My daughter (Johanna, age 9) announced tonight “I wish I was a boy”. She has come to the conclusion that life is just all around better for boys. At barley nine years old, this girl has realized that boys can do more and succeed at more. This precious feminist of mine was livid, tears we streaming down her freckled cheeks because she knows she will never be able to play football because she is a girl. She knows the only professional athletes, the ones on t.v., the ones who make the big bucks, are boys. She knows, at 9 years old, that there has never been a girl president. She said tonight “I wish Barak Obama was a girl!”
Well, if you know me even a tiny bit, you know that this got my engines fired up. As she declared injustices one after another, I was like a Southern Baptist in Church on sunday… My hands were raised and I was full of “Preach it!” and “Amen!”
I want my kids to be empathetic and respectful and giving and loving. But what I want more than anything, is for my kids to have passion. I want them to see injustice and I want it to pierce their soul. Because with that kind of passion, change happens.
And tonight, I saw that in my firstborn. I may not be able to cook her dinner, get stains out of her clothes or keep her life organized, but I may be teaching her a little about justice, equality and change. And, in my book, that will always be more important than laundry.