Life & Laughter - A Woman’s Work

President Trump’s executive order mandates a pause on federal events promoting diversity, including Black History Month, Women’s History Month, Pride Month and Holocaust Remembrance Day. But I’m not a federal employee and refuse to follow his directive. Happy Women’s History Month!

Throughout the ages, women are described as the gentler sex, the homemakers and the caretakers. And, yes, women are given those roles. But women are also fierce queens, savage muses, legendary goddesses and wild forces of nature. 

We often talk about infamous warriors like Harriet Tubman, Susan B. Anthony and Supreme Court Justice (and original-gangster) Ruth Bader Ginsburg, but so many women have left their mark on this world without acclaim, awards or national days. 

Women like Mrs. Strange who made story time at the Murray Library a magical experience. Her rendition of “The Three Billy Goats Gruff” was an Oscar-worthy performance. When the biggest billy goat knocked the mean, ugly troll off the bridge, we all cheered in triumph. 

Or women like Frankie Whipple, my long-suffering, patient, eternally-frustrated piano teacher. She listened to my musical scales, arpeggios and recital pieces without visibly wincing. Usually. The only annoyance she displayed was when I didn’t do my music theory lesson for five years straight.

Mrs. Lambert taught my second-grade class at Viewmont Elementary. Under her guidance, I went from reading to show off to reading for pleasure. She taught me poetry, art and a life-lesson about friendship. Plus, she wore hip, 70’s polyester pantsuits that looked amazing.

Grandma Brickey was a fearless powerhouse. She loved her grandkids without judgment and let us eat all her chocolate raisin cake. Widowed for decades, she had many boyfriends but refused to give up her independence. She was a dancing queen, a vivacious flirt and a woman who lived life on her own terms.

When I was 12 years old, a neighbor lady trusted me to watch her children all summer. Thanks to her, I quickly learned I was a terrible babysitter and should probably never have children. 

Women like Ms. Pettis, my ninth-grade English teacher at Riverview Junior High, taught me that even when I thought my life was over, I was valuable to her. She showed up at my home every week to make sure I stayed on top of my assignments and she encouraged my writing. She is a hero.

My Aunt Judy created a safe place for 8-year-old me when I ran away from home because Mom was censoring the books I read. She didn’t think “Jaws” was an acceptable summer read for a third grader but Aunt Judy let me stay the night until I calmed down. Then I read “Jaws” in secret. 

Renee Smith was my dance instructor for eight years. She taught me tap, jazz and ballet, and encouraged me to try out for “The Nutcracker.” But because I wasn’t actually coordinated, I never landed a part. She always believed I would. At least she said she did.

Mom was an unrivaled teacher, encouraging me to read (except “Jaws”), write poetry, make music, dance, ride bikes, play basketball and try new things. It wasn’t her fault I didn’t see her value until I became a mom. 

My daughters, my granddaughters, my sisters, my nieces, my cousins, my aunts, my grandmothers, my friends, my colleagues, my teachers: all these women have made me what I am today. Yes, it’s their fault. 

Even when the president (and Google) removes Women’s History Month from the calendar, women will do what we’ve always done: help other women to be powerful, to find their voice, to live their passion, to stand up for what’s right, to lead and to shine brighter than ever. Don’t mistake our gentle demeanor for passivity.