Clothilde

We were cut from the same cloth – but she turned herself into pants, whereas I went for a long skirt.

I didn't come with a manual. I was a tomboy from the beginning, and was not shy about demanding equality in treatment. Boys don't need to wear shirts, why should I? Does summer heat hit boys harder? No, I will NOT help wash dishes after Thanksgiving when all the men are sitting on their butts watching football instead of cleaning up for the women who made the meal! Why can't I learn how to work on a car, are these esoteric mysteries only available on the Y chromosome?

Why didn't I get smacked till I shut up? Mom. You did NOT mess with my Mom. She kept the abusers from breaking me till I could stand up for myself.

As the saying goes, Mom didn't raise a princess, she trained a Valkyrie, even though she didn't want to. My mom wanted a girly girl, someone to like pink and be feminine and go shopping with her.

She paved the way for me, though. She quietly, throughly, and quite determinedly made sure the obstacles she faced as a woman looking for a career didn't affect me.

We're from the subculture called Pennsylvania Dutch. No, not that branch, and not that one either. See, there are two main branches of Penna Dutch: Plain Dutch, which are the Amish and Mennonite and other associated branches, and the... (cough cough) Gay Dutch. Go on, giggle, I'll wait. In our case, the Gay part refers to the fact that we're not restricted by family heads or pastors on what we can wear, think, and how we run our lives. Bright colors, jewelry, dancing, playing cards, it's all good. So is using electronics. But getting that through to the more “traditional” generations...

My mom wanted to go to college. Not to be the first, but because she wanted to be her own person, and not be dependent on some male to feed and house her. My grandfather, though progressive in some ways, when it came to doing things “properly”... was not. He refused to contribute any money to her further education, demanded that she stay at home, continue to do her farm chores, and get a job to pay for it – oh, yeah, and pay a tithe to him for the privilege.

The last one was the one that irritated me the most, when Mom related this story to me. All women "outside the home" had to. If it ever escaped me that Penna Dutch culture treated womenfolk as second-class citizens, that one fact did it. That's when I determined that I was going to learn skills, so I never had to depend on someone else's feelings for me to survive.

Mom told me, that it hit her when she got on campus that first day of classes. Sure, she went to orientation, but it hits different when it's just you and your schedule. She stopped in front of one of the halls, suddenly lost. And she realized she had to do this alone. No one would swoop in and save her.

She only had three career choices: secretary, nurse, or teacher. Of the three, teacher was the least misogynist. Oh, it was there, I could tell stories, but it was less than the other two. And Mom had that all-important gift, the ability to teach. It's a talent, the skill to convey information. There are fourteen ways to teach – Mom used them all. And her former students remember, and talk to her when we're out and about.

Mom read me National Geographic magazines in the womb, and when I was a newborn. It gave her time to catch up on old issues, but it also instilled in me a love of biology that hasn't died. I planned to get my bio degree and go into Fish & Wildlife or something, but shredding my knee in college nixed that idea. I sidestepped into geology, then into jewelry. Glass beads are my specialty. You want to learn? I can teach spectacularly one-on-one, and you get instant gratification with the treasures you create. You're also most likely addicted, sorry.

When the pressure ramped up when I went to college, to "bring that uppity girl back where she belongs,” Mom stepped in and told them off. Dad too, but this is about Mom. And I succeeded, getting two majors and two minors in four years. Oh, yeah, and a husband, though that wasn't why I went. And we've come back to live five doors down from my parents, and we spend a lot of time together. And talk at least once a day, even if it's just trading emails chatting about today's happenings.

Her name means “lioness,” but I've changed it to Clothilde for the pun of my opening line. Oh, and for another important reason: Clothilde means “renowned battle.” She fought to change minds, not on a battlefield, but in society and in her family, in her students' minds, upending traditions, paving the way for women like me to have equal status in a culture beyond her own.

I've paid it forward – but that, of course, is another story. My story.