My mom was a hilarious feminist when I was growing up. We still laugh how when I was potty trained, she had offered to buy me ANYTHING I wanted, and I asked for a Barbie. This made her so conflicted, and she ended up buying me Doctor Barbie; when I’d comment on how pretty her hair was or her pretty dress, she’d tell me “She’s a physician, a respected member of the community!” – we still howl with laughter. When I was a bit older and wanted to wear eye shadow, she said that first we needed to “discuss the political ramifications of makeup”- one of my all time favorite phrases to this day.
It was all part of her quest to raise me as an empowered and confident woman, something that I want to do for Harley as well. While I’m not as worried about dolls or makeup, I am worried about the world I’m raising her in. I recently read a brilliant article about a mom’s take on the whole transgender bathroom debate. For her, it has nothing to do with bathrooms, she isn’t worried about her daughter getting assaulted in the ladies room. No, she’s worried about the statistical likelihood that her daughter will be pressured into underage sex, or drugs, or drinking. She’s worried about the statistical likelihood that her baby will be violently raped before the age of 35, that she’ll be a victim of institutionalized sexism.
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