I promise this isn’t going to become an all-Glee all the time blog—but right now the show is on my mind a lot and is often a source of conversation between me and B. (which will be another post about having a dialogue about sex with your 10-year old son). So, if you hate Glee, come back later for another post. If, however, you are interested in figuring out how this middle-class, heterosexual, 40-year old woman over-identifies with a wealthy, homosexual, 17-year old male character, grab a cup of coffee and curl up. This is going to be a long post.
Some background might be in order. Last season Glee introduced Blaine Anderson, the lead vocalist for a competing glee club. He was confident, charismatic, and hot. By the end of the season he had become the romantic interest for Kurt, one of the central original characters. They seemed to be on equal footing, although Kurt is far more outgoing in all aspects of his personality (not just in that he is the more stereotypically gay). On stage Blaine exudes control and commands the spotlight; off stage he seems happy to fade into the background and openly admires Kurt’s individuality. Blaine avoids conflict and tries to please people; Kurt refuses to be cowed by anyone.
(Of course, all that is how I interpret the characters. If you wade into online fandom, you’ll find myriad other views. But this is my blog, so my interpretation.)
This season Blaine transferred from his school to Kurt’s. Now, instead of being the uncontested star of the choir and surrounded by peers who almost idolize him, Blaine is low man in a group filled with competing egos. His attempts to work with others are shot down by a co-captain who feels jealous of Blaine’s talent. Even worse, another group member uses Blaine as a scapegoat for her attempts at sabotaging the group. Blaine has gone from hero to *almost* zero in the show choir hierarchy. From what we’ve seen in the show, Kurt is Blaine’s only friend in the glee club.
Shift scene to my life six years ago. Shortly after separating from my husband of 11 years, I joined Match.com and met an awesome man. Then I did exactly what one is not supposed to do after a divorce and jumped into another serious relationship. A few months after the divorce was final, I packed up and moved 200 miles to be with this man. (Spoiler: it all works out and we’re married now.) I gave up a good job, a new house, and custody to my children.
At first, it worked wonderfully. My new job was invigorating. I was still teaching high school but now working with juniors and seniors instead of freshmen. My Principal gave me free-reign in revising the curriculum and adding an AP course, finding money for almost any request I made. It was teacher nirvana, and my professional and personal confidence were at all time highs.
Then, a job opened up closer to home (I had been driving 90 miles round trip). Combined with the knowledge that enrollment was falling at my current school, this opportunity seemed too good to pass up, so I decided to interview for and take the new job. Worst decision ever.
The Principal at my new school was practically antagonistic toward change and toward the idea of challenging students. Although I was still working with upperclassmen, these students had slid by their first three years with little effort. They found it hard to believe when they discovered that an assignment done at the last minute was not deserving of an A, or even a C. As in any situation, some relished the opportunity to really learn and be pushed, but most resented the level of my expectations and what it was doing to their G.P.A.s
So, professionally I was beating my head against a brick wall. On top of that, I cut my hair. Short. I can’t explain what this did to my personal confidence, except to say that nothing has made me feel less feminine or attractive—not even my double mastectomy last spring. Like Sampson lost his physical strength when Delilah cut his hair, I lost my sense of sexuality when I cut my hair.
All this threw the balance of power and respect out of whack in my relationship with Hubs. I was completely dependent on him to affirm my worth as a teacher and as a woman. That kind of dependency just isn’t healthy for either party in the relationship.
At this point he began texting and instant-messaging an old flame from college, and I began looking for job openings closer to my kids. We would work things out for a while, but then grow apart again. After six months of this, I told him I was moving out. Best decision ever.
When I reasserted my independence—moving out, dating (younger men)—I restored the balance. Our separation didn’t last long, but we both learned a lot about ourselves and each other and what we needed in a relationship.
Cut back to Glee. I see Kurt as Hubs, possessing an in-your-face je ne sais quoi that draws people to him. I am Blaine, uncomfortable with conflict, outgoing when in my element.
In the most recent episode, after Kurt complimented Blaine’s performance in the school play and said he was proud to be with Blaine, Blaine replied, “I hope so. I want you to be,” with a quiver in his voice that made me ache for him. I don’t want Blaine to need Kurt’s approval so badly. Even more, I don’t want Blaine to doubt that he deserves this approval.
I miss the self-assured Blaine of last season, and I hope the writers bring him back soon. Until they do, I’ll never be totally comfortable with this fictional relationship because I’ll be seeing myself at one of my lowest points and completely over-reacting.
No comments:
Post a Comment