Will (Not) Tell On You

One of the first tasks required of all entering Princeton freshman is the signing of the Honor Code. In my day, it stated something like 'I will not cheat (or a euphemism)' on exams'.  The second part-- the corollary-- was, simply stated, 'and I will report anyone who does'. Being the philosophical and slightly rebellious student that I was, I questioned the necessity of the corollary, assuming everyone adhered to the 'not cheating' oath.  Otherwise, what good is a signature? 

So I had to have a conversation with the Dean of Academic Affairs... it wasn't like me to ruffle the waters, but maybe like me to think about what I signed up for.  I took things seriously. It was hard to believe no one had had issues with this before; presumably they were so glad to be embarking on their Ivy League privileged journey that they just agreed.  In the end, I crossed out the second part and swore to the first.  I had never and have never cheated academically.  I have always tried to be original and not to lie; it's an unspoken covenant with some higher power, or a terrific sense of guilt instilled by my strict father.

Cheating, as it's commonly known in our culture, seems to refer primarily to relationship violations. There's a reality TV show dedicated to this, and in fact, the highest-rated episodes of most reality shows deal with this subject.  People are shamed, smeared, maligned, interviewed... everyone seems to know the score.  But this is greatly exaggerated.  Unfortunately, infidelity is more common than its opposite.  I noticed it as a child--- before I was fully aware of the meaning-- I saw people's fathers with women, people's mothers flirting with the gardener or their tennis instructor.  

We all know, biologically, humans are not monogamous the way penguins are.  We don't mate for life; we're adaptable. Reproductive biology is biological; love is something else.  There are even cheaters in the Bible, multiple wives (Jacob, for one-- Thomas Mann elaborates on this); it is part of the Genesis narrative. The damn President of the United States has historically had lovers... Monica Lewinsky made a career out of Clinton's indiscretion; Hillary maybe gained greater political access because of her loyalty.  Former President Trump fabricated an entire political brand based on cheating, lying, infidelities, disrespect, narcissism... his romantic infidelities don't seem nearly as heinous as the rest.  Except maybe for Melania, but she's not stupid... she made a marital contract.

Still, even when I married a rock musician, knowing the occupational hazards, I had a certain belief in the institution of marriage.  Our hip little wedding was in a church; we took vows and and exchanged rings; it mattered.  And then things wear... the bonds after multiple washings become threadbare... you try not to look, not to digest toxic rumors. But at a certain point, you weaken.  You question-- is it your own insecurity that caused this?  His insecurity about you? There seems to be no emotional answer.  And it hurts.  It wrecks you... it implodes the oath, the sanctity of this thing in which you believed.  So you make a choice-- either you weather the instability... or you leave.  More pain.  Or, as many couples do,  you cheat.  Yes, you... you mimic the same behavior as your spouse-- you even the score.  

I came of sexual age in the 70's.  Fidelity was not generally on the menu, lol. But we chose marriage-- the whole covenant, the tradition.  I loved my ring. I knew my husband had cheated; I tried to look away, but after a time, I grew apart-- and the first time I actually 'cheated'... well, the marriage was close to dissolution.  But I also slept with someone whose marriage had similarly disintegrated; we felt a commonality... it was like one step further away, because we were both victims of an unhappy arrangement.  For me it was a temporary narcotic... I felt better, I felt amazingly adored... and I felt like I'd taken a step back.  It slowed the emotional hemorrhage to a very slight drip.

But the fact is... the reality of discovering a cheater is jolting.  It's painful-- rejection, abandonment... and the scenario of one's paramour being intimate with a stranger is disturbing.  It exposes part of us, too; we are involved.  Cheaters don't always consider this-- the way we are forced into an intimacy with a third person we might hate... with someone who has disrespected us and weaponized our emotions. 

Do we heal from this?  I don't know.  I do know one can't unsee what one has seen.  And in this culture-- is digital cheating, or emailing or meeting up without actual sex... is this cheating?  Is it not 'your cheatin' heart' in the words of Hank Williams, that really kills us? 

My second husband seemed to fall madly in love with me.. .and while I'd sworn off marriage, I gave in.  It turned out he'd been living with someone else... so we started off on the wrong beat.  Were we doomed?  I'm not sure.  We even went to counseling where I was told that minor infidelities were super common in newly engaged couples... it was sort of a growing pain.  But I realized-- we all have a different tolerance for this stuff.  Some people keep their relationships going with extra partners, or fantasies... they watch porn, they act out little dramas.  

I seem to be the same idealistic person who refused to sign the flawed honor code.  I've been equally disillusioned, academically, by reading about plagiarisms, data crunching, scholarly truth-stretching even among venerated professors.  I'm also realistic about the person I am.  I love my son unconditionally.  His biological father abandoned him as a baby; today we celebrate me, the sole cross-gendered parent.  But me as a wife?  I've been jaded and spoiled... I don't know what's expected of me, or even what I expect.  There are times in my life I've had two lovers, or many... or times when I disconnected from someone who maybe truly loved me. The bottom line is-- people fall out of love.  For some, there is enough 'residue' to sustain a family. For others, they crave passion, and you can't, as Bonnie Raitt sang, make someone love you. I think in our hearts we sense this... and it's painful... it's also human... but it's breaking.

