Posted on January 22, 2017
A master of dry sarcasm, I’ve devoted my life to the pursuit of knowledge and good music, subverting the system, celebrating good times, enjoying the weirdness of life, pointing out the ridiculous, and helping others. I consider myself a breaker of glass ceilings/chains, a fighter of equal rights, and a lover of chocolate chip cookies.
To My Lovely Daughter,
Yesterday, I marched with 250,000 at a Woman’s March, held
on the day after Donald Trump’s inauguration.
I marched because an irrational, childlike bigot who brags about sexual
predation and flip-flops on abortion rights was just elected to office. I marched because I’ve never understood how
people don’t see a connection between women’s rights and abortion rights. I marched because I hated feeling substandard
for being a girl in college. I marched
for everytime a man cut me off or talked down to me when having a political
argument. I marched because I hate the
idea of you growing up with a president who brags about groping women. I marched because I hate the fact that I was
groped one night in a bar and I froze. I
marched because I’m tired. I’m tired of
having to justify being mad, being heard, being female.
I will never consider it a dirty word to be a feminist, the
same way it will never be a dirty word to be Muslim, Jewish, black, white, or poor. I will never consider it wrong for
you to love pink. I will play princesses
with you. I will play ninjas with you. I will each you math. I will do your hair, and I will teach you how
to throw both softballs and a punches.
I will not teach you how to throw a football. My spiral is nonexistent. But I will find someone to do it when the
time comes. Try your father. He might know.
I will teach you everything I can so that you never feel
like you do not matter because you are a girl.
I will keep marching so that you will make the same amount of money as
that bro you work with. What I will not
do is be quiet. I will not sit
down. I will not shut up and I sure as
hell will never back down from the fight.
Yesterday, I looked around and realized I was surrounded
with the young and old. With blacks, whites, and people of all sorts of other races. With men.
With those who are transgender. You’ve
come with me on these marches before. You came
with me the last time I marched, when you were still in my belly. Your little sibling was with me this time, but I waddled down the street with my head held high. I felt guilty that I didn’t bring you this
time, but I was afraid of something going wrong. If something were to happen to me, I wanted
you to be safe and grow up knowing that I went down fighting.
Because that is what I do.
I fight. It is what I will always
do, and I do it because someday I hope that you won’t have to. It blows my mind everyday that I’m still
protesting this shit, but as long as I have to, I will fight.
Love,
Mom
About the Author:
A master of dry sarcasm, I’ve devoted my life to the pursuit of knowledge and good music, subverting the system, celebrating good times, enjoying the weirdness of life, pointing out the ridiculous, and helping others. I consider myself a breaker of glass ceilings/chains, a fighter of equal rights, and a lover of chocolate chip cookies.
