Macbeth, MacDuff, social/political context, and being a man

I love to teach Macbeth to high school students because it is just packed full of so much humanity, and even though it is hundreds of years old, it is written in such a way that it is eternally relevant. 

My copy of Macbeth.

The other night a friend and I went to see a parking lot performance of the play (which was just brilliant for making theater happen safely for audiences during a pandemic). Even though I have read the play numerous times and seen the play performed numerous times, I was struck by how much the play relates to something I've seen being discussed lately in modern politics: 

What makes a man?

There seems to be a juxtaposition between Donald Trump as a "manly man" and Joe Biden as not because of showing affection to his son. I realize social media is not real life, but there seems to be this idea of a man as either 

1--physically strong, macho, won't back down, won't take no for an answer, grab 'em by the pussy

OR

2--affectionate with kids and dogs and therefore able to be taken advantage of. Rather than grabbing others by the pussy, this version of a man is that he is the pussy. 

A writer/professor I follow on Twitter recently wrote an article about this exact topic. 

I'm just going to acknowledge that it is stupid to have these polarities because manliness can be a lot of different things just as being a woman can be many things. A woman doesn't have to be maternal, just as a man doesn't have to be a clone of John Wayne. The context of the moment, though, is that there are two different men running for president who have drastically different "what a man is" personas. 

This is a central focus in Macbeth. Lady Macbeth gives her husband hell about having the balls to kill the king. "Be a man!" she more or less says to him. And so Macbeth becomes that "manly man" who ravages those around him, although after his first murder he does his killing mercilessly from a distance--he hires his murders out to others. He becomes paranoid and chaotic. 

On the other side, we have Macduff, whose wife and children Macbeth has someone else murder. When Macduff is told to "Dispute [their deaths] like a man," his reply shows the other option of what it means to be a man:

"I shall do so; But I must also feel it as a man, I cannot but remember such things were that were most precious to me." 

The entire play is a drama about the choices men make----to put ambition before everything else; to listen to others (in this case a lady) who insult them and badger them into "acting as a man" even when they know it is the wrong thing to do; to continue on the evil rampage because they've already gone too far and it's not worth it to turn back. 

It is always intellectually stimulating (those emotionally exhausting) when modern politics and Shakespeare's writing converge. 

I'm starting to feel differently about death

I have always been fascinated by death, and I doubt that will ever change. I have also always been terrified of death, although that bit seems to be changing. And yet, I've always understood suicide--the need/desire to end it all, to just be free of consciousness forever. 

The actual physicality of dying and decay is intriguing. 

This past summer I read Mary Roach's book Stiff, and I couldn't read it fast enough. I didn't know this place existed until I read this book. I regularly tell G that he should be a forensic doctor because he loves to poke at dead things or cut into preserved corpses (of worms, fish, etc). N has an interest in forensics, too. M gets "sicky" easily, so he will be the one who opts out of anything remotely related to blood and bone.

I have been reading the kids the His Dark Materials trilogy by Philip Pullman for the past several months. I read this series probably 20 years ago before I had children, so I had forgotten a TON. 

The other night, though, we got to the point in The Amber Spyglass, where Lyra meets her Death, and I loved the idea that from the moment a person is born, their death essentially hangs with them through every experience, ready when the time comes to take their hand and gently escort them into the great beyond. Essentially, the death functions similarly to the soul. In this book, both are personified. 

I don't know what I believe about death...what happens after, although my biggest sense is nothing. You simply don't exist anymore. Just as my consciousness of life didn't happen at the moment of my birth, and I remember nothing of the "before" or my birth or the several years after my birth, I think death will be the same. 

A while back I listened to an audiobook by Barbara Ehrenreich titled Natural Causes, and there was a part that struck me:

"You can think of death as a tragic interruption of your life... or, more realistically, you can think of life as an interruption of an eternity of personal nonexistence, and see it as a brief opportunity to observe and interact with the living, ever-surprising world around us."

I think it is pretty normal to feel scared of death when you're young, but the older I get, the more I understand that death can begin to feel like a relief. This doesn't mean you don't want to live anymore, but it means that due to the physical burdens of living (fatigue, disease, aging bones and muscles, etc.), you are tired. There is a point when many people if they live long enough are simply exhausted. They don't actively wish to die but they are okay with the prospect of eternal "sleep" and rest. 

And yet, I also understand the desire to not exist anymore as a young person due to the confusion and the angst and the general unmoored feelings that a person can have when they are still raging at figuring things out or if depression has taken hold of them. 

Several years ago I spoke to a mom whose son was having suicidal thoughts, and she had never had those herself. She couldn't wrap her head around the idea, and so I explained to her that I had sort of always had suicidal thoughts. It was as strange to me to imagine a person never having such thoughts as it was to her to imagine someone having them at all. 

My dad's diagnosis with face/neck cancer this summer and his current chemotherapy (which is preventative since his cancer has not metastasized) has me tuned into mortality. For this to coincide with a pandemic that has taken over 200,000 lives makes it even scarier. 

I don't like to think of my parents dying, and yet being forced to reckon with it provides a silver lining. Last year when Dad had his open-heart surgery to repair a valve and was still in the hospital, I helped him out of bed one day and bathed his back while my mom went home to shower. I am not a sentimental person, but this was a profoundly important experience for me (and why are my eyes getting bleary right now.) 

Sorry. Needed a tissue. 

Helping my dad in that moment was one of the most meaningful experiences in my life, right up there with marrying and having children. Seeing my dad vulnerable was a gift. 

Damn. More tissues. 

Seeing my dad vulnerable then was a gift. Seeing my dad vulnerable now during his cancer is a gift.

It is not a gift I expected or want at all. AT ALL.

But to see it only as a burden and sadness misses a large part of the picture of what it means to be human and have a meaningful life. 

Nothing rhymes with 11

Dear M,

My bonus baby monkey boy is 11 now, and that is hard to believe. 

You've have changed a lot in the past year. 

Not only did your braces (Phase I) come off, you have finally, FINALLY been separating yourself a bit from your brother. You are no longer ruled so much by "Same thing as G" as you once were.

Your snark is definitely developing which is frequently hilarious for all of us. 

You continue to be the one person in the family who mispronounces words in your own unique way, usually putting accents on unique syllables. When we saw the movie "Gemini Man" listed on Netflix, you said "Gem-een-nee." We still laugh at the way you called a neighborhood dog Mur-reeeee a couple years ago (Murray). 

Like other 11-year-old boys, you are way into farting. Fortunately, you have not yet entered the "stinking from all areas and orifices" stage. You still pretty willingly take baths. 

Your 5th-grade year certainly looks different with doing virtual school, but you have been so responsible and attentive to your work which makes me proud. I'm not sure what you'll be when you grow up, but based on how much I have to tug things out of you, I'm not certain writing will be your top career prospect. And we know you get sicky from all things blood, bruise, and wound-oriented so nursing or doctoring are out. 

One day when we walked to the new construction in the back of the neighborhood, you said it might be fun to build houses. We will see, I guess.

You continue to be the cat whisperer in the house, at least to the one with white paws. She will follow you anywhere and everywhere. Up the stairs, down the stairs; it doesn't matter. She often sleeps at the end of your bed or lies on your desk to keep you company. 

You've discovered how fun it is to take pics on my phone and you regularly go without a shirt, no matter the weather. Often you do both at the same time.

I hope you have a good year even though coming up to 11 has been all pandemic(y) and not super great. Fortunately, you've got a positive attitude and sense of humor which will help you manage whatever life throws at you. 

I love you bunches, my favorite ear twiddler.

Momma