#functionalist

"Svitjod" cabinet by Göran Malmvall for Karl Andersson & Söner, Huskvarna, late 20th century

AO1:

Believe in the nuclear family - shows both instrumental and expressive roles and performs the following functions.

Murdock - Believes the family has four functions:

Socialisation - To ensure everyone shares the same norms and values, leading to a value consensus.

Reproductive - (Of new generations).

Economic - Provides shelter and warmth, aiding survival.

Sexual - Allows adults to express sexuality in a socially acceptable way.

Parsons - The two functions of the family (that are left), the functional fit theory and the warm bath theory:

2 functions:

Primary socialisation - Leading to a value consensus.

Stabilisation of adult personalities - Via the emotional support from women.

Functional fit theory - The family changes depending on society's needs, e.g. extended family pre-industrialisation, nuclear family for modern society.

Warm bath theory - The family acts as a safe haven to escape the stress of the world.

Fletcher - The family has gained functions:

Healthcare - Looks after a child’s diet, hygiene, lifestyle and refers to doctors when required.

Education - Teaching children social norms, sending them to school, ensuring they do any homework, attending parents evenings, paying for resources/school trips

Consuming - Supporting the economy rather than acting as a unit of production. 

AO3:

Outdated – nuclear family no longer dominant.

Sexist and stereotypical views – e.g. good housewife guide, women now getting educations and careers, women face triple shift.

Too rose-tinted – ignores dark side of the family.

Other institutions can perform these functions.

Some cultures don't have the 'family' - the Nayar have different family structures.

Functional fit theory – too neat, society doesn't change as a whole in an orderly fashion.

Laslett – only 10% of pre-industrial homes were extended.

“How many bitlets do you have?” Jazz asked as he looked at the three mechlings babbling excitedly up at the dour Praxian. Like their procreator, they were all Praxian, all different ages. The youngest of the sparklings, correction, sparklings and newling. The youngest was close to his upgrade from newling to sparklings but the little grey and red mech was still uneasy on his peds, the second, all over blue was sure on his peds, a late first tier sparkling, and was chattering in a mix of binary and Neo Cybex, the third, grey and blue with distinct golden faceplates was speaking in proper sentences but with the sweet, innocent accent of a sparkling, from the looks of him, he had approaching his second tier upgrades, which explained why he was not in school, but the time was coming soon.

“Four,” Prowl replied, guarded, the Polihexian realized, vulnerable. “From youngest, to oldest, Bluestreak, Skids, and Camshaft. My eldest, Smokescreen, is at school. Mechlings, these mech is one of my colleagues, Jazz.”

“Hi!” Camshaft greeted him with unbridled enthusiasms, while Skids hid behind his procreator’s legs.

“Hiya bitlets,” the saboteur said, smiling at the brave, and the shy mechings. He looked to Prowl. “Everyone talks ‘bout how ya work insane joors, ‘n are always in yer office, but ya ain’t, are ya?”

“No,” The Praxian said as he leaned down and picked up his youngest. A panel on Prowl’s chassis slid back and the mechling latched onto the feeding line. It should not have been a vulnerable moment, but Jazz realized that it was. Prowl was looking away, looking as his creations, but at the same time not. Jazz was an intruder here. “I do work “insane” joors, a mix of here and on base. The majority of my work is done via telecommuting.”

“How did I not know?” Jazz asked, more to himself than to Prowl. “It’s my business to know everythin’ ‘bout everyone.”

“The nature of my family is known only to two mech, three now, I suppose,” Prowl explained. “Optimus Prime, and Ratchet.”

“The Raid on Tyger Pax, the one were ya saved our afts ‘n got yerself enlisted as a strat, these bitlets were with ya in the youngling centre Prime got cornered in,” the Polihexian guessed.

“I have always thought my actions there self serving, not the selfless heroics some have painted them to be,” the tactician said. “My life, those of my creations and other young mechanisms were in immediate, lethal danger. I saved my life, and there’s, Optimus Prime merely got lucky.”

“Did he ever,” Jazz let out a long vent, then asked. “Anything I can help ya, with, while ya take care of this lil’ mech?”

“Camshaft, please show Jazz to the fuel storage,” Prowl instructed. “I believe you and Skids would both like a snacks. Take a cube for yourself, Jazz.”

