Another song on the album about a medical condition, if not an illness. This song is about a young woman-- "too young," according to the woman herself-- who gets pregnant.
She is exhibiting "strange" symptoms, but her mother is in some sort of denial. The doctor is aware of the woman's condition. "He knows I'm not a child," not too young to have sex. But he "doesn't dare ask the right question." Which is if she did.
After all, a mother-- and hers is there, at the appointment-- who does not consider the possibility that her "sick" child is actually simply pregnant is not emotionally ready to hear that she is.
Her friends, still young enough to "play games," have abandoned her. "I've grown serious," which is understandable, but her friends are too young to guess the reason, and so have "left" her to her own "daydreaming." Which is likely about what her life would have been like had she not gotten pregnant.
She starts to add up the "price" she has to pay for this "bad wisdom." Not that sex is bad, or that pregnancy is-- just that it's bad, now, for her. She knows "too much, too soon." She is just past playing with a doll, and should not worried about caring for a baby.
The woman now turns to society's reaction. She has learned that those who are "good"-- who follow the moral as well as the legal code-- "will be protected." However, those who have "fallen through the crack" are not, so there is "no getting back" to her former "good" status. Even a criminal can be rehabilitated and stolen items returned. But motherhood is forever, and therefore so is her "sin."
She realizes she can "never trust whoever gets elected." Because she has been immoral, she can forget any governmental assistance with her child. There is no incentive for an elected official to offer any, and plenty for balancing the city's budget on her back instead. Then the mayor gets to claim moral superiority, and for free.
Next, she loses the esteem and closeness of her mother, who by now has seen her swelling belly. Her mother's eyes have "gone suddenly cold." In a wry pun, the woman says this reaction is not what she was "expecting." Even her own mother has become emotionally distant. Perhaps she feels that she has failed as a mother, or that she has been betrayed by her wayward child. Maybe, on top of it all, she does not like the idea of being a grandmother yet, as it might make her feel old.
We hear about the "blossom of young womanhood," but that is not case here. The woman says that she feels "cut at the root like a weed." Why? "There's no one to hear my small story." Not her mother, not her friends, not the government. No one cares.
She made one mistake, and now she will pay for it, alone (well, aside from the baby), for the rest of her life. She compares her shunned status to that of a prostitute, "a woman who walks in the street." She says that like a whore, she will "pay for [her] life with [her] body."
It seems like having an abortion is not possible. It is easier for a politician to placate a puritanical public by denying abortion rights than to risk their ire; many who would use abortion services are too young to vote in any case and so have no political clout.
There is the option of having the child and then offering it for adoption. Again, this still requires a full course of labor and delivery, and the stigma of going through pregnancy in public.
The other factor is the father of this fetus-- he is not even mentioned. Knowing that the man-- who imparted this sexual "wisdom" to her-- simply used her and abandoned her tells her something else about men. Yet more "bad" information. But the fact that he is not even brought up speaks volumes-- she might have thought to rely on friends, family, or society, but it never even occurred to her to consider the involvement of the man who bares at least as much responsibility as herself. Who would even think he'd be around?
In a maddeningly ironic way, had she been raped, she would have some legal recourse. But it sounds like she sought this "wisdom" and only later regretted not having waited to learn its lessons. It also sounds like she-- and the baby-- are better off without him in any case, his responsibility to them notwithstanding.
This song is a cautionary tale. For one piece of wisdom, all this is lost: her friendships, her mother's affection, her social standing, her boyfriend, her future...
"Too young to know too much too soon." She would have still learned this wisdom, had she waited, and the tuition cost would not have been so very, very high.
Next Song: When Heroes Go Down
Showing posts with label socialization. Show all posts
Showing posts with label socialization. Show all posts
Monday, November 9, 2015
Monday, August 3, 2015
Those Whole Girls
The key to this song-- more of a poem-- is the title.
"Those," as opposed to this girl, the speaker. How are they different? They are "whole."
