International Women's Day

So today is International Women’s Day, and by now you know with me that things could go either way. I could get all cynical, and talk about how one symbolic day a year means nothing, and is a joke, considering all that women do, and how sad it is that one stupid day is supposed to make up for all the shit they have to deal with. Or, I could go on about all the injustices and inequalities that exist, and write some big thing pointing it all out and how important it is to support women.
But no, I’m just going to tell you about some of the strong women in my life.
I was lucky enough to know two of my great grandmothers. The first, who we simply called Mother, was a spitfire. I have heard countless stories about how she didn’t take any shit from anyone, and was a self made woman back in a time where that wasn’t an easy thing to be. There is a story I heard about her when I was young, and I can’t say if it’s entirely true or not, but supposedly she was dating a fairly well to do guy, and she found out he was cheating on her. Legend has it that she showed up in public and tried to horse whip him!
I got to meet Mother later in life, when she was near the end. She didn’t get around much, in fact, she went into a nursing home by the time I was about five, and I didn’t see her that much afterwards. Whenever I did see her, she did nothing but tell me not to take any shit and be proud of myself and strong. You might think that is a lot to lay on a preschooler, but it was actually pretty helpful.
My favorite Mother story is one that I don’t really remember, but my mother tells me about it all the time. I was probably three or four, and I was sitting on Mother’s lap, and my mom came into the room just in time to hear Mother tell me “Remember Dave, whenever anyone tries to tell you what to do, do the opposite!”
My mother freaked out, and chastised her for telling me that, but I have to say, the lesson stuck. I question everything, and I’m really good at spotting bullshit, so it’s not that easy to get one over on me. That’s what Mother was always trying to teach, that there are a lot of people out there who are full of shit and want to take advantage of you, so be on guard.
My other great grandmother was Mar, which might have been short for Margaret, or just the way “ma” came out with our Jersey accents. Mar was my favorite person on earth as a little kid. She was tough as nails, but also very loving and caring. She lived with my parents, even before I was born. To illustrate how no-nonsense and direct Mar was, after my brother was born, my father was driving home with her from the hospital. She told my father that my mother wouldn’t be able to perform her wifely duties for awhile, she hoped he understood that. My father awkwardly assured her that he did, but to make sure she added matter-of-factly “you can do what the boys did on the farm when I was young, and put a piece of liver in a can and use that.” My father drove on in stunned silence, grappling with the fact that his wife’s grandmother told him he could fuck a can of liver if he got horny.
Mar helped raise my brother, and helped raise me. Like Mother, she always demanded respect, and she expected you to understand that life wasn’t always easy, but there was no use complaining about it all the time, you just kept at it. Later, when we got a little older and moved, and she went to live on her own again, she would still come for overnight visits. I loved that. Mar had a way of making you feel very special, and I ate that up. She had possession of the family bible, and we have a very rich family history. One of my favorite things that was in there was the newspaper from the day Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. My Great great grandmother adored Lincoln, and saved the paper from that day, and put it in the bible. It always fascinated me, and before bedtime, Mar would take it out from the bible, and we would read it together, and I would hear stories about her life and of relatives I never knew who were dead long before I was even born. She promised me that I would get the bible, or at least that newspaper when she was gone. It felt like my birthright.
She ended up living with her son and his wife, in a basement apartment in my aunt’s house. I used to go see her whenever I went to sleepover at my cousin’s, which was a pretty regular thing. I remember one time when I was older, maybe 12 or 13, and my cousin and his friends were picking on me, and told me to go home. So I did, but my aunt was away, and the house was locked, so I went downstairs to see Mar. She told me not to worry about those jerks, and asked if I wanted a sandwich. I told her I would like an egg sandwich, which in my mind was either egg salad, or just a sliced hard boiled egg. She asked what I wanted on it, and I told her mayonnaise and lettuce, and she looked at me funny and asked if I was sure about that. I told her I was, and was shocked when put down a sandwich containing a fried egg, over easy, with mayo and lettuce on it!
