Resocialization: the process of learning new attitudes and norms required for a new social role. (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/resocialization)
Upon going home for Spring Break, I discovered that something which had been in the works since the day I left had finally been finished. My brother had been resocialized.
My family structure is interesting because my father was born and bred in the South, as were countless generations before him, and he is very proud of this fact. His main interests are history, hunting, and Civil War reenacting. In short, he is a good ol’ Southern boy. My mom, however, was born and raised in Upstate New York. She is concerned with culture, classiness, and above all, the avoidance of anything that might compromise her as a redneck.
Growing up with parents on opposite sides of the spectrum was challenging. Every choice I made felt like taking sides with one parent or the other. I want to get into drama club rather than reenacting? One point for Mom. I want to read Jane Austen rather than practice my shooting? Two points for Mom. I want to wear anything but that camouflage jacket? Three points for Mom. This was my childhood. I even avoided the Southern accent in the process and ended up with my mom’s yankee accent. Having both the North and South so strongly represented in my home, it was like I got to make a choice which I wanted to exemplify. And I overwhelmingly chose North. That isn’t to say I’m not a Southern girl, because I do have some stereotypical Southern traits, but all in all, I’m more of a yankee than most South Carolinians I know.
My brother, Gareth, is five years younger than me, and since my father had lost me to my mother’s yankee ways, he was convinced to claim my brother for the South. He probably would have succeeded right from the start, but I slowed down his plan somewhat. My brother and I have always been very close, and I influenced him with show tunes and liberal ways of thinking. I frowned at the wearing of the Confederate flag. He came to me for fashion choices, and I taught him in the ways of clothing that do not include camouflage or “redneck boots.” He was doing as well as could be hoped with my father influencing him on the other side. I remember in particular, right before I left for college, my brother said to me, “You know, it’s not fair that gay people don’t have rights. We can’t tell them what they can and can’t do.” Had my father heard that, he would have blown his top, and I probably would have been grounded for a week for putting such ideas into his head.
My father was losing, that much was obvious. Gareth was much more of a Southern child than I ever was, but he had a healthy balance of yankee to even him out. And then I left.
At first, my brother complained about my father’s redneck ways whenever we spoke on the phone. I was mollified and convinced that he would keep to my teachings. However, by Christmas, my brother was spending a huge amount of his time outside shooting birds, squirrels, and anything that he could justify as a “pest.” I started to worry. But I had been quite the marksman in my day, so I told myself it was just a phase, and that his culture training and Phantom of the Opera would win out. But I knew I was losing ground when he got a banjo and began attending a local “picking parlor” with my father. I don’t care to know what goes on there, but I think bluegrass music is the main course.
When I returned home this past week, my brother lost no time in showing off his new camouflage coat and redneck boots, accompanied with something more of a Southern drawl than he had had when I had last seen him. Out of nowhere, it seemed, he had a pocketknife collection and was moving up in the ranks of his reenactment regiment. I despaired and asked where his other clothing had gone, and he told me it wasn’t “cool anymore.” He made a comment about “stupid yankee fashions” and referred to himself as “a Southern redneck boy.” But perhaps the most heartbreaking was when he made several derogatory remarks about homosexuals.
My father was smug, and for good reason. Somehow, in seven short months, he turned my brother into a smaller version of himself, erasing everything my brother had gotten from me and my mom. Gareth had been resocialized, and I hardly recognized the boy standing in front of me.
I understand that my absence changed the situation drastically. Without me there to keep him in check, my father had had absolute run of my brother’s upbringing. My mother would become offended when they made comments about northerners, but that just amused them and turned yankee-bashing into an acceptable family game. My mother had very strongly influenced me when I was a child, but I honestly think she gave up trying to do that with my brother when it became clear that he was not a reader. So when he was about 8, she stopped trying to socialize him in her ways, and I was the only thing separating him from the redneck life.
But what exactly caused Gareth to give up the things that he believed when I was around? I believe that wanting to connect with his dad was a huge factor in his turnaround. My dad works a lot, and the only way to spend one-on-one time with him is to do the things he spends his time off doing. Namely: reenacting, gun and knife shows, and hunting. In order to spend time with his father, my brother was immersed in a sort of total institution Southern boot camp. While spending time with our father, Gareth was exposed to his conservative republican beliefs and his other Southern tendencies. When Gareth regurgitated these things back up, he saw how happy this made my father. I guarantee that my father was much happier to buy my brother that camouflage jacket than the polo shirts he was wearing before. I imagine that emoting my father’s ideals quickly turned into an approval and reward situation. In order to please my father, Gareth took on his new role. Sure, he knew it would not please his sister, but with her 3 and a half hours away, she was quickly forgotten and was no longer an obstacle.
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