When the school counselor (also the pastor's wife in our small town) called my mother because I signed up to take wood shop in 7th grade, my mother stood up for me.
When I got my driver's license, my mother told me how the day she got her own car, she discovered what freedom really was.
I heard about her successes: the undergraduate degree that wasn't an MRS, the graduate degree and academic honors in a time when women didn't do that sort of thing.
I heard about the time the bank wanted her husband's signature to open an account in her name. The bank manager heard about that too.
She endured what we now call micro-aggressions--those subtle and not-so-subtle reminders that a woman wasn't welcome in a traditionally male realm.
She knew it was happening, and she didn't remain silent, even in a time when feminism wasn't a word in everyday use. Even something as innocuous as her sorority scrapbook, full of theater programs, matchbooks from clubs and restaurants, and wedding announcements from her sorority sisters, there is a piece of paper pasted in with her note.
+++++
I had to park in the lot behind the KA house one day -- this is what I found under the windshield wiper when I came back:
Little Miss Chi O,
There are certain prerequisites you must meet before obtaining a semester pass to park in this lot. Certain measurements, little acts of ---, etc. Never having seen you in our house president's room, I realize only too well that you have not qualified for a pass to park here. Therefore, if you are interested in a semester pass to park in this lot, drop around anytime - someone will give you your test.
The Masked Marvel
KA
