All Things Change

I no longer live in a western world where personal space can be valued as a right. The words worship or idolatry sometimes aren’t strong enough to describe the attitude some western countries have towards personal space.

When we westerners sit there’s a “natural” perimeter we have. If you’re sitting now, stick your elbows straight out and that’s about the space you supposedly own. When we stand talking we should apply the *netball three feet rule. When we bump someone in the street we apologize. Knocking feet under the table results in the instant withdrawal of feet by both party A and party B. Accidentally touching someone with the front or back of your hand is followed by profuse and clumsy apologies to ensure the touchee understands that the toucher wasn’t groping them.

The great Australian dream has a front yard, double garage and a backyard that are all sacred to the owners, who are likely to feel violated if an “uninvited” breaks the boundaries. If the legal, yet invisible boundary isn’t working then a large obstructing wall/fence is built. Those who aren’t living the real dream and don’t have yards to protect them, then there’s the parking bay to war over.

Then the motor vehicle…

A few days ago a fully laden oncoming minibus swung onto the wrong side of the road and down my lane (or the lane I was in). I chose to flash the head lights vigorously and keep my hand on the horn. My intent was to let the driver know that I was indeed there and that if we collided it would be his fault. Call me chicken, but I then changed lanes and continued on.

If this happened some years before in the western world as my western self, my response would have been a little different. There would have been: involuntary and non-child appropriate language; the taking down of vehicle registration; pulling over and comforting the shaken passengers;  a call to the police; a possible call to a talk back radio to re-enforce the never ending cycle of stupid driver call-ins; and then a vow to avenge on behalf of all us “good” drivers.

So even when a driver makes a less than okay choice to drive the wrong way down a lane and break the law and put me and my passengers and his passengers at risk of harm, why is there no anger? I could have an issue with suppressing anger or I might have come to some understanding of the concept of “common space”. That is to say that our western sense of a personal space in which we “own” the area around us is pretty much a farce. Our concept of personal space creates a sense of security and control of self. So when our sense of security and/or our control of self is interrupted we feel violated. And our response is often outrage. When in reality we’re just getting a little glimpse at what a large section of the world’s population expects…

“MI CASA, SU CASA.” (For some reason clichés in another language are far more profound.)

*Netball is predominantly a women’s sport that Australia and New Zealand obsess over. Men are invited to play in mixed social teams and usually discover within themselves high doses of self loathing, spirit breaking apathy and sympathy for families of the middle age women who referee/manipulate the game. But it is a great game and all women are wonderful… 

If the title has led you to believe that this post is about pre-tribulation rapture theology, then I apologize profusely. And just in case you did want to read about the rapture take a look around… we’re all still here!

No. This post will look at being a “Trailing Spouse”, or “Trailer” as I prefer to be known. For all you folk not living the expatriate life: when a couple/family live and work abroad the wife may stay “at home” (i.e. work for no financial gain) and they are some times known as the “expat wife”. And the word work is used differently in this context because in developing countries there’s often the opportunity to employ house hold help so it can be more of home management than domestic work. A friend once said that if re-incarnation was real, then he hoped to come back as an expat wife… plenty of time for study, friends, coffee, shopping, massages, pedicures, travel, etc…

So in the expatriate situation what do you call the man when the wife works and the husband (or equivalent) manages the household for no financial gain? Well, you call him the gender free title of “Trailing Spouse” (a close cousin of the house husband). Besides following, straggling and causing drain as our title suggests we find our self-worth in places we never thought possible.

Our self worth is in responding to the cries of our young children telling us, “I need poo poo” or “I need wee wee” or “My doodle’s ouchy”.

Then of course there’s the stuff you get to teach your young children when the mother is out, like:
Guns are bad.
Thumbs up = good.
Thumbs down = bad.
Selected quotes from the Simpsons.
How to blame others when you belch.
How to massage dad’s back.
The finer points of wrestling.
Indoctrinate them with the idea that dad was an international superstar in just about everything.

