Political Correctness

"Why is she the only girl?"

That was the question that my young daughter asked as we were all watching the morning after assessment and news coverage following the Republican Debate that aired on a Monday night, not too long ago. She was talking about Michele Bachmann.  My husband and teenaged son did not respond to her question. They both played it off identically, pretending not hear her. Probably for the same reason that I did not jump on it right away.  The explanation and discussion that follwed would take longer than the 8 minutes that we had left before the school bus picked up at the end of our driveway.

"It takes a very big committment to run for President." I said. "We can talk about it later, when you get home from school." I continued with my usual: "Is your lunch packed, do you have your riding boots, is your homework in your folder?"

As I drove to work, I contemplated how I would successfully answer the question as to why Michele Bachmann is the only officially declared 'girl' running  for President. I am sure I will need to explain, as my daughter is already well aware of, why there has never been a woman President in our country's history.

Answering that question sounds easy.  But not if I want to give her an honest answer.

I like to think of myself as a "liberated woman". Sometimes I don't wear a bra (only when I am sleeping). I can do what any man can do (except maybe beat him in an arm wrestling match). My husband and I equally share the household duties (yeah, right - it would send him over the edge). I make the same amount of money as my husband does even after spending many years as a stay-at-home mother (I wish).

This question was a tough one for me and it begs to be answered. Where are all the woman candidates? Are women too emotional to be able to fulfill the lengthy list of gut wrenching decisions that the President of the United States needs to make?  That's really what it boils down to. Isn't it? That is the nuts and bolts of the issue. Or at least, that's what I have always have thought it was. I remember the rumblings when I was a kid.  Is that still really it?

Part of me resents the hell out of the above statement and part of me wants to cry just thinking about it. After all, do we believe that Presidents don't cry? Should a President leave his emotions out of it when making critical decsions. Are women incapable of doing this? Do the emotions of women always govern their reasoning capabilities?

Hardly.  Women leave their emotions out of it all the time when making critical decisions.  I can run a house, my workplace, the lives of 4 people, the lives of 4 pets, any committee, Christmas, birthday parties, bake sales, my checkbook, and many other important life 'things' without really batting an eyelash. All that I require, are just a couple of daily doses of caffeine and an occasional glass of wine in the evening.  If I actually DID let my emotions get the best of me, I would have been living alone, in the Bahamas by now, in some spa resort. Do we women get TOO emotional? Some of us do, at times. But I can literally watch my kid take a nasty spill off of her scooter, with obvious road rash on both knees, knowing that there has to be bloodshed involved, and still say encouragingly from the front steps: "Get up, hunny...you're fine."

"Why has there not been a woman President in our history?   I, myself, have never looked at a candidate for the President of the United States as a man, a woman, black, white, etc.  For me, staying neutral on party lines and just voting based on instinct as to how honest of a person the candidate seems to be, has been my best voting strategy.  I look at where they stand on issues and their previous track record, but being a great President is ultimately built on character. On one particular election day, I actually flipped a coin in the voting booth, not really caring for any candidate on the ballot. On another, I wrote my own name in.

But why hasn't it happened already? Why hasn't some dynamic woman reached that milestone and busted through the ceiling?

This past Valentine's Day, my husband gave me a second Pandora bracelet that he picked out with silver heart beads, beautifully symbolic crimson beads and a decorative clasp.  Upon further examination, I noticed that the clasp was in the form of an elephant's head.  "Hmmm...", I thought, "What is he trying to say?" Elephants are heavy, smelly, they never forget, etc.  Immediately, I felt a pang in my chest that provided stimulus for a knee jerk reaction, that caused me to want to punch him in the gut.  Seconds later, thankfully without uttering a word about the elephant, I had talked myself down off of my ledge, and began minimalizing the meaning of the elephant on the clasp. 

"It's just a cute little elephant" I reasoned and then I decided to say out loud: "Oh, look, it's a cute little elephant on the clasp. How sweet."

"Yeah, I like the way his trunk curves up an around to close the bracelet." my husband admitted, proud of himself even, for picking this gift out on his own (something that rarely happens). Well, that was innocent enough.

