Grandfather: Why I am who I am
On the mundane level, I can understand the causes. I mean, if your living in a period in history where disobedience equals a real danger of physical violence, I can understand that on some level. But how did it get so damn bad? How did it get to the point we are now, where women were viewed as second class citizens, basically throughout the entirety of known history for the most part?
I have never viewed myself as a revolutionary woman. In fact, for most of my life, I thought I was completely insane, the way that I thought and the things I believed about myself just seemed so out of keeping with what I saw in the world. I honestly have to say I thought I was some sort of mutant creature as a child, I faced so much ridicule for acting in a way that seemed natural to me.
It is a strange state of affairs to say that being exposed to that which seems most unatural to me may have been what made me the way I am. My mother was a single teenage mother, in a time before that was anywhere near acceptable. My grandfather retired a month after I was born, and in essence he and my grandmother took over parenting duties while my young mother went to work. By the time I was two my grandmother had passed away, and as a young child I spent my days in the constant company of this sixty something man, and rarely even saw my mother. When I did see her she was usually cooking for my grandfather, and then falling asleep exhausted shortly after. The only meal I ever saw him cook was breakfast, and I can honestly say I never saw him perform even one household task.
At the time, my love and connection to him was so strong, and I was so young, I never connected this fact with the roles of man and women. I saw his special treatment more as a symbol of his place of honor, as the voice of wisdom within our family. I began to revile having anyone force their way upon me, and could not bear being made to do anything I didn't want to. All this was done in imitation of my grandfather, and in a way made me the woman I have become. It is a very strange experience to know that the particular circumstances of my early life gave me the self identity I now possess. As misguided as my family might have been in terms of what is proper, being raised in that environment enabled me to create an identity separate from those same roles and norms.
I attribute much of what I am to my grandfather, and my mother as well. Being young and the youngest child, my mother was still under the influence of Grandfather when I was born. She obeyed him, not out of fear but of the same things, devotion to him, and respect. There was much in my grandfather that reflected a man torn between the world and himself, and I think that even as a child I recognized this same quality within myself.
There was always a sense that he deplored the state of things between men and women, even if he took advantage of the mundane benefits as a male. It was all superficial. His deep reverence and respect for women and their wisdom was undeniable, women ruled him. His mother, his wife, his five daughters, and then myself. He let us cook and clean, and in return we had free reign. His money went from his paycheck directly into our pockets. He wanted none of it. In all his outward appearance of being the man in charge, the warrior, in a sense he worshiped at the feet of women.
The funny thing was, in his relationships with men, most feared him. I never saw any man treat grandfather with anything but the utmost respect. His demeanor was as solid as rock, and inspired fear in them. It was to such a level that the women in our family were constantly laughing about it. So amusing to see all these men afraid of a man that we knew wasn't capable of raising even a finger in violence. Unless it was to protect what was his.
In my Grandfather, I see more clearly than anything, the face of the Lord Freyr. Grandfather spent most of his days tilling and working the earth, out of doors, in his expansive and verdant garden. Though he has been gone nearly a decade now, I can see his dirt covered, leathery hands in my mind as clearly as if they were before me. He never spoke of war or troubles, his way was always peaceful. Under his hand, many gardens grew. Yet any man could recognize the ferocity lying dormant inside, was that peace threatened.
Until her dying day, my Grandmother tried to convince him to attend church, and in all other things he assented to her, but never this. His footsteps echoed only in Church only for funerals, and he was always the first out the door when they were over. He never spoke of God, never even in whisper. I think he knew that the green earth was his divinity, and not even exalted woman could make him deny it's call.
I will probably never know what he truly believed, but in my heart I feel it. He always called me "the wild heathen child,"smiling. And even if no one else saw it, their was pride in his eyes when he spoke it.
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