I woke up Saturday morning wondering if I should be there marching with the millions of women who turned out across the globe. I wondered if I should be counted as one who showed up in solidarity for Women’s Rights and if I should’ve put my 14-year-old daughter on a plane so she could be counted as well. I watched as the pictures began circulating along with the rhetoric — some good, some bad. I researched the whys and watched videos on social media of celebrities giving speeches — some inspiring, some not. I clicked on headline after headline and then verified information to ensure my understanding of this historic event was one of accuracy and not a political or personal agenda.
People had opinions. Facebook posts went viral. Some wondered what rights women don’t currently have that they are fighting for, as if somehow, continuing to fight for the rights we believe in makes us ungrateful for the ones we have. Many people wanted to boil the Women’s March on Washington down to one or two key issues, and if you showed up, it must be about those. I’d like to tell you a story that will help you understand why, if given the chance again, I would have marched.
It’s a story about a boy and girl. Both attend the same junior high. They have the same socioeconomic status, the same support at home, and they are afforded the same resources. Each of them sleep in a warm bed every night and never worry about their next meal. Their college education is already paid for and money has been set aside not just for tuition, but housing, food, books, etc.
Within a year of each other, they will go off to high school and then college, and that moment where they leave the house is where their stories will begin to deviate.
The girl will step foot on campus and be shown the bookstore, gym and cafeteria. She will also be reminded about the lit path from building to building and told never to walk alone after dark. She’ll make friends, and when those friends go out together, she’ll need to constantly be aware of her surroundings. Who handles her drink. How much she chooses to drink. Did anyone follow her as she left? She’ll carry pepper spray or place keys in her hand with one strategically poking out as a defense weapon. Just in case. She might decide to talk to a boy who misinterprets her kindness as as an open invitation to do as he pleases. God forbid this or something worse happens if she momentarily lets her guard down because the days and months following will be filled with raised eyebrows regarding her judgement, her morals and whether or not she asked for it. There will be so many questions and accusations thrown her way that she herself will begin to dissect her behavior and wonder if she did “ask for it” or if she “could have prevented it.” None of this is within her ability to influence. She can do everything right to protect herself and still have her life changed forever.
The boy will step foot on campus and be shown the bookstore, gym and cafeteria. He’ll make friends, and they’ll go out together. He’ll order a drink with zero concern about who handles it. He might drink too much one night, and his buddies will laugh as he stumbles home, passes out on his bed and wakes up the next day with a hangover. He won’t be concerned about who might have followed him home, and it never even occurred to him that he should carry something in his hand to protect himself. Yes, his decisions will have consequences as most decisions do, but they will be his decisions, and he will have complete control.
You see, I’ve thought both of these scenarios through in great detail because the boy and the girl are my children. I know what will keep me up at night when they both leave this house to be out on their own. I’ve thought through every conversation and potential phone call. I could probably recite the speech I’ll give them both the night before they leave, and the biggest difference is this… I will remind my son to make good choices and be the man I raised him to be. I will remind my daughter to not only make good choices and be the woman I raised her to be, but to also be aware of the not-so-good choices going on around her that could have devastating consequences.
Don’t tell me that’s equality.
Did I march? No. Do I support those who did? Absolutely. As a mother, I’d love to see a day where the conversations I have with my son and daughter before they go away to school in a few years are the same. A day where she doesn’t have to arm herself with pepper spray and strategically placed keys. Where the biggest thing she has to worry about is what major to choose and where to go on a Friday night.
Until that day comes, I say march on.
