superheros and stereotypes

Categories are essential, helping us to function successfully in society, whether we are conscious of the practice or not. The media has played a large part in the classification of "beauty" as we perceive it (at least in Western civilizations.) The video we watched last night was especially meaningful to me, as a woman. It's just one of those unfortunate realities of being an average-looking female in today's culture. The standard of beauty is set impossibly high. Most of us can never live up to the magazine covers that line supermarket checkout stands. And if Michelle Pfeiffer can't even measure up without a generous helping of Photoshop magic, what hope do we mere mortals have?

Men have it pretty tough, too, I think. There are relatively few superheroes in the world - and those super-heroic standards of male beauty, strength, honesty, integrity and fidelity are just as imposing. (Thankfully there is only one Diana Prince. Whew.)

Fortunately, characterizations can overlap. Generalizations can change. People can adapt. But changes are slow, and without much conscious effort on all of our parts, stereotypes emerge. As if there isn't enough pressure to deal with. And we're probably all guilty of perpetuating many of them, sometimes innocently, oftentimes carelessly. I know I'm grateful to be part of a community that seems more open to inviting new cultures into our lives. I also know that sometimes I'm caught off guard. Being a white bread girl, growing up in a white bread world, if I'm honest, has probably afforded me some advantages in our society. It's must also be challenging for most people not to see color in this pale corner of the world.

I grew up with my cousins, Greg, Terri and Jimmy, in a fairly small town in Washington state, and never once questioned their skin color. They were adopted as infants, Greg's nationality was Native American, Terri was French Canadian/Native American, and Jimmy was Filipino/Native American. I was always envious of their darker skin, quite frankly. I freckled and burned. Still do, and it's still irritating. They turned gloriously browner every summer without smearing white goo all over their skin. (My ex-husband is of Spanish descent, and our kids got his skin color, dark hair and brown eyes. My contribution was wit and humor, I suppose. My daughter may have inherited a freckle or two...) The Norwegian blood on my side is pretty well diluted from this point on.

I didn't learn of the "Indian"-alcohol stereotype until my late teens. Greg was habitually in and out of jail in his teens, and his addiction to alcohol destroyed him. A tragedy that perpetuates the stereotype is so unfortunate, and so unfortunately real. But fortunately for our family, not always the fate of their siblings.