Throughout my elementary school career, I actively attended Girl Scout meetings. By that, I mean, my mom told me to go to the art classroom every Thursday after school, and I went. Accompanied by three other soon-to-be-woke feminists (thanks, Mulan), we had an agenda to carry out that would change Minter Creek Elementary. With the promise of cookies and the weekly opportunity to gather with my fellow females and continue to craft our plan to take down the boys that wouldn’t let us play a number of different sports, this was our call to action.
Being honest, we weren't the best Girl Scouts in the world, but we sure had the fiery passion that would later surface in our young adult activism. Each time we gathered, there was another reason for rebellion and another chance for an uprising; we didn’t want to learn how to make our own dress patterns, damn it, we wanted to learn how to build fires and navigate through the woods. Our troop leader would scoff at our requests to be outside where we wanted to learn which flowers were OK to eat and which ones were not. Looking back, I almost feel sorry for what we put our troop leader through. Almost.
Once, around Christmas time, two of us got fed up with our anti-feminist troop leader and hurled a gingerbread house at her face. The lesson to accompany our sugar-fueled fiasco centered on the importance of keeping up a home; the woman’s duty is keeping her home presentable for her husband. As a fourth grader, I remember vocalizing, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME, LADY?” The gingerbread house in front of me represented a trap, a box I didn’t want to be packed away in. It mocked me -- get ready for your future, Ashley. You’ll go from selling cookies to selling Avon. Each meeting unwrapped another layer -- another layer closer to revealing my “take not shit, I’m my own boss” kind of feminism. I was 11.
At the age of 11, I didn’t even understand, but I was questioning society’s perpetuated gender norms and taking issue with any instance in which someone told me I couldn't do what I wanted to do. Thankfully, at Girl Scout Camp, I learned how to build a fire and navigate through the woods by the stars. At camp, I learned how to swim and how to get back into a flipped canoe. Girl Scout Camp was the highlight of my elementary summers because I was surrounded by other young sprouting feminists; becoming aware of our strength, individually and as a united force.
As I marched through my adolescence, I set aside the Girl Scouts. With the feeling that I had outgrown them, my preteen and teen self looked for other ways to organize with other like-minded young women. I played softball for 14 very empowering years. I was a cheerleader for my high school and at one of my universities. When I transferred to Western Washington University, I started getting involved with clubs on campus, and that's when I found VOX: Voices for Planned Parenthood.
My history with Planned Parenthood started when I was 16. I grew up in the very conservative suburbs of Gig Harbor, Washington, and I knew my parents and my health teacher weren’t giving me all the information I needed to be in a healthy, loving, and sexually active relationship. Before Planned Parenthood taught me about safe sex, they taught me about gender and power dynamics, and the ways to recognize abuse and manipulation in a relationship. This was everything that my Girl Scout leader was ignoring in my early, very impressionable years.
Volunteering for Planned Parenthood busted my world wide open and validated so many feelings for my younger self. I attended meetings where our fearless leaders strategized with us on smashing the patriarchy, and I no longer needed a gingerbread house to smash. We built a community centered on love and acceptance; we discussed ways in which society perpetuates harmful binaristic notions of gender. I started lobbying to our state’s lawmakers with guidance and training from my local Planned Parenthood. We rallied on campus and on the state capitol to make sure our representatives heard our voices! When grown women don’t get to go to Girl Scouts, they seek a similar community, but one that reflects your core values and beliefs that took hold in your adulthood. When grown women can't be Girl Scouts, we volunteer for Planned Parenthood.
Four years later, I’ve been asked by my fearless leaders to testify to the Washington State Senate in regards to a bill that would require insurance companies to reimburse patients for one year of birth control in one visit. I’ve had meetings with Senators to discuss what the risks are for Planned Parenthood and their patients in light of the current administration. I meet with my friends almost once a week to phone bank, write letters and prepare for upcoming events. Instead of Girl Scout meetings, we meet to dismantle the patriarchy. Our call to action is much louder than it was before. When we were young, we set out to change the rules at our school to make them fair for the female student body. Now we are out to change national laws to make them fair for everyone in this country.
I am thankful for my time in the Girl Scouts, and for what I learned about myself at such a young age. The activist in me woke up in elementary school, and it is all thanks to the Girl Scouts. More importantly, I am thankful for Planned Parenthood for standing up for the good in this country, and for providing healthcare services for people who can’t afford it otherwise. I am thankful for Planned Parenthood for the community of sisters, brothers and gender non-conforming friends that I have and hold dear.
From setting the art classroom on fire with a crème brule torch to setting a bra ablaze on the steps of the Washington State Capitol, not much has changed as far as my attitude toward “the man.” I just found more constructive uses for my rebel nature.
