And you give yourself away.

When the little boys in the library say, "I'm so glad I'm not a girl", I know they mean it because grown men feel the same. They just know not to say it.

"I'm being a BOY Indian. Not a girl."

"I'm being a BOY pilgrim."

The girls don't feel the need to specify. I watch their faces but I can't read them. Who likes this pretty thing? Yes, they do, but, they also like soccer and cheetahs and bookmarks with monsters.

But there's one difference from the youngest female to the teenage variety. Girls love little things. Baby cheetahs and baby people and baby puppies and baby monsters. Girl hearts are wide open to little things. And weak things.

One is sassy and wants her way. She will get it too because she's little and irresistible. But she has a heart for a misfit that redeems her little attitude. The way I see it, she doesn't have to be kind to her Misfit. He's on the outside looking in. But she does have a Need to be. Even the littlest of girls understand the power of tenderness.

A hundred years of feminism fails to corrupt the natural instinct of little boys who don't want to be little girls and little girls who accept them for exactly this but set out to civilize them all the same.


Comments

  1. As you've probably guessed, I love all your writing. I find a special resonance, however, with this last paragraph. To me, real feminism is embracing our womanhood and expecting that our contributions and talents will be looked upon with equal respect. Nature is nature, with few exceptions. We are equally all important!

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