Bullshit Feminism.

I read a board that has many people on it, of all kinds, all faiths, all genders, all whatevers. There is a woman who is deeply, passionately into feminism in the current American political scene and she posts regularly her ideas and viewpoints.

I'm in stark disagreement with her about so much of what she says. I come from such an entirely different experience and viewpoint it is funny that we would both consider ourselves liberal, both consider ourselves feminists, and be at such polar opposite ideas about how to go from there.

I think what I resent the most, or find the most irritating is her seemingly constant yearning to be offended. To stretch commentary and action to edges beyond reason in order to support a theory of broad-based misogynism and deep, unabated sexism. It is almost to the point where whole swaths of words cannot be mentioned on the same page as any woman or female trope because it will be considered a sexist, misogynistic and hatefilled rant.

I find this boorish, facile and childish.

Women have certainly overcome some astonishing obstacles, and as a gender I'm sure there are many more. I have four daughters and work hard to support them in their various paths and hope to have instilled in them some confidence in their abilities - a confidence which lies outside the boundaries of biology.

But I also hold them responsible for their actions, I demand that they challenge their own tendencies toward lazy thought, and I question their blind attachment to someone else's belief. Even if its mine. I refuse to do anything other than that with a female politician or doctor or teacher or crossing guard. It is self-defeating - as a group - if feminists go out of their way to be offended by individuals and thus make broad sweeping statements about groups as a whole.

Certainly individuals will be assinine and hateful. Hold them accountable. Don't condemn the world. Or men. Or make laughable arguments about the word "fish."

I have a tendency to overuse the word "stupid." However, I don't think I'm that far off base when I hear that word rise in my mind in response to her arguments.

The young in pain.

My daughter just called. The one who lives in Seattle - 3,000 miles away. She said that a friend of hers was just disconnected from life support. Thursday night this friend took too many pills, then called my daughter. They were on the phone till the friend fell asleep. My daughter called everyone she knew who knew the girl, hoping someone would pick up and go find her. It was the middle of the night on the east coast, and no one picked up. She had no idea where her friend was. My daughter didn't sleep much, and then the next day she found out about her friend: in the hospital, in a coma.

And today she died. She was 21.

My daughter called sobbing. Telling me it was all her fault. That she didn't call the right people, she should have called the police. That she should have done something. My heart broke. Shattered in pieces. For her friend. For her. For the parents. For us all.

And my daughter is 3000 miles away. Growing up. With grief. With pain. Without me near. I remember the days of kissing away the hurt, and brushing away the fear. Now I just hope she will keep talking, keep calling, keep reaching out.

And, I hope that in Seattle there is an adult who will be there for my child. To console her. Let her know it isn't her fault. That she's not alone. That she doesn't need to do anything dramatic. Just cry. Be sad. But keep talking.

People That I Know, part 1

Sometimes I get a flash of memory about a person that I have known. Someone from grade school or college. Sometimes just their name. And if the time is right, I'm in a mood, and the phone isn't ringing I can bring this person up as I knew them, and I find myself standing there too.

Recently I saw a name on Facebook of a woman that lived in my neighborhood when I was 7 years old until I was 13. Her sister and I were very best friends. This was at a very powerful time of my life, I really believed in myself. Our neighborhood was filled with small houses, backyards connecting, and there were kids in nearly every house. In fact, I can think of only two houses with no kids - one a man who played in a band and was a party animal bachelor of whom my mother roundly disapproved, and the other an elderly couple next door to us with a grown daughter. My older brother played endless pranks on them. Until Mr. Henderson killed himself. Then the pranks stopped. I've never talked with my brother about that, I wonder if he felt responsible?

Tina (she is the sister of the woman on Facebook) was one year my junior. We looked very much alike - moreso than either of our sisters. We lived in a wonderful world of play and pretend and imagination. We fancied ourselves twins, separated at birth and now our adoptive parents are committed to never telling us the truth about our connection. Only some random Fate put us in the same neighborhood.

We read "The Lion's Paw" and relived the journey of the three children across Florida in the black-painted sailboat constantly shifting characters, adding to the adventures, deeply engaged in the universal themes of orphans, war, family and independence. We played and we sang and we danced and we made up intricate productions for other kids in the neighborhood. Tina and I were writers, producers and stars. We marshalled all the children from my younger brothers and sister, to even the Taylor kids who nobody liked, but sometimes you need soldiers or subjects or frogs depending on the play.

We spent all of our time outdoors, I can't remember her bedroom at all. Maybe we spent the night together occasionally, but not usually. We played until 9 or 10 at night, went home, bathed and fell dead asleep. We would be up early and back outside and there we would live all day long. We biked, we ran, we skated. We lounged. We snuck through yards. We mocked the younger ones until we needed them. We were invincible. We ordered "falls" from the back of a comic book and pinned the nasty dark brown ponytails to the back of our heads and fancied ourselves elegant like Nancy Sinatra. Only brunette.

We climbed trees and rolled down hills. We knew every dog and every cat and every house and every kid and every dad who drank, and every mother who looked the other way. We knew which cupboards held cookies and we knew were Missy's dad kept his gun. We babysat on New Years Eve and read the whole book "Joy of Sex." We had to use the dictionary because neither of us had ever heard of a clitoris and had no idea what it was. (I have to say I was in college before I really grasped that.)

We were a gang of two. We would always be friends. We would always be twins.

Then in 1973 my grandmother died. She left us a small pile of money and we immediately moved. Across town. I had my own bedroom. The house was on a lake. We had a big green front yard and a pool in the back. With a chain link fence around the whole yard.

I didn't see Tina for a year. Til she came to high school the year after me. We barely knew each other then. We had hollow eyes when we looked at each other. Both afraid the other would tell what kind of childish kids we were. We went our separate ways.

And all of this flashed into my head, and heart, when I saw her sister's page on Facebook.

All That We Let In

Dust in our eyes our own boots kicked up
Heartsick we nursed along the way we picked up
You may not see it when it's sticking to your skin
But we're better off for all that we let in

Lost friends and loved ones much too young
So much promises and work left undone
When all that guards us is a single centerline
And the brutal crossing over when it's time

I don't know where it all begins.
I don't know where it all will end.
We're better off for all that we let in.

One day those toughies will be withered up and bent
The father son the holy warriors and the president
With glory days of put up dukes for all the world to see
Beaten into submission in the name of the free

We're in a nevolution I have heard it said
Everyone's so busy now but do we move ahead
The planets hurting and atoms splitting
And a sweater for your love you sit there knitting

I don't know where it all begins.
I don't know where it all will end.
We're better off for all that we let in.

See those crosses on the side of the road
Tied with ribbons in the medium
They make me grateful I can go this far
Lay me down and never wake me up again

Kat writes a poem and she sticks it on my truck
We don't believe in war and we don't believe in luck
The birds were calling to her what were they saying
As the gate blew open the tops of the trees were swaying

I've passed the cemetery walk my dog down there
I read the names in stone and say a silent prayer
When I get home you're cooking supper on the stove
And the greatest gift of life is to know love


We're better off for all that we let in.

(c) Indigo Girls