the world through rainbow eyes

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Dreams of Softness

Dear Children’s Authors,

I need to make a plea to you. I’m a mother of twins you see. One boy and one girl. Now, many parent’s have girls and boys, but not as often do they have them at the same time, at the same stages, and I tell you, it awards me an interesting perspective. Also, I’m a feminist. So I tend to seek equal opportunities and futures for my kids. Not the same, because they aren’t the same kid, but equal, you know?

So I’m here with kind of a weird plea. See, because of the circles I run in (parents, feminists) I’ve found a lot of really beautiful books for girls. Books about being who they are, and cherishing that. Books about how they can want anything for their future. Books about being any kind of girl they want to be.

Which is great. Yay? Definitely yay.

But hey, again this is kinda weird. My son, he needs these kinds of books, too. He needs books that celebrate whatever kind of boy he is, and that tell him his trajectory is his alone to decide.

And I tell you, as much as it is a man’s world, those books are hard to find. There’s plenty about being brave, and being rough. There’s plenty of books that celebrate being a knight. Or being an adventurer.

Few that celebrate being a father. Or being a chef. Or just being a good friend.

Write these books for me, children’s authors. Please. Neil Gaiman, you gave us a Blueberry Girl. I’d really love something for my Blueberry Boy, too. Jane Yolen, dream up nurturing stories for my son as well as my daughter.

All you writers, write. Remember that the little boys love cuddles and dreams as much as the little girls do. Be soft to my son, please. So when I lay my head down on his pillow next to him at night to read him a story to send him off to sleep, the stories I read him will make soar with feathered wings. Give my son softness.


A Mother



I am a feminist.

I am a feminist because I have no choice. I was born a cis-gendered woman, and have lived my life as a woman happily. This makes me intimately aware of what women face on a daily and even hourly basis.

I like to hope that was I born a cis-gendered man, or a transwoman, or a transman, that I would still have found a home in feminism. I can’t know that I would have. I have evidence to support that I would; the fact that I am sensitive to other forms of oppression says that I would have. How do I know that I would be sensitive if I had not struggled with misogynistic oppression, though?

Or maybe it’s being born in the third generation of women in my family who were pioneers in feminism; women who were fearless in striding forward where ever they chose rather than what their culture chosen roles would be.

Maybe it’s the result of have 5 blood related aunts and absolutely no blood related uncles that makes my heart beat in a rhythm that is feminist at heart.

Or maybe it’s simply holding my son and daughter both together in my arms as newborn infants and seeing no difference for their future that I can discern simply by the happenstance of their genitalia, yet watching the changing way people address my daughter and son as their sex becomes a known quantity. They start to call her “pretty.” They start to call him “smart.”

Perhaps that is when feminism settled deep into my bones.

So when the question is posed to me, “what is feminism,” the only answer that I can reply with is that it is the simple belief that woman are equal to men.

And that’s it. Feminism is a statement that women are equal to men, and to correct inequality where it exists.

Both my daughter and my son deserve such a future.