The Polihexian followed the happy little mech as he skipped into the alcove that served as the family’s fuelling are.  Considering the number of mechanisms living in the habsuite, it was really quite small, though painstakingly neat. Tactical Officer to Special Operations or no, wages within the Autobots officers were generally low. Prowl likely could not, or felt like he could not afford a larger suite. Considering he had  kept his young family a secret, he probably would not have wanted to draw attention to himself by renting a habsuite anyways. Why the secrecy, Jazz wondered. Other Autobots had bitlets, the tactician would not be an anomaly, but the answer, the saboteur thought would not likely be forthcoming. Camsaft led Jazz over to the fuel cabinet, and in a feat of surprising strength, he managed to pull the door opened. He looked up at the Polihexian, optics glowing with pride.

“Good job, mechlin’,” Jazz grinned as he gave the sparkling the praise he knew Camshaft was after. “So what would ya like? Some gels? Some energon?”

“Gels! Gels” Camshaft squealed excitedly. “Blue ones are my favourite, Skids likes pink ones. Bluestreak likes or’gin’s fuel best.”

“Bet ya did at his age too,” the Polihexian said. “What does your origin like best, Cam?”

“Mid grade with copper and zinc,” the sparkling replied. “And rust sticks!”

“Rust stucks, h’uh?” Jazz said. “Why don’t ya help me make up a lil plate for everybot to share?”

“Yah!” Camshaft cheered. He showed the saboteur where the rust sticks were kept, and help Jazz arrange them... artfully... on the plate. When the snack was ready, and the adult mech had mixed two cubes, the carefully carried the plate over to his originator, who at this point was sitting on the plush couch. Bluestreak was half dosing at this point, though Jazz could here him continue to suck. Skids was tucked in tightly to his originator’s side, watching the intruder suspiciously. Though at the sight of the plate of treats, he perked up.

“Hope this is alright,” the saboteur asked.

“It is, thank you,” Prowl replied.

“Sit with me, Skids!” Camshaft called to his brother as he sat himself, and the plate down in a makeshift nest of blankets Jazz guessed was the mechlings preferred spot to rest as they watched holovids. Lured by the streets, Skids slid off the couch and sat with his brother in their nest and helped himself to one of the pink gels. Jazz took up his vacant place on the couch, but not near so close to Prowl. He handed the Praxian the cube he had mixed for him.

“If secrecy’s what ya want Prowl, I ain’t gonna blab,” Jazz said. “Keepin’ secrets is as big a part of my job as uncoverin’em.”

“Thank you,” the Praxian replied. “I do wish my family to remain a secret. I do not want my commission called into question.”

“Why do ya think that’s a question?” The Polihexian asked. “Y’er the best tactician to join the ‘Bots. Y’er one of the big reasons we’re holdin’ our own.”

“I am their only procreator,” Prowl explained. He paused a moment and turned on the holo-imager. In an instant the chattering of the sparklings ceased and they became entranced by the cartoom playing. “That is enough to call into question whether it is acceptable for me to risk my life by actively serving, despite the fact I do not attend battles. Bluestreak’s young age is another matter.”

“What happened to their ‘genitor?” Jazz asked. If the other mech did not wish to answer, he would not press, but he need not have worried.

“I left him,” the tactician explained. “Praxus is Functionalist. Artists create art, musicians create music, strategists serve the Enforcers, or government, and originators bare creations. I have hyper-fertility. If I engage in interface during a procreo cycle I kindle. My arranged mate saw fit to use me as a broadcarrier. After four cycles, each resulting in a kindling, I knew I would die in emergence before he left me in peace, so I fled in the dark-cycle shortly after Bluestreak emerged.”

“Tyger Pax shouda been a safe but the ‘Cons thought they were buildin’ a super weapon,” the saboteur said.

“I prefer Iacon, and the Autobots,” Prowl replied. “I am able to use the abilities I have trained, with some anonymity.”

“Y’re afraid of being discovered?” Jazz asked, his plating prickled. It was good then that Prowl had let him into the secret. If any mech made a move on the family, they would be quietly disposed of, no better mech to take care of those sorts of problems than him.

“Less than I once was,” the Praxian said. “Iacon is actively opposed to Functionalism, it would be difficult for their progenitor to build a case. I am not altogether sure he would be bothered. Burning so many creations off of me was a matter of ego to him, he was less than concerned with our creations in general. Their care was entirely left to me, it was easy to slip away with them. Prior to being paired off with him, and my first carrying I served the Enforcers for vorns. Emerging sparkling after sparkling, raising endless creations was never what I planned for myself. I always wished to work It was a relief to return to some sort of service.”

“He ever turn up, Prowl, gimme a comm ‘n he’ll be gone,” the Polihexian promised. “Y’er an Op, sorta, ‘n I take care ‘o Ops.”