I really hate this day because I’m not sure why we need a day to remind us that woman are important. We’re over half the human race. There are almost always more girls than boys born every year. We out number the men. Yet, here we are reminding people that there are women scientists. I knew that as a child. I read about Madame Curie and Jane Goodall was a personal hero of mine. There are women in every branch of science and mathematics. Why is that still a surprise to anyone?
There are women athletes, police officers, soldiers, politicians, weight lifters, firefighters, every job that men can do we do, except sperm donor, and there the men have us, but then we are the only egg donors. It takes both of us to make a new life, a new human being, of either sex.
If all the above is true, then why do we need an International Woman’s Day? Why can’t everyday be a celebration of women and men and whatever sexual determination in between, that exists or may exist in the future? I don’t know, but I do know that I’m still getting asked, “Why do you write strong female characters?”
I’ve asked the male writers I know and they’ve never been asked, “Why do you write strong male characters?” They’ve never even been asked, “Why do you write weak male characters? Or, caring male characters . . . or why do you write male characters?”
It’s 2015, and I think it’s time we all understood that women can be strong, men can be caring, and that whether you make a good stay-at-home parent is more about your personality than your gender. That whoever is more career driven should go out and pursue that career, regardless of whether they are male or female. Just be you – whoever, whatever, that is for you.
I’m tired of things that divide me from the rest of the human race. I’d like to embrace what brings us together, what makes us love each other, not what makes us hate each other. I’m tired of the male bashing and I’m tired of catcalls from passing strangers. I’m just as tired of the women who are cruel and belittle other women because of some misguided idea that somehow by cutting other women down it makes them look better, it doesn’t, as I am of the men who belittle women simply because they’re women, as if that matters. It’s not a question of gender, it’s a question of respect for yourself and for others. If you don’t respect yourself, it’s very hard to respect others. I have female friends and male friends, and anyone that tells you that the genders can’t be friends with each other because sex gets in the way is full of shit. My best friend on this planet is a man. We’ve seen each other through divorces, second marriages, career changes, you name it and some things you probably couldn’t name. We are each other’s 3 AM phone call, when the rest of the world has gone black.
I spent the day with my girlfriend Genevieve shopping for the last few things we need on the remodel of our home. I texted with my daughter Trinity, because she was at a convention with friends this weekend. She’s turned twenty, which still seems odd, but on International Women’s Day is seemed like talking to my daughter was appropriate. Of course, we talk and visit when there’s not a special day celebrating women too. Jonathon visited his mother today, not because it was International Women’s Day but because he loves her. Spike, Genevieve’s husband and the other man in my life, is the one cooking dinner tonight because he’s awesome that way. He’s masculine in the best sense of the word, the traditional ideal of a good man, but he certainly doesn’t see cooking as women’s work or men’s work, it’s just part of running a household. Tonight he cooked, tomorrow it may be Genevieve’s turn or Jonathon’s turn. It’s rarely my turn since I am domestically challenged. They’d rather have dinner well prepared and timely than let me take a turn. At our house, everyday is International Women’s Day and International Men’s Day. We try to celebrate each other’s skills and strengths and work around our weaknesses every day. There’s no woman’s work, or man’s work, there’s just work and we try to find the best person for the job. If it’s heavy lifting beyond what I lift in the gym, it just makes sense to use the men’s upper body strength. If it’s sewing a hole in a beloved pair of jeans, you want any of the other three of my partners, but not me. If you want me to write a book or short story, I’m all over that, but sewing is not a strength for me. Jonathon is better with a rifle than I am. Spike is better at hand-to-hand. Genevieve is the best organized of us all. She’s also the tallest and I’m the shortest, so everybody gets to, “come be tall” for me, unless they want me climbing the cabinets to reach the highest shelves.
So, happy International Women’s Day, but here at our house we don’t need a day to remind us that women are great, or that men are great, or that everyone is special regardless of gender, race, or nationality. I wish the rest of the world seemed to know what we’ve learned at home: that we are stronger and happier together than we are apart.
On Sunday, March 8, 2015, Laurel K Hamilton <lkh@laurellkhamilton.org> wrote:
