my mom has these horrific paintings my brother and i did when we were in elementary school hanging up in this room that isn’t rly a Room but like… weird negative space at the end of a hallway that no one knows what to do with. & they’re fucking eyesores but she refuses to take them down and replace them with Good Art either of us made since. so we have the ugly purple hippo and a disproportionate rabbit and scooby doo with a fucked up color palette, professionally framed, hanging up in this room thing for everyone to gawk at
whatever kind of baseless sentimentality that starts to plague you when you become a parent is something i hope i never become familiar with
My father collects ties. He has so many of them that it’s been very difficult to find ones that he does not have. Years ago my brother and I began painting them for him instead. This one’s a late Father’s Day gift.
My feminist awakening was not a conscious thing, I guess you’d say. It came from watching my dad.
Dad and my brothers would be painting the house. “I want to help” “Give her a cup of water and a brush. She’s a girl; she’ll mess it up.” Dad would be working on a car. “I want to help.” “here’s a screwdriver, go play in the dirt or something.” Brother would be moving the lawn. “Can I try?” “You’re a girl; you’ll just cut your foot off.”
When it was time to decide on college, “I want to be a musician.” “Yeah? And you’ll end up like your mother, flipping burgers.” She was a chef, but he, like a lot of men, doesn’t take female chefs seriously. “Okay, what about psychology?” “You’re too stupid for that.” I went for an accounting degree, because he felt I should, even though it wasn’t what I wanted. When I got on the Dean’s list every single time all through college, “You couldn’t have done that. You faked the letters.”
My brothers, on the other hand, were never too stupid for anything (even though I did better than they did in school; a lot of my problem was that I was bored). It was never a problem that they were working crap jobs. It was never a problem that one of them went for his dream.
No matter how hard I tried, it was never enough; no matter how little my brothers did, it was always more than enough.
I can’t even with this. Congratulations on turning out to be a well-adjusted human being despite having the worst father ever.
What sparked your feminist awakening? Send me an ask or submit your story!