This morning as I was making
coffee, I contemplated my blue coffee mug. Blue, like cobalt glass, and almost
see-through. I’ve had this mug for many years. I thought about how blue was my
favorite color for most of my life, and how part of the reason I chose blue was
because blue was not considered a girl’s color.
My striving to be different
started at an early age. Maybe it was because I saw my brother treated better
than me. Maybe it was because I was still in an era where girls and boys had
specific roles, and I saw that boys had more opportunities (got more stuff,
were allowed to do more things … seemed free). Maybe I just realized from an
early age I didn’t want to fit into a mold of what others dictated I was
supposed to be.
I didn’t like girly stuff. I
seldom played with dolls (although I liked paper dolls and making clothes for
them – because that was artsy – not that I understood being an artist at the
time.) I didn’t like being in the house or helping with house stuff that wives
and mothers took care of. I didn’t like wearing dresses or having to act like a
girl when the boys got to be wild and be outside.
My mother wasn’t a girly-girl,
either, and although she didn’t totally act like those perfect “Leave It to
Beaver” housewife models, she was still part of that timeframe of life for
women. She didn’t do the normal woman-thing too much either. She was always on
the fringe.
She taught us hide ‘n’ seek,
kick the can, and took us out in the woods on walks. So, perhaps it was from
her I that made me determined to not be like other girls. She didn’t have many
friends. She didn’t play the “follow the leader” games or become part of a
clique.
Instead of dolls, I wanted to
be outside playing with my brother’s trucks. I wanted to climb trees, explore
the woods and fields, and ride my bike faster than the boys. I decided to have
blue as my favorite color because it was a boy color. Girls were supposed to
like red.
I never did totally conform
to the traditional role of woman. Yes, I married and had children. Yes, I
totally love my children with all my heart, but even the role of mother and
grandmother has me apart from most. Maybe my roles can never be the same as the
majority. Maybe … I don’t know …
And in trying to live
whole-heartedly, I have to accept who I am without feeling guilty for not following
the more traditional role of womanhood. I have to celebrate my uniqueness and
understand, too, I am not the only one. We can’t all be the same. It’s the
differences in people that make life interesting. The important thing is seeing
that we are all good no matter what roles we choose to play (or be).
These days I’m more known for
my love of purple. Part of that, too, is a desire to be different. If I could
find a coffee mug, just like my blue one, but in purple, that would be the cherry
on top of my morning.
