I have four daughters all named with traditionally boys names so that when they applied for jobs their resume would speak for what it should -- their experience and education -- not their sex. It was a very conscious decision and not one of them have ever complained, or even questioned it. They range in age from 6 years old, all the way to almost twenty. They have been homeschooled all their lives. They are strong, bright, liberal, and feminist. I am proud and amazed that I have these amazing young women in my lives.
When my fourth daughter was born my sister sent her a tiny little black t-shirt. On it, in prominent white letters it said, "This is what a Feminist looks like". It's about a size 18 months. Naturally, being the outspoken, liberal mother and living in the quiet more conservative South I started putting it on her when she was able to walk at ten months. It got more bang for it's buck when she was upright and toddling around in public, than laying in her car seat. The initial reaction was to how adorable she was, and then they'd read the shirt. From there it was a total guess on how the reaction would go from the people oggling my daughter's bald head, funky shoes, and outspoken t-shirt and smiling, to quite a few who walked away with obvious disgust on their faces. (I pitied them, rather than throw something at them. That seemed counterproductive.). I was accused of pushing my beliefs on my children, though I see no wrong in raising them to think for themselves, I do admit to showing them the reality of what women face, and how we can change that in small and large ways. I often challenged the older ones to speak their mind and talk of women's rights, perhaps a bit before they were ready. Sometimes they did, sometimes they waited. They understood clearly all the wonderful and challenging things that women have faced, and still do. In this family, we're all still learning.
The t-shirt kept it's shape and was true to it's size, and so over the years she continued to wear it. When someone questioned her at three what being a feminist was she replied that it meant that she could run as faster, or faster than boys. They chuckled because it was the three year olds version, but obviously she was getting something from us.
When she was four, the t-shirt finally started to look a little tight on her arms, but despite my suggestions of making it a tank top or altering it in any other way, she refused and continued to wear her "feminist shirt". While my first two daughters were girlie girls, from sequins and sparkly shoes at Walmart, my second two were horrified to even have it suggest it to them that something other than jeans, or shorts may be an option in their wardrobe. I didn't care. It's not my decision what they wear as long as it was weather appropriate and occasionally, appropriate for some type of more formal function. (No feminist shirt to a formal wedding.)
Austen got her first pair of Converse high tops recently. Proudly, like her sister just seven years older than her -- the closest one in age -- she choose black. They were awesome, and went with her jeans. But by now the Feminist shirt is really getting too small. Her belly sticks out. She still wears it out. She absolutely loves it. I have tried to find it online, but have yet to be successful. It is apparent that this child is going to need a new one to replace the one that will eventually cut off the circulation in her body because there is no way I can take her beloved shirt from her.
About two weeks ago we were at a playground. I was sitting on the bench allowing her the freedom to find some playmates her own age. She thinks she's 12 like her older sister, so her interactions with younger kids is a bit awkward, and she's a bit cynical, and not always age appropriate. I overheard this little girl about her age talking to her as they climbed the big kid rope pyramid. The girl quietly asked if she was a girl. Austen looked at the girl with an obvious look of disgust and replied, "I'm a girl." Then she kept on climbing. The girl then persisted to try and explain the wrong doings in the clothing my daughter had chosen -- black leggings, black high tops, a rust colored horse shirt and a black fedora hat she wears every day. Her climbing friend was dressed all in pink, with ruffles and just a smattering of white.
"But you have black sneakers." It seemed perfectly logical to this child that Austen simply must be a boy because she was wearing black.
I heard the tone of cynicism come in to Austen's voice, and held my breath. Was this going to be the time she told the girl her opinions were "lame", as she has done at home when she is disagreeing with someone. Or would she stand up for herself like I had taught her. (At this point, I was holding myself down on the bench trying not to knock the kid off the equipment. I was pretty sure that would fall under many inappropriate, as well as illegal reactions.)
"I like black. What's wrong with that?" And on she climbed around the girl.
Little Miss Pink Frills looked back at my daughter who had now surpassed her on the climbing apparatus with a look of puzzlement in her eye. Austen had a grin on her face, reached the top of this large roped off pyramid, and said, "Look, Mommy, I made it to the top." I congratulated her, and she continued on to accomplish another piece of equipment, as I stood there like a ridiculously beaming.