Crisis averted.

Why I would think, that my husband was trying to send me a message in the elephant, I'll never know.  But that was my first instinct. I easily could have ruined the moment and turned Valentine's Day into an argument and a bad memory, if I went with my initial reaction. If I had allowed that irrational emotional sting to dictate my response, I would have most certainly regretted it.

What does any of this have to do with a woman being President?  I am not exactly sure. But, somehow, it kind of sums it up for me.  We have the reputation that as women, we let our emotions get the best of us and we thrive off of them. The generalization is that we think with our hearts first and our brains second. This of course, will simply not do, for anyone who has their finger that close to 'THE BUTTON'. That is the misconception. I believe that certain men have helped emphasize this in women, making more out of it than there actually is. Maybe the emotional deficiancy of some men, has prompted this evaluation. Those men who are uncomfortable with expressing their emotions.  I do not want to bash men. I love men. There are many caring, thoughtful, emotionally healthy men in this world.  Many, many, many of them.  It is largely in part, due to the support of men, that women have been able to get where they are today.

But let's look at the cold, hard truth.  Up until now, politics has largely been a 'boys club'. It's a tough job, not all that it's cracked up to be.  It used to be that being a public servant was a big pain in the neck. A major interruption of one's life. The Presidency has become somewhat glitzy and 'Hollywood'. In a way, it has always been designated for the prestigious, select few, with the 'right stuff'.  Or...lots and lots of money.

The fact that Michele Bachmann raised 5 children and foster parented 23 more, automatically qualifies her for the seat in the Oval office, in my estimation. Anyone who can successfully parent 28 ANYTHING has my vote.  Kidding aside, there is something to be said for multitasking to the hilt, parenting large numbers, possessing superior customer service skills, volunteering for causes, being authentic and charitable, just to name a few.

What some don't seem to understand, is that the natural instinct of a woman is to protect.  It is present in the most molecular of levels.  The need to protect and keep the human race safe exists in every pore of a woman, most significantly in her own family structure, but the ultimate instinct to keep those that are in jeopardy safe, is ever present.  For a woman, when the confrontation arises and the question becomes whether or not to pull the trigger in order to protect, believe me, the trigger is pulled. Believe me.

So, the conversation with my daughter went like this: "The reason that there has never been a woman President, is because change comes slow sometimes.  It used to be the thinking that woman stayed home and raised families.  Men went out and worked. That thinking has changed.  Woman have always been as strong as men, look how challenging it is to raise human beings.  It takes patience, alot of patience.  The same patience is a wonderful lesson in waiting for the time to be right. There will be a woman President, soon.  I can feel it.  Not because she is a woman, but because she has earned the confidence of the people of the United States. The journey will make that woman the strongest she has ever been."

At one point my daughter looked at me and said: "Why would someone think that a woman CAN'T do what a man can do?"  This was such a foreign concept to her.  She just didn't get it and I loved it. My hopes are that the generation that we are now raising will not even understand what sexism is. We are almost all the way there.

I went on to explain: "When we first started out on this earth, it made more sense for the roles of men and women to be defined.  As we have developed and progressed as a society, we now realize, that we are all capable of many of the same things. No matter what we look like on the outside."

My daughter then said, "It would be fun to see a woman be President, I'll bet you, Mom, that one of the first things she does as President, is to paint the White House a different color.  White is so boring."

And with that, my daughter finished lacing her sneakers, picked up her basketball, and ran out of the house to play with the boys.
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Confessions of a Domestic Hit Woman: A Repayment Plan

Confessions of a Domestic Hit Woman: A Repayment Plan: "I drive quite a bit. I am a glorified chauffeur. Living where we do, in a rural community, nothing is within a 5 minute drive except the..."

A Repayment Plan

I drive quite a bit.  I am a glorified chauffeur.  Living where we do, in a rural community, nothing is within a 5 minute drive except the post office, the farm, the Inn and a local Mom and Pop style store where gas is priced at $4.89 a gallon and a gallon of milk is about the same (God love them).  Because of this, I put close to 30,000 miles on my vehicle’s odometer every year.  Our public school system serves 10 towns. The Middle School and the High School are 9 miles away from my door.  Thankfully, each town has its own elementary school, or the mileage on my vehicle would have been even crazier, in years past. I get a new vehicle every 5 years. A costly venture.

