Years ago when my "baby" was a baby, during the early years of the National Organization for Woman (N.O.W. was 9 years old the year my babe was born), I was a furious and feisty young woman, understanding that my fight for equality was not as a woman, but just as a person. I realized in 1975, that there lingered in this country a mindset that folks of the darker nation in all ways that matter, were not as good as folks of the paler nation. I actually had the unmitigated gall, as my mom would say, to think that I was just as good, as smart, as capable, as anyone else. (On more than one occasion I've been called an uppity you-know-what. But that's for another time.) I spent a lot of time trying to prove that. What a waste.
My attitude about basic equality has not changed. There is a twist, however. Equality of humanity does not translate to equality in function. The fact is that in terms of function, for lack of a better word, men and women are not equal.
Men and women have different types of strengths. They have different roles to play. Men and women were created to complement one another, not compete against each other. From the perspectives of mentality, ambition and intelligence, gender does not control any one's potential. However, just because of the different physicalities of men and women, there is a weaker sex in terms of physical strength. (Please don't bother countering with female body-builders and related anomalies. The effects of body-building cause physiological and hormonal abnormalities in women [no criticism, just fact].) Just as women were not built to exert physical strength, men were not made to carry children.
I have the pleasure of knowing some really smart women. They work as engineers, lawyers, preachers, doctors, educators, linguists, administrators and wordsmiths, many of whom are mothers. I say "they work as" because it is what they do, not who they are. But what they do requires a great deal of mental preparedness. There are also those, like my soon-to-be nonagenarian mother who were denied the opportunity to pursue a college degree, but even in her advanced years is still bright enough to outshine the bulbs in many a chandelier.
Where am I going with this? Well, I'm glad you asked. By now we all know there is a female vice-presidential candidate this year. I have written of her in ways that are far from flattering. While I stand by what I wrote, enmeshed in those writings are the dregs of my own personal experiences with women of whom the VP Candidate reminds me, which are best left in the past. This writing is different. It is not about her obvious unsuitability for the office of vice-president based on her incompetence or other displeasing attributes; rather, it is because she is the mother of an infant and a young child.
So??? What's wrong with that??? Again, I'm glad you asked. Woman are uniquely built to conceive and bear children, and nurture them from DAY ONE (sometimes that phrase is apropos). I firmly believe that babies get to know their mothers in the womb. In fact, a good friend relayed to me that her son actually remembers being in the womb, and of the trauma his mom experienced during her pregnancy. Another friend says he actually remembers being born. Who among us can refute those accountings?
The first years of a child's life are vital. And more than anyone else, children rely on their mothers. The one child I bore was blessed to be full-term and without any serious defect, condition or special need. Aside from being on a three-hour feeding schedule for the first month or so, there were no serious problems -- unless you want to count: 1) putting my face on her back to make sure she was breathing; 2) recording her grunts while sleeping and driving across town the next day for her pediatrician to hear the play-back; or 3) weighing her everyday, hoping she gained an ounce.
How can a mother be all she can be for her infant child (not for herself, but for her child), if she willingly accepts a challenge that will keep them apart for days or weeks at a time? One scene is indelibly imprinted in my memory: Sarah Palin walks down the steps after her plane has landed in Alaska. A young woman (one of her daughters, perhaps?) stands at the foot of the stairway, holding the few-months-old infant. Palin steps onto the tarmac, plants a peck on the infant's cheek, and breezes past as if she had just greeted the child of a stranger. Not a judgment, but a question: Did she miss her child -- just a little? Was there an urge to pluck the child out of the other's arms and just hold him -- just because? I shudder to think of the answers that were demonstrated by her actions.
Folks are asking what is the big deal that Palin has an infant child. Taking nothing away from her ability (or one's perception thereof), that is a valid question. It is a very big deal. Children need their mothers. And the younger they are, the greater the need. And gender inequality aside, children need their fathers, too; the younger they are, the greater the need. I must digress long enough to tell you of a conversation I had recently with a lawyer I have known for about 14 years. We spoke of the toll a law practice can take on one's family because of the demands for long hours. This man relayed to me that when his son and daughter were in their childhood years, he made it a point to put in a normal work day so that he would have time with them after their school day and participate in their activities just as other parents do. In other words, the fact that he was a lawyer did not translate to putting in 60-70 hour workweeks and his loss of a "normal" relationship with his family.
How can Palin leave her infant child? Perhaps it's because she has so many children. Having only one, I asked a mother of multiples, who said this: I love all my children, each and every one. When any of us are apart I miss them, each of them. Neither can take the place of another.
If Palin's children were older this would not be a point of discussion. Women often put off a career until their children are older. Some women put off children until they have had a successful career. Most, unfortunately, have to juggle both children and career. But they don't embark on a campaign become vice president of the United States while doing so.
My babe is now very much grown up and on her own. We live in the same city -- perhaps 20 minutes apart (less or more as we are at the mercy of Houston thoroughfares and drivers). Even with our close proximity there are times when I haven't seen her sweet face, that I will drive to the school where she generally puts in a double-digit-hour day, sign the visitor's log in the main office, walk the 200 or so feet down the hall to her office, and sit in the reception area. While I wait there is a steady stream of students. She really needs revolving doors. Phones are ringing. Walkie-talkie type radios are sputtering. At some point there is a lull. She comes out of her office a stops. Mom! She smiles. Come on in. I didn't know you were here. To whomever is present she says, [Name], this is my mom. She's still smiling. We go to her office. We both get a good, doubled-handed rocking-left-and-right hug. We chat for maybe a minute before the phone rings or the walkie-talkie-type radio sputters. I know I need to leave so she can get back to her demanding day. We get another hug -- the same double-handed rocking-left-and-right type we've done for as long as I can remember, ending with a little circular back rub and a couple of cheek smacks. Standing back at arm's length she's still smiling. All is well.
I've done a few things in my life -- nothing major -- nothing like being a mayor or a governor or a vice presidential candidate. (Actually I wanted to become involved in local politics, but knew folks would be more interested in when I bounced my first check and lost my virginity than my ideas to improve our neighborhood, city or government.) But there is nothing I have done that is more important than establishing a bond with my daughter. Despite my on-the-job motherhood training she turned out okay (thank God for her dad) -- and she still smiles when she sees me.
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