The Short Pain Life of Norah Vincent - Part II

 Norah Vincent is dead.

Who is Norah Vincent? A better question is "Who wasn't Noah Vincent?"

Think John Howard Griffin. Think Ralph Ellison.

Please leave your arguments about gender constructs at the door. How you choose to identify yourself is not my business. I do not want it to be my business. Please do not make it my business.

Argue the idea behind this blog if you like. Cut loose! I like it.

TO READ OR NOT READ

To read or not to read. That is the question. Whether tis more idiotic to remain unread and look down upon those who cannot read, while being exactly same, or read and by reading realize one's own shortcomings and by realizing, end them. Yeah. Shakespeare is gonna have Words for me when I get to the next realm of existence.

Ennyhoo.

I have not read Mr. Griffin's work. I probably should. I did read Mr. Ellison's work at the prompting of a HS English teacher. She said I would really like the book.

I read it. The only reason I read it is because she suggested it. Were it a class assignment or even an individual assignment from her to me, the book would remain forever unread. It's how I roll.

I told her I did not like it. And yet, it has stuck with me. I vividly remember passages. With 40+ years of experience now behind me I can still say I did not like the book. Today, I appreciate the book. Like, well ... maybe. Need? Without question. That book was a shot of verbal nutrients to an embryonic philosophy that continues to grow today.

Mebbe I do like it after all.

LEARN MORE

Until today - 10 March 2025 Gregorian - I had no idea the person Norah Vincent existed. Now I do. Now, I must learn more. Why?

Read this.

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2006/mar/18/gender.bookextracts

Norah's literary work is the experience men have. 

Someone is going to insist this is a hasty generalization, perhaps a bandwagon fallacy or some other kind of flawed logic. G'head.

Norah said the 18-month experience living as a man so transformed her, that her only release was the final option. Sad, sad, sad. It is also reflected the reality of being a male Homo sapiens. Men account for 80% of suicides. Men also commit somewhere around 90% of violent crimes.

Causation is not correlation? Then you explain it. We'll get to a statement on reality in a moment.

What Norah reports in her book is what heterosexual male Homo sapiens in the United States and likely the modern world experiences. Is that experience universal? It is for every heterosexual male Homo sapiens I've come across. It is in the anthropological studies and books I've read.

(Unless you are an anthropologist or sociologist, I'm willing to bet I've read more of the studies than you have.)

If you are that person who says this is so much fertilizer, I'm willing to bet you are not a heterosexual male Homo sapiens.

Remember, reality is under no obligation to conform itself to your expectations. Nor does it have to be warped to my preconceived notions. Arg. Complicated. Lemme simplify.

If the truth hurts, yer living wrong.

Can't make it any clearer than that.

IT'S TOUGH

Norah said that time she lived as a man, it was tough. Ellison wrote the same thing. Griffin wrote the same thing. Quibble semantics if you wish, the base premise is the same; live as someone else to experience what they have to go through. It is fucking HARD.

The difference? Norah died by assisted suicide in Switzerland in 2022. 

It is tough being a man. Women have a hard go of it too, but in today's modern societies - Taliban ruled Afghanistan, Iran and other places ain't modern - they have it easier than men.

You ain't gotta believe me. Norah did not want to believe it. Rather than stand on a belief without empirical evidence, she lived it. Well, she lived it for as long as she could and then she quit living altogether.

Do you have the kind of stamina to prove me wrong? Are you willing to risk the kind of breakdown she had to prove me wrong? Reality is, a lot of men don't have what it takes to live as a man in today's world. Some men are so shredded by it they resort to violence. Norah writes about that too.

Norah was also a lesbian and a feminist.

Ooooo. I just heard the wind go out of a LOT of sails. Truth and pain, truth and pain.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

Men have to live up to a higher level of expectations than women. We are expected to earn more. We are not supposed to cry or show reactions to pain. So many things are required that are not required of women. 

If a woman defeats us at anything, we are ridiculed. If we defeat a woman, we get, "Ooo. So you beat a woman" with as much sarcasm as can be packed into that small statement. A tie? "What, you ain't man enough?"

A woman defeats a man? "She got lucky." A woman loses to a man. "Yep. That's what happens."

We have to be macho!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZ1glxX1BiQ 

The standards are not the same. As evidenced by suicides, violence and etc, male standards are harder than those for women.

