Labels by Cardeno C.
Labels are a funny thing. Not haha funny, but interesting funny.
Sometimes they seem silly. Like label on packing material that tells us not to eat it or the label on a hot coffee that warns us it’s hot. But I assume that if the label is there, someone at some point needed it so I shrug and move on.
Sometimes it seems meaningless. Like the label on food that says it’s gluten free. I never gave that any thought until my nephew was diagnosed with Celiac. Now I scan boxes and bags for that label like a hawk.
Sometimes it matters to us deeply for reasons we can’t always fully articulate but nevertheless strongly feel. For example, I’m Jewish. That’s a label I was born with, choose to keep, and feel all the way to my bones. Should it matter? I don’t know, but to me, it very much does.
Sometimes the same label matters not a lick in one situation but matters a whole lot in another based solely on a person’s perception or life experience. For example, a woman whose gender matches her body at birth may not think much of using the bathroom marked “men” when there’s a long line around the corner for the “women’s” room. But a woman whose gender doesn’t match her body at birth could be terrified every time she steps into the “women’s” room or the “men’s” room, depending on how she looks at that time.
Sometimes labels are a shorthand way of summarizing something that isn’t easily put into words or a way of explaining something quickly. A friend of mine (who now has a great relationship with his family), struggled for many, many years after he came out because they didn’t accept him. He was an adult by then, no longer living at home or even in the same state so it wasn’t an issue of safety or financial need. The issue was that he told them he was gay and they didn’t believe him. “How do you know?” they asked. “Maybe you haven’t met the right woman yet?” they suggested. “Can’t you just try?” they pleaded.
His family couldn’t understand that the label he was sharing wasn’t going to fade in the wash. They couldn’t understand how much he had struggled to finally claim it for himself or how terrifying it was for him to wear it on the outside and show it to them. And they couldn’t understand how much it hurt when they didn’t accept him, which is exactly what those types of questions, suggestions, and pleas do – they demonstrate a lack of acceptance of what someone is saying when he uses that label.
I mentioned my nephew with Celiac. The disease, as I understand it, can impact people differently and his particular impact is that ingesting gluten, even in small quantities, can fundamentally harm his body and his developing brain. His condition is extremely serious. There are many people who don’t have Celiac or another disorder but choose not to eat gluten in order to keep off weight. I know a lot of people like that and they’re doing what’s best for them, which is great. What does this have to do with labels?
Because so many people want gluten free food when they’re not allergic to gluten, people who prepare food can be lax about it. Maybe they don’t switch out those gloves from when they were making the regular bread sandwich or maybe they use the same serving spoon to scoop the gluten free pasta salad and the regular pasta salad. And for the people who don’t have a severe allergy, maybe it doesn’t matter. But to someone like my nephew, that cross-contamination matters a lot.
When people who don’t have Celiac or aren’t actually allergic to gluten usurp that label (seems like it’s happening more and more lately), they can create real harm to people who actually do have that allergy. “This is for a child with Celiac,” my sister says every time she orders. “It’s not a diet thing, he is very allergic.” And then she mumbles to me, “I don’t know why people without an allergy can’t just say they prefer no gluten instead of saying they’re allergic. Because of them, nobody believes me when I order.”
So … labels. My friend who came out to his family as gay isn’t going to suddenly meet the right woman and marry her. How do I know? Because he said he is gay, words have meaning, and when someone tells me their label, I believe them. And my nephew with Celiac isn’t going to suddenly eat a regular pizza and be fine. How do I know? Because that’s what the word Celiac means and he has it.
Can someone order a meal and say they have a gluten allergy even when what they have is a chosen diet? Of course they can. People can say anything they want. But when they put that label on their order—when they choose a word with an existing meaning to identify something different—they confuse and diminish that meaning. And that meaning matters a whole lot to a little boy who just wants to grow. Just like the meaning of another label matters a whole lot to my friend who just wanted his family to accept him.
