My immediate family consists of me, my mom, my sister and my dad -- my dad was the only boy in our home. While my family dynamic would have reflected a stereotypical American family, the unforeseen lessons I learned greatly contradicted those ideas. When I reflect on my childhood, I see a quiet, little brown-haired girl living in the country in the middle of nowhere surrounded by bluffs and dreams of possibilities. That same little girl had no notion of the limitations that the world outside her valley imposed simply based on gender.
My sister and I were expected to contribute to all the household chores and there was no separation of tasks based on stereotypical ‘gender roles.’ We lived in the country with a huge lawn, so the yard work was seemingly endless. I spent countless hours mowing, raking and shoveling. I was expected to help my dad with his yard projects, including digging a gigantic hole for the man-made pond in our yard, transporting rocks for the new American flagpole and clearing the trees when he insisted they were going to fall anytime soon (I still don’t believe it). My hands were calloused, my jeans were torn and my clothes were stained with mud.
The next week, I would spend the day cleaning the house, doing laundry and helping mom cook (or just licking the cookie batter off the spoon). Our chores were not distributed based on our physical strength to lift a log or back up the trailer. I did not understand how some of my female friends did not mow on the weekly basis or didn’t know the names of the tools in their fathers' shops, all while the males in their houses had mud on their boots from working outside.
My dad taught me to be strong. I would fall in the woods after spending hours exploring and my dad would meet me on the porch as I limped home with my eyes blurred from the tears that I refused to let fall. He would kneel down, look me in the eyes, gently holding my hands and tell me that I was going to be okay. I grew to understand it was mychoice to let something or someone hurt me. No one would put me down if I had something to say about it.
He taught me that if I wanted something to be fixed, I coulddo it myself. He taught me to be self-sufficient. He gave me the knowledge I needed so that I wouldn't have to rely on anyone else to do it for me. I built my own lopsided furniture for my dolls out of the scrap pieces of wood in the burn pile because I couldn’t afford the sofas and beds in the American Girl Doll magazines.
As I grew up, that strength transformed me to the passionate individual I am today. I do not see limits. I’ll use the hammer in my dad’s shop and the ambition he engrained in me to shatter that glass ceiling. Tell me to talk like a lady and I’ll say, “Fuck you.” I’ll wear my over-the-knee heels and my little black dress while I wave my sign declaring, “I stand with her.”
My dad didn’t know the meaning of giving up. He had an ambition that no one could take away. He showed it in everything he did. My dad went to work every day without complaining, cared about others without expecting acknowledgment and he loved my family and me in a way I can’t describe. My dad is my hero because he taught me I didn’t need a hero. I only needed myself because I am powerful.
My favorite quote my dad taught me was, “If you get in a fight, it better be for a good reason, so you better finish it.” This is my fight. I will notkneel down while women are targeted, shamed and degraded because they were born with tits instead of a dick. I’m a feminist because I learned that strength, passion and success is not defined by one’s gender, but by the individual.
To the man that gave me the passion to fight, thanks dad.