Push Up and Put Up With It

Let's talk about push-ups. Well, the so-called "girl push-ups", which involve allowing the knees to touch the floor, thus making them easier, rather than maintaining a straight plank position.
     It's not so much the exercise itself that bothers me - they're actually a decent way to build some upper body strength. It's the name that's irritating. Why must it be girl push-ups? (Now, I realize they are occasionally referred to as "modified push-ups", but "girl push-ups" seems to be much more common. It has a particular ring to it that sticks in your mind.) Just the name itself places an entire gender into a box of "weaker than men". This may generally be true from a purely physical standpoint, but  it's essentially stereotyping. We wouldn't go around declaring all Germans to be racist or all blonds to be dumb, so why is it perfectly acceptable to imply that one gender is far weaker than the other?

When you Google "modified push-ups", the images are almost exclusively of women

     The other day at the gym, I went over to the free weight area. This is where the bench presses, squat bars, and other heavier equipment are located, and it inevitably draws men with the allure of being ripped. It's unusual to see any other women in this corner of the gym besides myself, and that day was no exception. After stretching, I proceeded to do some push-ups. Not girl push-ups, but the full ones. Behind me was a couple, with the boyfriend helping his girlfriend begin bench pressing. As soon as I began my push-ups, I couldn't help but notice him gawking at me. Really? I thought. Have you never seen a girl do push-ups? And I supposed he hadn't. So I just kept going until he eventually got bored and looked away.
     Why was it so shocking that a female could do push-ups? What does that say about our society?
     This is not just a one-way path of gender bias, however. If a man can only do "girl push-ups" he's considered lesser than those who can do full push-ups. That's not fair either. A person's value, regardless of their gender, should not be "measured in physical courage" (Ehrlich 571).
     We human beings are comprised of so much more than flesh and bone, and we should be valued according to traits that reflect our complexity. -MC

Side note: The paper towel company Brawny recently released ads with the slogan "#strengthhasnogender". We are making steps towards overlooking physical strength!

The new ads depict women in the familiar red Brawny flannel

Bright and Shiny

     One of my earliest memories is walking with my mother along a brightly lit street, staring wide-eyed at my surroundings in awe; There were grand statues, gondola rides and men in funny striped shirts, not to mention picturesque blue skies. Music played softly in the background. I tugged on my mother's hand, eager to point out the merry shops and crowds of smiling people. I recall wondering if I was dreaming -- everything was perfect.
     Indeed, it was too perfect to be true. In fact, I later understood that I had not been mesmerized by Venice, Italy, but rather by the Grand Canal Shoppes of Las Vegas's Venetian Hotel. My five-year-old self had experience the "geographical implausibility" that was Las Vegas (Didion 102). Shortly after my revelation, I was merely confused by the sheer "self-contradictory business" Vegas was in. How could an industry thrive on the imitation of others? After all, there's a facsimile of nearly every notable landmark on the Vegas Strip: the Statue of Liberty, the Great Sphinx of Gaza (though with a layer of chrome paint to add to its appeal), the Roman Colosseum, the Arc de Triomphe, and even the Eiffel Tower. You name it, it's there in one form or another.

I don't think Egypt has light-shooting pyramids....

     Each of these landmarks was originally created as a symbol of freedom or as a celebratory feat of architecture. But, in their miniature forms in Vegas, they have become synonymous with gambling, eateries, and shopping. Essentially, they serve as a place where glutton is abundant, and entertainment is key. There is simply no connection with real life in Vegas.
     Many, myself included, have fallen prey to the luster Vegas boasts. We even convince ourselves that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. But really, if we lose our brain cells to such an artificially bright and shiny place, is the immediate gratification worth the price? -MC

"You Do Not Belong in this Class"