To my children: As a mother, it is in my job description to: drive you places, bake cookies for your bake sale, volunteer my time to your various causes and interests, stroke your head when you are tired, rub your back when you throw up, cheer you on when you do well or do not so well, reprimand your indiscretions, get frustrated with your homework that I don’t remember/understand, limit your video game time, attempt to ward off your punk attitude, not allow you to speak to me in a ‘certain way’ and guard against anything harmful that might cross your path.  Most importantly, it is my job to sculpt you into someone that is thankful.

The other day, as I was organizing and packing for my son's week long school trip toWashington DC, the thought popped into my head that, my son, at the age of 14 years old, should be packing his own suitcase.  I have always raised my children to be independent, why would I do this for him? Because it feels right, that’s why.  I WANT to pack it.  That way, I know that all of its contents are correct, in the most logical spot, and that most importantly, he has enough underwear and socks. As I folded shorts and shirts on the dining room table and neatly placed them in the suitcase (that undoubtedly would not stay that way), my son came up to me, kissed my cheek, wrapped his arms around me, and thanked me for packing for him.

SUCKER…I am a sucker for their admiration. 

Both of my children have learned to appreciate when something is done for them. Not all of the time, but a very high percentage of the time, they truly appreciate it. I, too, have always told them when I have appreciated the things that they and others have done for me. 

In our house, my kids do not get an allowance.  I certainly don’t get paid for doing things around the house, why should they?  Instead they are given money as needed, within reason, and will occasionally earn extra cash for doing hard work around the house and yard that is not on their regular list of daily chores.  It’s about the act of doing because it is expected to be done.  Not because you will get a reward for doing it.  I don’t believe in bribes. I have never promised my kids that I will buy them ‘this or that’ if they do what I ask or if they accomplish something. I believe that, the will to do something without the benefit of reward, needs to be present in all people.  I believe in expectations. I expect them to do, because, quite simply, they can.

I am a big proponent of Random Acts of Kindness.  I will buy, give or create things and scenarios for my children to show my gratitude to them for being great kids in order to surprise them, but they don't 'expect' it. Writing this makes me realize that it has been a while since my last act of random kindness towards my children, I need to fix that.

What they have been taught to expect is that their mother and father will always love them and respect them and that they will be treated like important people. I really think that kids need this.  Not the most recent video game or most current electronic device, but the fact that they are cared for and respected.  The "Tiger Mother" philosophy may raise kids into 'successful' adults, the statistics don't lie, but are they happy? Truly happy to the core? Success does not equal happiness.

Recently, my friend Wendy posted on Facebook an excerpt from her favorite poem “the Lanyard”.

I enjoyed it so much that it inspired me to write about this topic.  The feeling of having gratitude, is easily translated into love, respect and admiration. Not being able to ‘repay it’ and not expecting it to be ‘repaid’ is very valuable.

The Lanyard - Billy Collins

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

I have received many a home made card, pot holder, pottery from art class, handpicked bouquet, sparkly picture frame and Christmas ornament, just to name a few. I often glance at the handmade gifts that adorn the shelves and tables of the house, the window sills and the refridgerator. I will treasure many of these gifts from afar, as they continue to collect in the oversized bottom drawer in my bureau and boxes in the basement. The biggest and best gifts that I have ever received, will only be captured in a glance, a touch, a smile or a hearbeat. 

To my children: You owe me nothing.  I would have never in a million years began the journey of having you, raising you, and loving you with the thought that you would owe me something in return. Where I am concerned, you only owe yourself.

Wait...a phone call, you owe me a phone call every once in a while...and a visit, I will need a visit from time to time...

**To hear Billy Collins read this poem, go to http://www.youtube.com/ and search Billy Collins "The Lanyard".  It's worth the 2 minutes and 58 seconds