We are a marginalized group, us “Male Trailers”. Our value is questioned and we are shunned by the expat wives… “It’s just not natural”, they murmur as we pass by. So there’s no invite to study, coffee, shop, massages, pedicures or travel.

But we’re content because we know that the havoc we secretly reek on the impressionable minds of young’ns will have a long term positive impact.

The world will one day not use guns to negotiate, but will use thumbs up or down to solve tricky international incidents. If that fails exchanges of Simpson quotes can be bantered around the room and someone could start some ventriloquistic belches to break the tension. Failing that a round of elderly decision makers being massaged while they watch the young power brokers wrestle should smooth thing over. And heaven forbid that not succeeding, then it’ll all come down to whose dad is better than your dad.

Or of course this could be avoided if the wives (and equivalents) were the primary money earners. This might normalize the male “trailing spouse” experience, then everyone might just be happy and there might be no need for negotiations.

But what’s the chances?

As a rule our family avoids the golden arches of the McDonalds Empire. But as a parent, who hadn’t eaten all day, with two kids in tow suddenly the allure of seat and eat became an acceptable defeat. 

So, down trodden and comfortable with my defeat, I order up! Burgers, fries and drinks all round. Not even a second thought of the copious quantities of fat and sugar. 

We were happily hardening our arteries and tormenting our pancreases when my three year old gave a scream. Pointing at a poster of the beloved Ronald he said, “Look there’s a clown. Clowns are sccaarryyy. I want to shot it. Bang, bang. I’ll get a gun…” Pointing his two fingers at the poster like a gun, he gave one last “BANG!” 

I was torn… my three year old wanted to take Ronald out. This, quietly, made me proud and made his big brother laugh very hard. But it was violence and with a gun (I don’t care how many amendments your constitution has, guns are yet to make the world a better place).  

My conscience was trying to tell me before we walked beneath the yellow ‘M’, “Don’t do it, feed your kids something real.” But I belittled my conscience with a, “Shut the hell up, I’m hungry now!” 

I guess like my mum enjoys saying, “If you hang around bad places, bad things happen.”  

And for those of you parenting experts out there, yes I did take advantage of the ‘teachable moment’. It went something like this: “You shouldn’t shoot anyone including good people, bad people or clowns. God loves everyone including the clowns. And guns are bad.” 

I’ve spent the latter half of my 33 years avoiding clichés. Although a marginal minority, there are a growing number of people that belong to the Cliché Naysayer’s Association (CNA). Well, okay there aren’t really that many… at least not that they would know they belong to the movement. I guess I’m trying to ”out them” as members.

So what is it that the CNA have against clichés and Regular Cliché Users (RCU)?

It could be that some clichés are used to arrive at poorly informed conclusions.
CNA member says:
“I don’t think he could have caused this.”
RCU possible responses:
“Where there’s smoke there’s fire” or
“You reap what you sow” or
“A chain is only as strong as its weakest link”

It could be that some clichés are convenient for ignoring reality.
CNA member says:
“My wife is terminally ill”
RCU possible responses:
“If you stay positive anything can happen” or
“Let’s cross our fingers everything will be alright” or
“It’s a blessing in disguise”

It could be that some clichés are used to permit indecision.
CNA member says:
“What’s been decided for this issue?”
RCU possible responses:
“It’s more of an either/either than an and/or” or
“I feel caught between a rock and a hard place” or
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat”

But more likely than not it’s because the word “cliché” keeps company with other words like platitude and stereotype. Clichés are truisms or a summary of a common value or belief. Clichés aren’t necessarily wrong but can be used as factual knowledge to which a response is not expected. Along with this the cliché user assumes a position of ownership of the knowledge behind summary and therefore seeks to enforce this knowledge without actually having discovered it for themselves. Oh well, no use re-inventing the wheel.

Admittedly clichés are unavoidable and the CNA doesn’t exist (although I wish it did). So how about we try a little harder to tidy up our conversations and use less clichés? After all, cleanliness is next to Godliness.