My mother first stepped foot on American soil on September 19, 1994.
     She was wearing her very best outfit -- a white lace dress, complete with white leather high-heels. At the Detroit Metropolitan Airport, she was first struck by the sound of rapid English being spoken all around her. It sounded like singing, a beautiful melody full of hopes and possibilities.
     In the following weeks, my mother noticed more of the unique aspects of America, especially when she started her graduate classes at Wayne State University. She was shocked by two aspects of university life: First, Americans dressed casually. Dresses and high heels, which my mother and her classmates wore around the university and at the workplace in China, were nonexistent in America. They were instead replaced with baggy colorful sweaters and camouflage pants. Second, the sheer diversity took my mother by surprise. Not only were different races present (versus China's nearly exclusively Chinese population), but also different shapes and sizes. Well, she noticed a lot of Americans were fat. Maybe that was because most things they ate were fried, compared to the steamed and boiled dishes of China.
     For the most part, (even though she gained a few pounds) my mother loved America. There was only a single incident where she felt like a small and insignificant in this nation.
     It was one of her first classes at Wayne, Sociology. Now, this was not a class she wanted to take, but it was a required course for her MBA. The professor was a stereotypical middle-aged American -- a short, obese, balding man in his late 50's. In the day in question, my mother's good friend, Mei, was ill and therefore absent. So, my mother decided to tell the professor about Mei after the class had ended. She didn't want to announce Mei's absence in front of some 150 others (mostly white males) in the middle of roll call. Keep in mind, this shyness was due to a combination of Chinese values, where humility and shyness are of the utmost importance, in addition, though to a lesser degree, to her lack of confidence in English.
     She approached the professor after class and told him about Mei's situation. He looked at her, my timid 26 year old mother, and said, "You should not be in this class". Just like that, without any exam, without any way to measure her ability, this man looked at my mother and determined from her spoken English and the way she looked that she did not belong.
     This blatant racism, my mother concluded, was due to a difference in values. She was raised to be modest, whereas in America, if you didn't speak your mind immediately, you were viewed as impotent and therefore unqualified.
     My mother stayed in the class because she had to, but also because she wanted to make a statement. You didn't have to be a white male to be successful. She earned her MBA a few years later and became a successful medical data analyst.
     In hindsight, my mother forgives that professor who made her first months of university in America so abhorrent. In fact, she even looks down upon him now, not in negativity, but rather in pity. She pities that fat old man because he could not open his mind and attempt to understand different cultures or to "improve [his] moral fiber". He forever remains in her memory, and serves to remind her just how far she has come. -MC

My father's graduation at the University of Michigan, circa 1995

My Mother and I

Reading "Arm Wrestling with My Father" really struck a chord within me.
     Manning's relationship with his father used to be based upon a "ritual of... competition" as a way to "have a conversation", but it gradually morphs until Manning is longer "pressured to compete with [him]". Manning's growth is an unavoidable part of life, and it alters his previously competitive relationship with his father. The loss of competitive nature paired with Manning's win in the arm wrestle is symbolic of his father passing his strength on his son, and this changes his father. Manning even senses a "softer... embrace" in his dad that carries a different meaning than it did before.
     It was the "softer... embrace" portion of the narrative that bothered me. Not because it wasn't a fitting end, but because that was what my relationship with my mother used to have. And, when Manning bares his soul in such a raw way, it reminds me just how much I miss the simplicity of a hug.
     Before I begin, let me just say that my mother always has and still does care for me greatly; She always makes sure a hot dinner is on the table, and she always selflessly puts my needs above her own. If I want to go shopping? Of course she'll take me, even if there's still work to be done at home. I remember I used to always give her a kiss on the cheek before I left for school. She would always call me at 3 o'clock to ask me how my day was.
     But in the past two years or so, our communication has gradually become more scarce. It was small at first, so small that I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late.
     It began when my mother got a new job as a data analyst. She was so excited to finally be trying something new, to learn how to code in the new age. And I was happy for her. But, she was so bogged down at work that a few weeks later, the post-school phone calls trickled off before stopping altogether. I didn't see her in the mornings anymore - she left for work before I was even awake.
     Nowadays, I don't see her until after I come home from swim, around 8 o'clock. While I eat dinner, she usually tells me about her horrible boss, who will not hesitate to throw people under the bus. Or she'll tell me about her coworker, who is recently divorced and who constantly cries. Either way, I'm now keenly aware of the inner workings of her company.
     It's become somewhat of a chore to listen to her. But I endure it.
     I keep my mouth shut because I'm older, and I understand her need to vent. I also understand that these are the precious few moments I get to see her in the day, and I must appreciate them.
     Perhaps this loss of communication, like Manning's loss of competitiveness, is inevitable as I grow older and more independent. 
     Even if that is the case, I still appreciate a warm embrace. Yesterday, when my mother got up to see me off to the HOSA competition, she gave me a hug, and it helped fueled me the rest of the day. -MC