Notes from a Feminist Mom

I’m a flower child who grew up and had kids. A former vegetarian (way before you kids became vegans), I read subversive newsletters put out by the Students for a Democratic Society and the Black Panthers (my cousin in California put me on the mailing list), went to India on a spiritual quest, protested the Vietnam war at the Washington Monument, experimented with drugs, tie-dyed my shirts, and Cloroxed my jeans.

Halfway through the process of raising three children, I see that I have raised young feminists. Listening to them describe their interactions with the world, I continue to be surprised at the way gender consciousness manifests itself in their lives.

My 11-year-old daughter provided more than one moment of introspection for her fifth-grade teacher last year. When the teacher began to explain a concept, she might innocently have said something like, “When a scientist performs an experiment, he documents each step . . .” My Corey would inevitably pipe up, “It could be a she.”

“What’s that, Corey?”

“The scientist. It could be a woman.”

When the teacher divided the class for an academic game by giving them cards of different colors, Corey’s feminist antennae were raised.

“Why do the boys get blue and the girls get pink?” she demanded. By the end of the school year, the teacher had adjusted her style to circumvent Corey’s persistent challenges. A science lesson went like this: “So, class, when this molecule comes in proximity with that molecule, it takes on the properties of the other, the same as when a man and a woman marry — Corey, just let me finish here — the woman sometimes — not always — takes on the man’s name.”

Corey is winsome, with silky blonde hair and vivid blue eyes, and remains entirely uninterested in the boys in her class, many of whom try in vain to get her attention. Last year, only one boy succeeded, after writing an essay on why the next president of the United States should be a woman. The two of them became good friends.

I have good reason for imparting feminism to my daughters. A recent study by the American Association of University Women showed that girls out-perform boys in school until age 11 or 12. After that, they fall behind and never catch up. With the onset of puberty, they often forget that their ideas are important and worth expressing, that their dreams matter. I deliberately exposed my son to feminist viewpoints, figuring I would do the world a favor by turning out a man who could take care of himself, who had done his own laundry since he was 12, who enjoyed cooking and wasn’t ashamed to stop and admire the scent of a wildflower.

Hence, I have raised a son who tirelessly points out my own gender discrimination, particularly in the delegation of chores.

“Why am I the only one you make carry out the trash?” he asked me recently.

We stood eye-to-eye as I studied the question. Didn’t I ask the girls to take out the trash as well? No. I reevaluated my household job delegation, much to the girls’ disgust.

Two years ago, when he announced he wanted to get his ear pierced, I knew he had me. I had promoted equality between the sexes for too long to give him an answer different from the one I had long ago given his two sisters. I took a deep breath and smiled. “Sure. Why not?” I am grateful he hasn’t succumbed to the recent boyish fad to wear a skirt.

While I am convinced that raising their gender consciousness was the right thing to do, I ache for the feeling of separateness that it sometimes creates between them and their peers. My children frequently find themselves in complete disagreement with the common sentiments of their friends and their teachers, which leaves them with two uncomfortable choices: to speak their minds (and risk ostracism and mockery), or to remain silent (and risk losing self-esteem).

Still, I take heart that my children question systems relentlessly, be they social, religious, or political, and that they refuse to accept the notion that males must do this and females must do that. I am particularly proud that they put energy into their ideas and stand behind them. As children, they feel empowered. I pray this is always true.