My daughter is watching the StompOutLoud DVD, one of her Chanukah presents, and she just noticed that one of the dancers/percussionists in the opening sequence is a girl.
One of the most painful things about having a daughter, for me, is watching her discover the things that women still can’t or don’t do. She’s surprised when she sees a woman on a construction crew, or a woman police officer, or a woman playing drums. She knows there are no women playing major league baseball, and I still remember the conversation we had when she was 4 and asked me if she could grow up to be a Yankee. It’s as if my own childhood recognitions of the narrowing horizons are playing out all over again.
But then I realize the changes: when I was her age, I didn’t know any women who were doctors, or dentists, or accountants, or lawyers, or financial advisers – she’s met women who do all of that. The astronauts were all men. The first Presidential election I remember is Nixon/Humphrey in 1968; the first one she’ll remember is likely this one, with a woman front and center. My daughter has an aunt who’s a vet, and an aunt who’s a physicist, and the physicist’s sister works for NASA – that’s right, she is a rocket scientist.
When I was in second grade, I had to wear skirts to school, and I wasn’t allowed to climb on the monkey bars during recess. My daughter came home recently with a bruise on her forehead. I asked about it, and she said “I got kicked in the head”. Huh? “Well, you know that thing I do where I flip myself over and jump off the highest monkey bar and land on my feet? Turns out Charlie can’t do that”. Hey, that’s my girl!