My older brothers got in the newspaper for modeling denim leisure suits for JCPenney’s. My big brother Teddy’s local claim to fame was doing awesome in Special Olympics – and because he’s the best looking one in the family. My spotlight was for giving Teddy a black eye.
It was 1980 and we were shopping at our local Des Plaines Mall. A local reporter, looking for an “amusing story” for her “Laughing with Lori” weekly column, stopped my mom. And my mom never turns anyone away.
Here’s a short version of the story: I kept bugging Teddy, following him around, and trying to do everything first. Eventually he tells me he’ll punch me if I don’t leave him alone. But instead, I punch him, giving him a black eye.
In my defense, Teddy threatened to punch me first. In his defense, he didn’t actually do it … and I was super annoying. (I’ve since apologized to Ted.)
Hitting someone probably seemed normal to us then because our dad’s response to anything not going his way was to hit, break, or throw. I don’t think he knew any other way. As long as the anger outbursts were at home, it was fine — that thinking was common then.
Corporal punishment was too. The Catholic nuns still pulled kids by an ear when my oldest brother Patrick started school in the 70s. Luckily for me, the worst I’d get was hit by a flying eraser if I wasn’t paying attention. At home, spankings, belts, and wooden spoons were legitimate forms of discipline. My grandma from the south still used switches (twigs from trees or bushes). My other grandma washed the sass out of my mouth with a bar of Ivory soap.
But the thing is — in most cases — the adults really believed they were doing what they needed to do. To make you “turn out right.” And even though it seemed normal then, and I always knew I was loved, it just felt so wrong.
I'm really thankful that things started changing during our generation. And whatever you think about The Oprah Winfrey Show, I really think Oprah deserves credit for moving the needle away from accepting physical punishment and domestic aggression as “normal.” Her voice changed how we think about early life trauma, showing that when kids are exposed to anger or violent outbursts (even with words), it changes them in harmful ways.
The messages I heard watching Oprah, made me think about how I took care of kids — the ones I babysat, and later my own. With her reach that continued for years, it’s crazy to think of how many other parents and caregivers were positively impacted by those messages.
The heavy-handed gender stereotyping is another thing I’m thankful is less common now. I’m described as a saucy, six-year old — Miss blonde dynamite. “What was our spunky blonde up to you ask?” Beating her brother “to the punch,” Lori writes, proving that “blondes have more fun.”
I remember what it felt like then, being put into a “girl” box with a big warning sticker: FEISTY. I really tried being a “nice” girl, but I really wanted as many of those little, colored foil stars from my first grade teacher as I could get. My friends at school were girls full of ambition too. The question was: do you wanna be a doctor, or a lawyer?
Soon we learned it wasn’t okay to show what we wanted. In cheerleading we encouraged the boys to “Be Aggressive” in our chants, but knew that if we showed any hint of aggression — even if it wasn’t even towards anyone — we got labeled the B-word. So we went the passive aggressive route, promoting a mean-girl culture that’s still around today. And those gender biases didn’t end when we grew up.
The year I graduated high school was declared “The Year of the Woman.” You knew things were a bit screwy when a single year was dedicated to the majority of the workforce. I loved watching Murphy Brown then because her character was unapologetically honest about those double standards. But I also knew that in real life, a bitch label would’ve either held her down or kicked her out.
My experiences as a female were always in sharp contrast to my brothers’ experiences. It seemed easier for them to be openly ambitious. At the same time, it was also clear that they were even more boxed-in by their gender than I was. And they were less protected too; our dad always followed the never-hit-girls rule. So I’ve always considered gender debates centered around one side winning, and the other losing, as no-win propositions.
There’s a real shift happening today. My Gen Z kids are less boxed-in and labeled. There’s a much better understanding of how early life trauma creates cycles of hurt people hurting people (including themselves). Both changes are huge opportunities to break cycles that’ve been generational. There’s something so healing about working towards those endings.