Thoughts of a Bra Wearing Feminist

I am tucking N in, and reminding her in the midst of her Sunday night blues that she only has four days of school this week, as she has Tuesday off for Election Day.

"Mom," she asks me, "Why hasn't there ever been a woman President?"

I try to think before I answer--not a frequent occurrence for me. Mainly because, in the day to day chaos that is my life, I am either able to think, or I am able to speak. Not both. Certainly not both at the same time. But I realize that this one requires a thoughtful answer, so I try to step outside of my comfort zone.

Well, um, because, well, there just hasn't been.

I have friends who would be really, really good at answering this question. They would rattle off details on history, and government, and the women's movement, and by the time they were done, N would not only have her question answered, but would think how incredibly dumb it is that men get to be president at all.

Not that I want her to think that, of course.

And therein lies the problem. I've really never been all that women's libby. Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful that I get to vote, and that I could run for president if I wanted to--and I would to, if I wasn't so tied up with all this laundry...and dishes...and diapers...and well, frankly, if I wasn't so busy being barefoot in my kitchen, though you will be happy to know, not pregnant and barefoot in my kitchen. Besides, I'm thinking the President is really pretty busy, and when would I have time to blog?

 I am really, truly, grateful for all the women who fought to make sure that women like me would have the same rights as men. But the thing is, by the time I came of age, it had all happened already. Of course I could go to college. Of course the fact that I'm a woman wouldn't (legally) prevent me from being hired to do the same types of jobs as men. Of course I could get a mortgage, or a car loan, or a credit card, all by money-earning self. That is, assuming that I was actually earning enough money to do any of those things, instead of spending my time barefoot in the kitchen.

And truth be told, though I would have loved to hang out with some of those bra burning chics, if bras were being burned today, I'd probably be keeping mine on. And no, it's not just because those babies are no longer in the same hemisphere as they were before I had children.

I just don't think I'm a bra burner. And I don't happen to think that some of today's feminists are fighting for the same things that the bra burners were fighting for. I don't think, for example, that women who want to be perceived as strong, and independent, and capable, do themselves--or the rest of us-- any favors when they say things like "I think the government should pay for my birth control".

Especially when there are women in places like Afghanistan who can't go to school, or speak their minds, or show their faces.

But of course, I'm not going to say any of that that to my seven-year-old.

So instead, when I eventually answer her question, I tell her that a long time ago, women weren't even allowed to vote. Because women's jobs used to be to take care of their homes, and their families, and their kids.  I struggle with how exactly to say this, because that's still the primary job of many women--myself included--and I don't want to diminish its tremendous importance.

And yet, I don't want her to think that that's all she can do.

And I also don't want her to think there's anything wrong with deciding at some point that that's all she wants to do.

Providing she gets her PhD first.

So I tell her some more about how men were the ones who had the education, and the jobs, and the power, and that women had to stand up for themselves and say that they deserved to vote, too. And that now they could vote and be President.

And she said "I think I'll do that. I think I'll be the first woman President".

I told her I would vote for her, and asked her what she would tell people that she would do as President.

"Well, I think I'll pee standing up." she said, as she collapsed into giggles. "Even though boys are better at that."

I acknowledged that it was a little easier for them. In fact, just today, I took B around the side of a building, while N had to wait twenty minutes until we found an inside bathroom. But then I told her that we could also work on her outside peeing skills.

After all, it might be a useful skill when she's on the campaign trail. Or, at keg parties.

She was quiet for a minute, and then she said, "You know, if girls could pee in the grass as easily as boys can, everyone would know that we can do whatever they can do".

I think she just might be onto something.