A while ago a call went out for feminist guest posts on feminism and relationships. It is a heady topic that could spur a thousand essays for blogs, books, and speak outs. For me it was a great way to start writing about how my own feminism came about, and a way to work through the grief process. I’ll share a little bit here, but please check out the blog… Ashley is really great.
My father was found dead the morning of June 3, 2010. It’s a complicated loss I will try to spend a lifetime attempting to define and understand. After all, we didn’t have a lot of Hallmark moments filled with perfectly expressed love or even understanding. Most of our interactions were a tense game of seesaw; one of us angry and the other one silently judging. He was the volcano I tiptoed around as a child. I remember his loud snore, his drunken stumble, and his violence that would often erupt.
After my parents’ divorce I spent my teenage years shuffling between the poverty of a single-mother household and the opulence of a well-off and uncommitted Father. As a young woman trying to make sense of this culture’s expectations, I didn’t know how to talk to a father whose ideas of gender were rigidly binary. I remember our ‘father daughter’ talk, when I was sixteen, started with a racist tirade against Jesse Jackson – only a tad more topical in 1995 – and ended with, “I would rather die than have a woman president.”
Read the rest of the post over at the Small Strokes Fell Big Oaks Blog