Extra credit participation

Cynthia Quintanilla

Even in America, people are brainwashed into particular gender roles. Well, I'm Mexican to boot. This means I grew up with very strict gender ideas. These ideas include the typical: woman as caregiver, woman as virgin until marriage, woman as fragile, man as breadwinner, man as a permissible philanderer, and man as strong as bull. To add insult to injury, my limitations went further than if I'd have American parents. The sexism was widespread and these roles were - and still are- ingrained into my culture, including the women whom seem to believe it should be that way. As an elementary school kid, I played pogs and marbles with my cousins after school at my grandmother's house. Out would come my uncle and take my pogs and marbles because "those aren't for girls." His ridicule was constant and it extended to my male cousins if I ever beat them at any game. "Danny got beat by a girl! You should be embarrassed," he'd say. Of course, this was early in my childhood. Unfortunately, I grew up with an inconvenient thing called a vagina and the taunts grew into insults and degradation. My very traditional dad is accustomed to being waited on hand and foot, so on one Saturday morning in my early teens, after having teamed up with my mom to power clean the house, my dad calls me outside. There I see him drinking with his friends while bowls that once held shrimp cocktail are strewn about. "Clean this up," he told me. Before even thinking, I made a face that expressed how I didn't want more work. I got in a few words of my complaint-to-be before he cut me off. "Be quiet and do it! You are here to serve me." With that, I grabbed the dishes and angrily went inside. That was it. Over the years I had never been allowed to go hunting with my dad, go over to friends' houses, play with "boy" things, or help my dad build things in the backyard. My younger brother, however, received all these privileges. Over the years, I was cruelly reprimanded for not considering it a pleasure to clean the house and play servant. My dad would come home from work, plop on the recliner, and ask me to bring him a drink and take off his shoes. If it wasn't me then it was my mom. Normally, making him comfortable wouldn't be a big deal, except that my mom also worked the same 12-hour job. She came home cooking and tying up loose ends around the house. This I saw day in and day out. I hated not being valued. Anything I did well, it was devalued because it was women's work. Soon after, I became a guy.

My sophomore year of high school I changed my name to Rodney-after my favorite skater at the time- changed my dress style to be more noticeably male (loose jeans, baggy shirts, backward caps). I even changed my facial expressions. I made sure to smile less, stand taller, and I avoided colors associated with women. I would recommend action movies to my dad and I'd sit with him while he watched hoping for some bonding time, hoping he would like me. I don't know why I wanted approval from someone who I didn't like. My stint as a male didn't stick for too long, I eventually got tired of not smiling and went back to doing my own thing, which I never considered to be very feminine in the first place. What initially began as imitation to gain respect turned into resentment and I began to loathe men. What a child! After much learning and self-exploration I wrote an essay titled "Equal, Not the Same" and thus I put a foot into the door of feminism. If I had been born a male, I'd probably dress in the way socially acceptable for men, but less snazzy and lazier. That's the type of woman I am now. I cannot for the life of me find the will to go through an hour of beautification. I feel very neutral, but I'm sure that is far from true. Everything about me has been carefully constructed by society. I wear tighter jeans because it's acceptable for women and good luck trying to find any other kind in a women's department store, but they're bellbottoms because I stopped paying attention to fashion in the 8th grade. I have long hair compared to men because women have long hair. I knew women out there were treated as I was but I never heard any of them complain. I figured they were happy to fit the feminine mold; they were good at it. Regardless of our current gender situations, I'm happy to be female. It took me a while to realize it. I am able to visible feelings without being jeered. I can cry if I want to. I don't understand why the women are ridiculed for being sensitive or having feelings. I consider those things to be superpowers. I feel I can live more fully and explosively if I feel deeply. I'm not naive to believe men don't have feelings. Of course they do. Unfortunately, they keep those "women germs" deeply hidden else they be called a sissy, a pussy, a vag, a little bitch, a girl, a fag. You know, all things synonymous with women. Because being a woman somehow has become the ultimate insult.