George Morgan
Posted on 07/28/2003 9:41:28 AM PDT by dead
When it comes to chicks, George Morgan is lost for words.
There's a badge pinned to my noticeboard that my ex, the mother of three of my children, used to wear in the early '80s. It says "Women are NOT Chicks". When we split up, in 1995, I souvenired a jar of such badges, mementos of our radical student days: "Leave Uranium in the Ground", "Don't Dam the Franklin" - that sort of thing.
It's my week with the kids and I'm in the kitchen making dinner. My bright, stroppy, pretty 14-year-old daughter is telling me about her day: "I was waiting for the bus this morning and this chick came up to me and asked me if I knew . . ."
"Chick? Chick? You shouldn't call her a chick. Women are not chicks."
"What's wrong with 'chick', Dad? What's your problem?"
"It's demeaning. It implies that women are fluffy little animals, no substance, weak, decorative and vulnerable."
"It does not. It's just a word we use. It just means 'girl'. Why are you so bloody sanctimonious?"
"Your mother and women like her fought very hard in the '80s for women to be taken seriously."
"Oh f--- off, Dad. Stop lecturing me."
With that, she storms off to her room to listen to Kasey Chambers and read Cleo.
Two weeks later her mother rings me to talk kids' stuff: "Her contact lenses are ready. The chick from the optometrist's rang."
"Chick? Did you say 'chick'? I jumped down her throat the other day when she said 'chick'. Here I am trying to encourage a bit of feminist consciousness in our daughter, and there's you undermining me."
"I think the word has been reclaimed, George, like 'wog' and 'dyke'. It's OK to use it if you are one, but not if you're not."
Right.
The following weekend I'm playing soccer at a local field. It's relaxed and good-natured. At half-time we're sitting around when one player calls out: "Check out the boob tube, fellas. Hey, darling." This sets off a chorus of whistles and come-on calls directed at a young woman walking near the pitch.
I look up and my heart sinks. It's my daughter. She's wearing the sort of skirt that I enjoyed seeing on girls when I was her age but which I'd rather my daughter didn't wear in public.
When she's out of earshot I tell them they should be ashamed of themselves harassing a 14-year-old. Some of the youngsters smirk; the older ones apologise.
The next day I'm having a clear-out and find a tube of old political posters. One that catches my eye was published by the Australian Union of Students 20 years ago. It has a photo of a young woman walking through a neighbourhood in Rome looking harassed as she runs the gauntlet of scores of young men perched astride Vespas and sitting on stoops calling out to her. The poster reads: "Rape: At the End of Every Wolf Whistle."
It's tough being a sensitive New-Age dad in the noughties.
Readers are invited to apply wit to anything that makes the blood boil. Send 650 words, with contact details, to heckler@smh.com.au. Submissions may be edited and published on the internet.
The Australian Macquarie Dictionary has about a page detailing various appropriate usages of the f-word.
Or "sheilas", though that may be a bit antiquated by now. My Dinkum Aussie Dictionary doesn't say a thing about chicks. I think he's "bunging it on." A "bloody mug lair," in fact.
probably entered the Oz-Voc through the Wog-Australian "chicky-babe".
Yeah, I was wondering that myself. If my 15 year old, EVER spoke to me in that fashion it would be the LAST time she ever spoke to me in that fashion. I would never tolerate it, and my kids know it.
As to the first part of your question, they seem to be "sharing" the parenting duties and are full fledged liberal nuts --- I really wouldn't expect anything else from a child of these two parents.
...thanks, Bill Clinton, for destroying one of the ugliest tentacles of radical feminism far more effectively than we ever could have.
$cientologists refer to people outside of the cult as "wogs" too.
I'm fortunate (she was a sweet-tempered, biddable child even as a tiny infant) but she is modest in her language, dress, and behavior. She has a picture of St. Maria Goretti up over her bed. She dresses in decent jeans and nice blouse mostly, although she has a couple of party dresses (and worries about the bustline), and she is still a bit of a tomboy at 15.
What's funny is that she seems to get along best with the nice, quiet boys who are scholarly, polite, and kind to the "old folks" (that's us). Which suits me to a T.
Doesn't stop her dad from dropping gentle hints about his Army experience, martial arts practice, and his firearms collection, though . . . . :-D
Thanks for the tip.
But there is an Australian Oxford too. 
Australian slang is a delightful mine to fossick around in.
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