Now, to show you how much Mar meant to me, and how I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, I ate that whole thing. It was as gross as it sounds, and I was one of those kids who was a very finicky eater, but I would have rather eaten a hundred of those sandwiches than make Mar feel bad.
Mar died a few years after that, and her son Mickey, who she was staying with, was married to a miserable and mean woman named Melba. No one in the family really liked Melba, and that included Mickey as well! She grabbed everything Mar possessed after she died, and wouldn’t let any of the family near it. There went my Lincoln paper.
Then, a few months later, Mickey got ahold of my mom, and gave her the newspaper for me. Mar had made it very clear to him that I was to have that paper no matter what, and Mickey stole it out of the bible and sneaked it out to me. One last thing that Mar gave me, that I treasure to this very day.
Both of those women pale in comparison to my mother. She is the strongest woman I know. She is the matriarch of our family, not in a domineering way, just with her quiet strength and dignity. No one has done more for our family, no one has sacrificed and held us together and cared for and loved us like my mother. We are all chafed by her at times, but we know she’s right. She is understanding and compassionate, while being completely no-nonsense and tough, which is not an easy thing to achieve.
My mother had a pretty rough childhood, but to hear her tell it, that’s just how it was, so why worry? She held everything together when my father was in and out of the hospital when I was a little kid, working, taking care of us kids, and visiting him in the hospital, never knowing if he was going to live or die. My brother and I didn’t know either, and we were terrified most of the time, but mom held us together. I remember we had to put our beloved dog Max to sleep while my father was in intensive care, and she handled it and us kids, and didn’t tell my father for a couple weeks because it would crush him. She told him in the car on the way home from the hospital, and it was the first time I ever knew my father to cry.
But my mother didn’t cry. To be clear, I’m sure she cried constantly, but never in front of us. And we were being jerks the whole time. My brother was on the cusp of his teens, and he processed his pain and fear by lashing out and acting up, and I kind of followed along. We didn’t make anything easy on her, but she handled it all somehow. It was then I realized the kind of strength that women possess. It something few men could ever understand. Women get the shitty end of the stick nearly all the time. They are condescended to, they are viewed as the weaker sex. They are looked upon as the whole Madonna/whore thing, expected to fill certain roles as wives and mothers and girlfriends, with little regard to who they are as a whole person.
My mother was always a whole person. My mother is who she is, unabashedly. She was always honest and open with us kids, and she was and is always there for us, no matter what it is we need. She has also made it abundantly clear that she is not our handmaiden. She raised us to be independent and secure and tough as well, although we don’t come close to being as tough as she is. My mother is very understanding and sympathetic, but can only take so much whining and feeling sorry for yourself before she kicks you in the ass and tells you handle it. And you respect that, because she has done that in her life countless times.
She doesn’t take any shit, either. You can’t put anything over on my mother, and she won’t tolerate anyone treating her kids poorly as well. There have been several times in my life when I remember my mother marching into school to tell a teacher or principal off, or coming out the front door to put a neighbor in their place. My mother isn’t an angry person in the least, but you do not want her mad at you, trust me!
So yeah, I was raised by strong women, and the three I have told you about here weren’t the only ones. My grandmother on my father’s side was a very strong and amazing woman as well, and my Aunt Ann is another strong woman I always loved. My sister in law is strong as hell. I know a bunch of strong women now, and I know to treat all women with respect, because the women who raised me demanded it of me. You will never have to worry about me leaving the toilet seat up, I can assure you that!
So happy International Women’s Day, even though one stupid day is almost an insult, and we still have a very long way to go in regards to how women are treated in society. One day does not begin to make up for it, but honestly, I don’t think most women really care that much. They know it, and they know about a whole world that we all live in that men are basically oblivious to; so yeah, they aren’t really counting on some special day once a year to make it all okay.
Women know better, trust me on that. Women are used to meaningless platitudes. They know the score, and they know the power they possess. Women know.
And men are going to find out sooner or later.