Monday was my last day at work with Defence, assuming all goes to plan, until 2012. Because I have taken annual leave for part of this 1st fortnight I will get one more paycheck. After that Jane is *the* family breadwinner and I will take up the mantle of Minister for Home Affairs. It’s not such a great leap and I am 100% comfortable with the change in my circumstances. After all, Jane already brings home the majority of our household income while I account for most of the cooking. More importantly, I measure my success in life more broadly than by my success at work. None the less, this shift will place me in a (growing) minority. As a long standing gamer and general purpose geek, I well used to being at odds with general society. It just doesn’t concern me very much. However, I am going to be the ‘trailing spouse’ of a DFAT officer and that makes it all very much more complicated. Jane will be working in an arena where the opinions of others about her personal affairs will have a direct correlation on her professional effectiveness. It would be naïve to think that those opinions will be based on her alone. I too will be on display and, informally at least, representing Australia.
I recall reading a theory which argues the future is already here, just not evenly distributed. To put it into practical terms, some people hunt and gather, others order a pizza over wireless internet. This theory holds up well in diplomatic society which has centuries of convention dictating the correct bearing and action of all the players, including the trailing spouse which until relatively recently were all called 'wives'. In some places, were I female, it would still be expected that I present myself at the earliest opportunity to the wife of the most senior local diplomat. Ottawa, thankfully, exists further into the future and is not such a place. Amusingly, I am even told that some ¾’s of the ‘trailing spouse’ at the Ottawa High Commission are also male. So, over the next two years I am not likely to perfect either the art of the cucumber sandwich or the famously pinprick sharp, yet feather soft, conversations of idle females. I’ll try to make sure that a mastery of gin and tonics remains on the agenda. Beyond that, I hope that my fellow man-bags will join me in casting off the white lace gloves of the historical diplo-wife and instead take up regular man-bag excursions to the pub for beers and ice hockey. And if I am in fact, expected to present myself before the most senior man-bag, he had bloody well be ready to wrestle with our shirts off in front of a roaring bonfire. 1st one to submit buys the beers.
Excellent. To aid you in your beer and hockey plan, I set you a challenge. As soon as you know, tell me which hockey team I support with you :) My hockey supporter slot is wide open :)
ReplyDeleteYou're not a man bag. You're a murse (man's purse). It's Nth America where handbag = purse.
ReplyDeletePfft.
ReplyDeleteI've been doing this for years. You're not a fucking man-bag. You're a bloke who's given priority to his children and his wife above his potential 'career'. Self-deprecating humour is great, Mister Jay, but you will very soon discover (if you haven't already) that it's not a lot of fun when you're the only one laughing.
You're quick witted, and sharp. Use it. When anybody says anything like "Mister Mom", smile and talk about Missus Dad, and then ask them if their children remember what they look like...
You're not alone. It's fashionable for men in the media - particularly fathers - to be portrayed as inept and clueless. That gets boring real forkin' fast. Personally, when I encounter that kind of crap, I like to sucker the idiots espousing it into a thoughtful, complex conversation - and then rain urine on them from a great height, with the utmost politeness, when they display the empty, vapid qualities of their intellect. I don't do fast and funny as well as you, but you know exactly how carefully and clinically I can strip a stupid viewpoint to shreds.
No. It doesn't make friends. But it does mean that the next time you meet said idiots, they generally keep very, very quiet, and start looking for the exits.
I recognize that as the partner of a diplomat, diplomacy is required of you too. And I'm quite sure you're more than capable of assessing each situation on its merits, and behaving properly. All I'm saying is: don't hesitate to hardball the fuckwits when the opportunity is presented - because not every bloke who chooses to be dad over Career Johnny is as well equipped to deal with the bullshit as you and I, and we owe it to them to help out where we can.