Watching the Academy Awards red carpet with my 8 year-old last night, I realized how eye-opening and foreign the world of Hollywood was to him. Among the endless questions:
Why is she so tall?
Why is everyone so tall?
Why are there mostly women?
How come there are barely any men?
Who is Jennifer Aniston?
Why are there so many Jennifers?
What is Tiffany?
He’s the one who played Abraham Lincoln? How tall is he? (His 3rd grade class had just finished a unit on Abe Lincoln and one big takeaway was what a tall president Lincoln was.)
In trying to find “good mom” answers to Fred’s endless questions, I realized what was all so new and puzzling to him. Yes, everyone is tall because tall is what our society deems attractive; there are mostly women because we care about how the women look; there are so many Jennifers because Jennifer, in my generation, was the “cool” name for girls. And Tiffany? Tiffany is a famous jewelry company.
Fred, welcome to the world that Mommy has been trying to pretend for you doesn’t exist.
I suppose we all arrive here at one point or another in our lives and, if we’re lucky, we eventually emerge from and escape it forever: this place where beauty, height, popularity and wealth matter.
Fred has been shielded from much if not all of it; it’s partly intentional, mostly natural. We don’t talk much about beauty or appearance because it’s not all that important to us. We don’t have wealth to flaunt. And we’re very fortunate in that we live in a kind of utopia where the vast majority of our friends and neighbors have better things to do than to try and keep up appearances.
I now occasionally indulge in the Oscars and in People magazine, but I’ve come far enough in my life to now be able to view it as strictly entertainment, as a fun escape from the daily grind of work and sometimes life.
But growing up I did get sucked deeply and violently into this Hollywood vortex. Left to my own devices, I began collecting celebrity magazines by the time I was Fred’s age, cutting out and studying pictures of Charlie’s Angels and Cheryl Tiegs…wondering when and if I could ever look the way they did in their bikinis (never mind that I was still years away from puberty!). Of course, it wasn’t just Hollywood that did this to me; I’m sure it was a confluence of the heavy emphasis on beauty in my household, my own lack of self-esteem, and my own shame in my Asian features. For years as a girl I’d yearned to look like someone I could never look like: a tall, western model.
Fred will be spared much of this, I am sure, because I will not let him down this path. I will not allow him to believe that a woman’s face, breasts and legs are what constitute true beauty; I will not allow him to believe that as a man he needs power as defined by wealth and women. But last night I did open the door for him. He saw enough to be surprised. He is a petite boy, a petite boy who eats well, exercises and gets rave reviews at every check up. But he is not tall, and he will likely never be tall. I’ve made sure to not pass on any messages to him that as a man he needs to be tall and big, that to find the love of his life he needs to be over 6 feet, that to be successful professionally he needs anything beyond integrity, passion, a good work ethic and teamwork skills. So he feels great about himself, because he knows he’s an energetic, caring and curious kid who is loved by friends and family. Last night the majority of his confusion and the bulk of his questions had to do with height and why the stars needed to be tall, and in coming up with answers – answers to questions that I have honestly never needed to answer before yesterday – my heart felt a little broken, and my power to protect and influence him just a little smaller.