Part II? Is there a Part I. Yes. Ain't ready to share it yet.

What do they see?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOAjAWToYMI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhEHB0a7Uyg

Both of these songs speak of a daddy's hands.

I posted about my own arm enders in a thread in another social media outlet. I wondered if the scars scare or intimidate people who look to close. I have plenty, on both hands.

Some scars came from being in idiot, the left index finger being one. That scar is a reminder of a cut that went to the bone. Wrapped it with a paper towel and electrical tape and went right back to being an idiot.

The oldest one is sort of a scar. Ya gotta look really hard to see it. It's a black dot under the skin. In second grade, I was bouncing a pencil and slammed the point into my hand. The graphite hung around for the 50-something years.

The left hand has 2 sets of scars from surgery. The right hand has one scar, but a second will be joining it before much longer. Carpal tunnel is annoying, but the fix is amazing.

Lots of scars from working on stuff and farming. Cabbage knives don't play. Sure wish I could get a case of 'em like we had back in the 70s and 80s. Dirt cheap, sharpen with a file and they could CUT. I only semi-joke when I say if you went to the Radio Ranch without a weapon, they'd issue you a cabbage knife at the door.

Ahhh. These hands stripped threads off a 1.5-inch bolt; yes, I used a cheater bar. Howard Morton and I stripped the threads off a 2-inch harrow axel bar. "Two monkeys on a 2-foot cheater bar," Howard said as Dad put heat to the bolt with the cutting torch.

Don't know how many nuts, bolts and screws these hands have tried to remove. Got no clue how many carcasses went under a knife in my hands. That meat fed so many families across 3 states.

These hands have removed a bullet, from my own finger. These hands have cut, intentionally and accidentally, other people. Intentional cuts were to remove hooks, warts, bits of metal, etc. I've never cut anyone out of anger.

These hands have punched things, but never in anger into another human. Doors, trees, cars, brick walls are another matter. A door here at the office bears witness to redneck rage. Working on that. These hands have also been the rock someone needed to steady themselves. Working on that, too, to get better at it.

These hands held the most precious things ever presented to them, my kids. I still recall what it felt like to hold Jesse and Susan moments after they were born. For weeks after Jesse was born, I felt the hospital bracelet on my wrist, despite it being discarded when we got home.

These hands dealt with both kids when they'd done something badly wrong. Not from anger, though. When I was done, well, if you are a real parent, you know what I went through. If you are not a real parent, you cannot understand.

These hands have wiped away every liquid substance the human body produces from other people and myself. Cerebrospinal fluid? Yep. Not many of you can say that.

These hands have reached out to lift people up, almost never to hold someone down and never to hold someone down once I became a professional journalist. Someone will argue that point. Well, if the truth hurts, yer living wrong.

These hands have written articles, stories and tales. Some news stories crashed the careers of some very important people. Some stories lifted people up. As best I know, these hands never wrote a story that caused someone to commit suicide. Can't say that about some brothers and sisters in ink.

These hands wrote stories that made people laugh. That's easy. These hands wrote stories that made people cuss - easy enough- and vow revenge on the hands and the rest of the body they are attached too. These hands wrote stories that made people cry, in a good way and a bad way.

I remember looking at my Dad's hands. I marveled at the size of his fingers. "You'll get there one day," he said. I did. I did not comment on his scars. I still marvel at the memory of Dad's hands. As Holly Dunn sings:

Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin'
Daddy's hands were hard as steel when I'd done wrong
Daddy's hands weren't always gentle but I've come to understand
There was always love in daddy's hands

Gonna just leave that right there.

These hands have plenty of scars, but not all are visible. Some are only visible if you were there to see how these hands managed the moment. Some of those stories created physical scars physical and invisible scars.

Today, I think I can see some of the fingers beginning to warp. I know Arthritis is settling in for a long-term stay. I can see invisible scars, even though I often wish I could not. But, I need to see the invisible-to-others scars because they are reminders of who I used to be and how I am not that person any more.

Today, I wonder what people see when they see these hands of mine. Do they see the scars? Do they even look at my hands? What would they think if they could see all the scars?

Doesn't matter. These are my hands. I am responsible for them.

More scars are on the way. May lessons that create those scars make me a better person. If so, I will proudly wear each and every one, visible and invisible.