CC
www.cardenoc.com
Sometimes they seem silly. Like label on packing material that tells us not to eat it or the label on a hot coffee that warns us it’s hot. But I assume that if the label is there, someone at some point needed it so I shrug and move on.
Sometimes it seems meaningless. Like the label on food that says it’s gluten free. I never gave that any thought until my nephew was diagnosed with Celiac. Now I scan boxes and bags for that label like a hawk.
Sometimes it matters to us deeply for reasons we can’t always fully articulate but nevertheless strongly feel. For example, I’m Jewish. That’s a label I was born with, choose to keep, and feel all the way to my bones. Should it matter? I don’t know, but to me, it very much does.
Sometimes the same label matters not a lick in one situation but matters a whole lot in another based solely on a person’s perception or life experience. For example, a woman whose gender matches her body at birth may not think much of using the bathroom marked “men” when there’s a long line around the corner for the “women’s” room. But a woman whose gender doesn’t match her body at birth could be terrified every time she steps into the “women’s” room or the “men’s” room, depending on how she looks at that time.
Sometimes labels are a shorthand way of summarizing something that isn’t easily put into words or a way of explaining something quickly. A friend of mine (who now has a great relationship with his family), struggled for many, many years after he came out because they didn’t accept him. He was an adult by then, no longer living at home or even in the same state so it wasn’t an issue of safety or financial need. The issue was that he told them he was gay and they didn’t believe him. “How do you know?” they asked. “Maybe you haven’t met the right woman yet?” they suggested. “Can’t you just try?” they pleaded.
His family couldn’t understand that the label he was sharing wasn’t going to fade in the wash. They couldn’t understand how much he had struggled to finally claim it for himself or how terrifying it was for him to wear it on the outside and show it to them. And they couldn’t understand how much it hurt when they didn’t accept him, which is exactly what those types of questions, suggestions, and pleas do – they demonstrate a lack of acceptance of what someone is saying when he uses that label.
I mentioned my nephew with Celiac. The disease, as I understand it, can impact people differently and his particular impact is that ingesting gluten, even in small quantities, can fundamentally harm his body and his developing brain. His condition is extremely serious. There are many people who don’t have Celiac or another disorder but choose not to eat gluten in order to keep off weight. I know a lot of people like that and they’re doing what’s best for them, which is great. What does this have to do with labels?
Because so many people want gluten free food when they’re not allergic to gluten, people who prepare food can be lax about it. Maybe they don’t switch out those gloves from when they were making the regular bread sandwich or maybe they use the same serving spoon to scoop the gluten free pasta salad and the regular pasta salad. And for the people who don’t have a severe allergy, maybe it doesn’t matter. But to someone like my nephew, that cross-contamination matters a lot.
When people who don’t have Celiac or aren’t actually allergic to gluten usurp that label (seems like it’s happening more and more lately), they can create real harm to people who actually do have that allergy. “This is for a child with Celiac,” my sister says every time she orders. “It’s not a diet thing, he is very allergic.” And then she mumbles to me, “I don’t know why people without an allergy can’t just say they prefer no gluten instead of saying they’re allergic. Because of them, nobody believes me when I order.”
So … labels. My friend who came out to his family as gay isn’t going to suddenly meet the right woman and marry her. How do I know? Because he said he is gay, words have meaning, and when someone tells me their label, I believe them. And my nephew with Celiac isn’t going to suddenly eat a regular pizza and be fine. How do I know? Because that’s what the word Celiac means and he has it.
Can someone order a meal and say they have a gluten allergy even when what they have is a chosen diet? Of course they can. People can say anything they want. But when they put that label on their order—when they choose a word with an existing meaning to identify something different—they confuse and diminish that meaning. And that meaning matters a whole lot to a little boy who just wants to grow. Just like the meaning of another label matters a whole lot to my friend who just wanted his family to accept him.
CC
www.cardenoc.com
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