Have you ever eagerly re-watched a movie you LOVED when you were a teenager, only to discover you are lukewarm about it now? I watched Barefoot in the Park, The Graduate and Georgy Girl as an older adult, wondering why I was once enamored with those films.
Another I revisited: It Happened One Night. My sister and I saw it for the first time in the early 60s, although it was filmed a couple decades earlier. It was a romantic romp starring Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert, and like other movies of that era, it taught us to navigate male/female relationships.
In the film, Mr. Gable was the take-charge hero. He labeled Claudette “brat” when he met her, and it fit. She was as petulant, silly and spoiled as a 12-year-old princess. And helpless too. At one point he swept her into his arms and carried her across a puddle, so she wouldn’t muddy her dainty little feet. In another scene, he spanked her for childish behavior. Eventually Colbert became properly submissive to Gable, ensuring a happily-ever-after ending.
“It’s so romantic,” I sighed. “I want to marry someone who will take charge like that.”
With images of Clark Gable dancing through my dreams, I married at 19. I was thrilled at the prospect of becoming the heroine of my personal romance and was prepared to play the compliant, child-like bride who needed a man to take care of her. I expected my mate to open doors, change lightbulbs and perform other traditionally male chores.
Unfortunately, my first husband had never watched romantic comedies, so I was frequently disillusioned when he didn’t behave like the proper male lead to my story. He thought I should change my own lightbulbs and even take out the trash. He didn’t open doors or carry me across puddles either.
He liked being the “boss,” though, a role I unwittingly assigned him. Based on movies, as well as my parents’ relationship, I thought it was the woman’s job to please her man—wear what he liked, cook his favorite foods and just generally wait on him. In fact, the women I knew didn’t have a life outside the confines of marriage.
Younger boomers are probably snickering at those old-fashioned ideas. And by the mid-1970s I, too, had outgrown them.
As soon as women discovered they didn’t have to play the dumb blond or dizzy brunette, as soon as Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan and others made us realize we could choose who and how we wanted to be, we began making different choices. We realized we didn’t need someone to take care of us—we could take care of ourselves, thank you very much.
Now mind you, I’m not and never have been a “women’s libber” (and never burned my bra), but I came to believe I was capable of doing much more than the females I knew. I could climb a ladder to change the battery in the smoke detector, wear my hair the way I liked it (including cutting it off, although my husband preferred it long) and even get a job and go to college—without his approval.
An advertisement for Virginia Slims cigarettes, which was marketed solely to women, announced, “You’ve come a long way, baby.” And I have.
We all have—both men and women. Men can be tender, women can be tough. Women can become doctors, men can become nurses. Men can take care of the baby while women go to the office.
Rich, my husband of 35 years, and I share household duties: I weed-eat; he helps with the dishes. We both carry in the groceries and put them away. We make decisions together. The older we get, the less defined are our roles.
Boomers, that’s a perk of growing older: We don’t have to worry about following stereotypical guidelines. We can simply do more of those things we enjoy and less of those things we don’t, which means in our later years we can be who we want to be.
We have come a long way.
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Diana Walters has enjoyed a long career working with senior adults as social worker, activity director, and volunteer coordinator. She recently retired (at age 76) from paid employment and is now able to devote more time to her writing and her husband (in that order?) She has written devotionals for The Quiet Hour and Upper Room and been published in six Chicken Soup for the Soul books, but she is excited to be writing for and about her fellow Baby Boomers. She can be reached at dianalwalters@comcast.net.