeon, who might last longer than a footballer. And at this rate of increasing life expectancy, we might all need second or third careers to round out our working lives. So it is natural that many people turn to writing and teaching in their retirement.

There’s a saying in Chinese tradition, “if you read ten thousand books, you might as well walk ten thousand miles” – meaning – it is better to step out, travel and experience the world firsthand than to read about it in books.

But when reading ability is in decline, and the wanderlust is gone, it’s good to know that the final and most thrilling journey happens inside.