There is something less than whole about the speaker, however. She has some disability-- physical, mental, emotional, some combination thereof-- that denies her the abilities and skills of the "whole" girls, which she then enumerates.
First, they "hurl... words," possibly at her. The direction in which they hurl them is key-- they don't just hurl them across or over, but "down," from a position of height (perhaps they are not in a bed or wheelchair) or at least a place of assumed superiority.
They can also move very freely. They "run," "spin," and "move." Presumably, our speaker finds these seemingly simple tasks either more challenging or simply impossible.
They also do not just run, but do so "in packs." First, their mobility allows them more ability to socialize. But they use this as a weapon, a tactic of war; the term "packs" refers to a group of wolves, who hunt in such coordinated units.
They have "bloom," or vitality. The word can also refer to their blossoming adulthood-- they may be more teens than "girls," or at least put on such airs.
Overall, the whole girls "know health." This is key-- it seems the speaker does not know health. She is not just sick now, but has been for a long time. So long, she does not remember how health feels anymore, if she ever did.
The whole girls use their health to their advantage. They "skim the cream," taking only the nicest parts of everything, the parts that rise to the top. They go to the best schools, the best parties, the best vacation locales, and they likely seize the best boys.
Moreover, the "fill the brim" and "feel no lack." Their cups, in short, runneth over.
Their social access allows them to have so much gossip they overflow with that, as well; they "drip with news."
The next line may be a pun. They "spin intact," so they may do spins as part of dances or figure skating and not feel dizzy afterward. But Vega's phrasing, with a pause between "in" and "tact," may be more than a nod to the three-syllable structure of the piece. They may "spin"-- as in what "spin doctors" do-- the news they drip with. But they do so with "tact" and charm learned from all the social interaction their health has afforded them.
The whole girls, the speaker continues, "blaze and stun." This could be a reference to their beauty, as in "she's a stunning woman." But it can also be another reference to their viciousness; they may stun as in "stun gun." These are the same young women who can speak with "tact" one minute and "hurl down words" in another. It is not too much of a stretch to assume they can sling an insult at someone so underhandedly their target doesn't even know she's been attacked at first.
Overall, these girls are truly whole. They are sound in mind and body, they have access to the "cream" of what life has to offer, and in everything, they "feel no lack."
We learn four more things about them. One is that that they "breathe with ease." Perhaps this is a clue to what is less than whole about our speaker. She may have a pulmonary disease, or simply asthma. Alternately, she may have a social disorder that prevents her from "breathing easily" when around other people, as with agoraphobia or general anxiety disorder.
The whole girls, however, "need no mercy." The character of Henrick, from Sondheim's A Little Night Music, expresses well what being on the receiving end of compassion can feel like: "It's intolerable, being tolerated." If everyone is saying "poor you," you start to internalize the idea that, yes, you are pitiful.
The whole girls can get out in the sunshine. They can get up and turn on a lamp whenever they please. And so they "move in light" in a way others cannot, who must either live with the darkness or beg the "mercy" of others to flip the switch.
Lastly, the whole girls "run in grace." This could be another way of saying they are graceful, that they can be ballerinas and gymnasts while the not-whole girls can't.
But it could also mean something much sadder. It could mean that they run in Grace, as in the favor of God. And how unfair, that such ungrateful creatures could not only take their health for granted, but use it to lord over others, teasing and excluding them, as if health were a right and not a privilege.
Meanwhile, how might a disabled person feel? Made to suffer, for no reason, by an arbitrary or even malicious Deity? How must it feel to suffer, and beyond that, feel one deserved this suffering? And if they did not deserve it, and God made them, why did He make them this way? Adding religion to the equation could bring in entirely new series of questions, pains, and doubts.
Vega imagines the way a disabled teen might look at her abled peers. Vega urges the listener to take a closer look at those less than whole girls, and boys, and try to make them feel more whole, and more a part of the whole.
Next Song: Room off the Street
"Those," as opposed to this girl, the speaker. How are they different? They are "whole."