So for me Father's Day has a few meanings.  It's about my father who was unhappily faithful to his family... but who knows where his emotional meanderings took him?  It's about other people's fathers who were and weren't role models.  My son's father no longer exists except as a broken romance memory, and a set of divorce and custody papers from long ago.  And for me-- I toughened up, as a parent, and took up the reins.   Having some sympathy for people in unhappy situations, do I judge?  Children suffer and I tried to prioritize mine over my attraction to passionate entanglements. And like most of us, I made a ton of wrong choices.  But did I lie?  I did not. I adhered to my own honor code.  And one thing I do know... no matter who wins this election, no matter how the court swings, no matter how great or lousy America may be, cheating is here to stay. Amen. 

Give Me Back My Wig

Maybe 14 years ago-- maybe more, I was in Chelsea where I often 'sit' for a friend's gallery... and lo and behold... the street was closed off, all kinds of black official vehicles lined up, complete with NYPD and massive security.. Could President Obama be looking at art? But apparently the small mob was entering our building... the Balenciaga store, pre-Hurricane Sandy, was one flight below.  Within minutes, I was being asked by a man with a walkie-talkie to allow some VIP to get dressed in the space where I sat, quietly... often alone.  Well, okay... we had a sort of relationship with the store personnel... 

So it turned out it was not the First Lady or some veiled Princess, but Beyoncé herself.  For her entourage, all street commerce had been stopped, gallery traffic disallowed.  My doors were locked and guarded, and the pop 'queen' (she did kindly nod her head at me in appreciation) herself began to disrobe in our unwindowed packing area.  No photos, they requested, as she was quite exposed in my makeshift dressing room.  I never even looked.  In less than an hour the street was returned to its normal state-- all signs of the visitation had disappeared.  Presumably Balenciaga was significantly compensated in sales.

I admit I was a fan of the Crazy-in-Love phase... how could you not admire those thighs and her dancing?  For a second there, she had the Tina Turner star power-- she could sing and dance.  But then there was the blonde thing... I mean, for young black girls-- is this the model we want to admire?  What happened to natural hair and loving one's color?  I'm old but recent years have blurred the lines between the Kardashians, the Beyoncés, the pop stars.  All the wigging and facial modifications-- the make-up and the image-creation... 

And all these celebrities crossing lines-- athletes who act-- models who sing, actors promoting everything from Bitcoin to life-insurance... Subway.  Aren't they well-paid enough?  Or does their hungry management advise them to take on these mega-contracts and endorsements?  Beyoncé... she and Jay Z have created a mega-fortune.  Do we have to see her on Super Bowl commercials literally raking in the massive additional dollars and wearing a small fortune while half the world starves?  

Art, they called her new album cover, where she is not very believably or even actually side-saddling a white horse.  White is the operative word here-- the horse, the hair, the culture.  Her explanations don't make sense; I don't particularly want to explore my personal patriotism by mingling with MAGA hat wearers.  Not that the country image hasn't evolved, and not that its traditionally all-white audience and deeply embedded racism haven't been updated... but Cowboy Carter seems more like a massive bad joke than an image.

It's  not that I am bitter or envious or hateful; I admit I haven't much listened to the last 20 years of Beyonce.  I'm already sick of the constant cameos in our culture-- inaugurations, award shows... twitter feeds; it's unavoidable.  Suffice it to say, besides Hank Williams I have never been a huge fan of country music.  Touring with rock bands, the fundamental Christian reluctance of certain audiences to embrace science, the backwater racist and sexist comments sort of reinforced this.  Many of my purist Nashville friends shun the current wave of country pop stars as inauthentic.  Still... who can resist Dolly Parton? Beyoncé could take a few lessons from her brand of authenticity, wigs, make-up and plastic surgery notwithstanding. 

I guess when I heard snippets of the new version of Jolene-- unavoidable here-- well, that put the proverbial stop on things.  And I'm sorry if I've ruined someone's Easter... but I've heard at least a dozen covers of this iconic and heart-wrenching song... and to say this new one does not do it justice is kind of an understatement.  Coupled with that cover, the inherent irony... what is cowboy about Beyoncé besides the styling?  And the photo more like a Jeff Koons version of ad-absurdum with a little Richard Prince tagline left hanging.  Dave La Chapelle Does Dallas?  Lady Godiva at least had a sort of platform. 

Give me Roy Rogers and Dale Evans... National Velvet... I don't know... I was a cynic back when Elton John released Tumbleweed Connection.  A gay English cowboy? It seemed so inauthentic.  But now the whole banned-book narrative, the Tennessee political atmosphere-- the bigotry, the Bible-toting hypocrisy-- while the world burns.  What can we expect next-- Beyoncé on the throne, scepter and crown... but she's already been 'Queened'?  What is the damn message here?  I don't want to read or hear another commentary.  Let someone else search the internet for the white-horse symbolism and mythology.  It's Easter; Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a damn donkey. I just want my music with a little less pomp and airbrushing and a little more circumstance and soul. Aretha, we miss you so terribly.