I thought, yeah, she'll make it to the top because she too has the gumption and self-confidence she needs to stand out and up for what she knows is true. Not only can she run faster than boys, but she can climb higher, and she can like and wear exactly what she wants, with pride. Plus she knows the "F" word, the six year old meaning of it, and she's not afraid to use it!
When my fourth daughter was born my sister sent her a tiny little black t-shirt. On it, in prominent white letters it said, "This is what a Feminist looks like". It's about a size 18 months. Naturally, being the outspoken, liberal mother and living in the quiet more conservative South I started putting it on her when she was able to walk at ten months. It got more bang for it's buck when she was upright and toddling around in public, than laying in her car seat. The initial reaction was to how adorable she was, and then they'd read the shirt. From there it was a total guess on how the reaction would go from the people oggling my daughter's bald head, funky shoes, and outspoken t-shirt and smiling, to quite a few who walked away with obvious disgust on their faces. (I pitied them, rather than throw something at them. That seemed counterproductive.). I was accused of pushing my beliefs on my children, though I see no wrong in raising them to think for themselves, I do admit to showing them the reality of what women face, and how we can change that in small and large ways. I often challenged the older ones to speak their mind and talk of women's rights, perhaps a bit before they were ready. Sometimes they did, sometimes they waited. They understood clearly all the wonderful and challenging things that women have faced, and still do. In this family, we're all still learning.
The t-shirt kept it's shape and was true to it's size, and so over the years she continued to wear it. When someone questioned her at three what being a feminist was she replied that it meant that she could run as faster, or faster than boys. They chuckled because it was the three year olds version, but obviously she was getting something from us.
When she was four, the t-shirt finally started to look a little tight on her arms, but despite my suggestions of making it a tank top or altering it in any other way, she refused and continued to wear her "feminist shirt". While my first two daughters were girlie girls, from sequins and sparkly shoes at Walmart, my second two were horrified to even have it suggest it to them that something other than jeans, or shorts may be an option in their wardrobe. I didn't care. It's not my decision what they wear as long as it was weather appropriate and occasionally, appropriate for some type of more formal function. (No feminist shirt to a formal wedding.)
Austen got her first pair of Converse high tops recently. Proudly, like her sister just seven years older than her -- the closest one in age -- she choose black. They were awesome, and went with her jeans. But by now the Feminist shirt is really getting too small. Her belly sticks out. She still wears it out. She absolutely loves it. I have tried to find it online, but have yet to be successful. It is apparent that this child is going to need a new one to replace the one that will eventually cut off the circulation in her body because there is no way I can take her beloved shirt from her.
About two weeks ago we were at a playground. I was sitting on the bench allowing her the freedom to find some playmates her own age. She thinks she's 12 like her older sister, so her interactions with younger kids is a bit awkward, and she's a bit cynical, and not always age appropriate. I overheard this little girl about her age talking to her as they climbed the big kid rope pyramid. The girl quietly asked if she was a girl. Austen looked at the girl with an obvious look of disgust and replied, "I'm a girl." Then she kept on climbing. The girl then persisted to try and explain the wrong doings in the clothing my daughter had chosen -- black leggings, black high tops, a rust colored horse shirt and a black fedora hat she wears every day. Her climbing friend was dressed all in pink, with ruffles and just a smattering of white.
"But you have black sneakers." It seemed perfectly logical to this child that Austen simply must be a boy because she was wearing black.
I heard the tone of cynicism come in to Austen's voice, and held my breath. Was this going to be the time she told the girl her opinions were "lame", as she has done at home when she is disagreeing with someone. Or would she stand up for herself like I had taught her. (At this point, I was holding myself down on the bench trying not to knock the kid off the equipment. I was pretty sure that would fall under many inappropriate, as well as illegal reactions.)
"I like black. What's wrong with that?" And on she climbed around the girl.
Little Miss Pink Frills looked back at my daughter who had now surpassed her on the climbing apparatus with a look of puzzlement in her eye. Austen had a grin on her face, reached the top of this large roped off pyramid, and said, "Look, Mommy, I made it to the top." I congratulated her, and she continued on to accomplish another piece of equipment, as I stood there like a ridiculously beaming.
I thought, yeah, she'll make it to the top because she too has the gumption and self-confidence she needs to stand out and up for what she knows is true. Not only can she run faster than boys, but she can climb higher, and she can like and wear exactly what she wants, with pride. Plus she knows the "F" word, the six year old meaning of it, and she's not afraid to use it!
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