There is something less than whole about the speaker, however. She has some disability-- physical, mental, emotional, some combination thereof-- that denies her the abilities and skills of the "whole" girls, which she then enumerates.
First, they "hurl... words," possibly at her. The direction in which they hurl them is key-- they don't just hurl them across or over, but "down," from a position of height (perhaps they are not in a bed or wheelchair) or at least a place of assumed superiority.
They can also move very freely. They "run," "spin," and "move." Presumably, our speaker finds these seemingly simple tasks either more challenging or simply impossible.
They also do not just run, but do so "in packs." First, their mobility allows them more ability to socialize. But they use this as a weapon, a tactic of war; the term "packs" refers to a group of wolves, who hunt in such coordinated units.
They have "bloom," or vitality. The word can also refer to their blossoming adulthood-- they may be more teens than "girls," or at least put on such airs.
Overall, the whole girls "know health." This is key-- it seems the speaker does not know health. She is not just sick now, but has been for a long time. So long, she does not remember how health feels anymore, if she ever did.
The whole girls use their health to their advantage. They "skim the cream," taking only the nicest parts of everything, the parts that rise to the top. They go to the best schools, the best parties, the best vacation locales, and they likely seize the best boys.
Moreover, the "fill the brim" and "feel no lack." Their cups, in short, runneth over.
Their social access allows them to have so much gossip they overflow with that, as well; they "drip with news."
The next line may be a pun. They "spin intact," so they may do spins as part of dances or figure skating and not feel dizzy afterward. But Vega's phrasing, with a pause between "in" and "tact," may be more than a nod to the three-syllable structure of the piece. They may "spin"-- as in what "spin doctors" do-- the news they drip with. But they do so with "tact" and charm learned from all the social interaction their health has afforded them.
The whole girls, the speaker continues, "blaze and stun." This could be a reference to their beauty, as in "she's a stunning woman." But it can also be another reference to their viciousness; they may stun as in "stun gun." These are the same young women who can speak with "tact" one minute and "hurl down words" in another. It is not too much of a stretch to assume they can sling an insult at someone so underhandedly their target doesn't even know she's been attacked at first.
Overall, these girls are truly whole. They are sound in mind and body, they have access to the "cream" of what life has to offer, and in everything, they "feel no lack."
We learn four more things about them. One is that that they "breathe with ease." Perhaps this is a clue to what is less than whole about our speaker. She may have a pulmonary disease, or simply asthma. Alternately, she may have a social disorder that prevents her from "breathing easily" when around other people, as with agoraphobia or general anxiety disorder.
The whole girls, however, "need no mercy." The character of Henrick, from Sondheim's A Little Night Music, expresses well what being on the receiving end of compassion can feel like: "It's intolerable, being tolerated." If everyone is saying "poor you," you start to internalize the idea that, yes, you are pitiful.
The whole girls can get out in the sunshine. They can get up and turn on a lamp whenever they please. And so they "move in light" in a way others cannot, who must either live with the darkness or beg the "mercy" of others to flip the switch.
Lastly, the whole girls "run in grace." This could be another way of saying they are graceful, that they can be ballerinas and gymnasts while the not-whole girls can't.
But it could also mean something much sadder. It could mean that they run in Grace, as in the favor of God. And how unfair, that such ungrateful creatures could not only take their health for granted, but use it to lord over others, teasing and excluding them, as if health were a right and not a privilege.
Meanwhile, how might a disabled person feel? Made to suffer, for no reason, by an arbitrary or even malicious Deity? How must it feel to suffer, and beyond that, feel one deserved this suffering? And if they did not deserve it, and God made them, why did He make them this way? Adding religion to the equation could bring in entirely new series of questions, pains, and doubts.
Vega imagines the way a disabled teen might look at her abled peers. Vega urges the listener to take a closer look at those less than whole girls, and boys, and try to make them feel more whole, and more a part of the whole.
Next Song: Room off the Street
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