Rose-colored Glasses

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” This question is almost a rite of passage for children in the United States. Adults expect many answers. Ballerina. Superhero. Astronaut. President. As a foster child, Amber has heard this question, or some iteration of it, thrice as many times as the next kid. When she was young, she had chosen ‘rocket scientist’ or ‘astronaut’. As a preteen, she considered herself much wiser than her elementary school self.

Algebra has shown her that life as a mathematician was not something she was naturally inclined to or actually interested in as a subject. The title ‘rocket scientist’ naturally appealed to a child who liked adventure. Rockets must mean that the job is awesome, thought 7-year-old Amber.

The position of astronaut was thoroughly crossed off of the list when Amber realized how paralyzing her fear of heights was. The sky was much higher than the top of the jungle gym or the branches of her favorite climbing tree. Space was even higher, 9-year-old Amber realized.

At this point, Amber was beginning to become a social butterfly. Additionally, her history and government classes were fascinating. Once she went up a grade, Amber planned on joining the middle school’s Model U.N. Therefore, it should not have been a surprise to anyone when Amber answered with “President.” this time.

Yet, this answer was met with surprised expressions on her foster parents’ faces. The husband and wife quietly exchanged glances. “You can’t be President. You’re a girl.” her foster mom stated matter-of-factly. Amber’s face scrunched up. Why did that matter? Just because there hasn’t been a woman president didn’t mean she couldn’t be one. She’d be the first woman president of the United States! “Why not?!” Amber retorted. The injustice of her foster mom’s statement was beginning to spark the temper that redheads were known for.

“Because women are meant to serve their husbands. Men are the leaders.” her foster mom answered. Amber’s foster dad slid up to stand shoulder to shoulder with his wife, presenting a united front. The rising pink in Amber’s face warned of the fight that was coming. “Women can too be leaders. There are women who work and own their own companies. There’s no reason a woman can’t lead a country!”

“Well, we wouldn’t vote for you if you did run for President. Christ says that a woman’s place is to be obedient and serve her husband. A president can’t do their job and serve their family properly.” her foster mom said. Amber’s fists clenched tightly enough that she could feel the gouges beginning to form from her long nails.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t work in politics. You can still be a representative or the First Lady. You just can’t be the leader of the nation.” her foster mom consoled.

“I don’t want to be First Lady! I want to be the President! I’ll be the first girl President! You’ll see!” Amber fled from the room and rushed up the stairs to her room. She made sure her displeasure was clearly known to the rest of the household by slamming her door. She’d get in trouble for it and for the yelling later, but Amber didn’t care. It wasn’t fair.

This would be the first time Amber cursed the existence of organized religion and Christianity. As a girl growing up in the conservative Bible Belt of the United States, this would not be the last time she did so. Oh, she would desperately try to hide all of her ‘bad’ thoughts and try to emulate the perfect appearance of her church going peers. It would be to no avail. The thorn left behind by this incident, and so many like it, would lead Amber away from organized religion entirely. She could not devote herself to a religion that deemed her to be unfit to be a leader, to be anything that pushed past the boundaries of a tradition upheld for millennia. Despite leaving the Church, the scars left from the thorns did not. Amber would feel insecure as an individual for over a decade of adulthood. Even though her foster families did not mean it in a malicious manner, their genuine belief in the superiority of men as leaders led Amber to feel lesser as a person due to her femininity. When Amber would inevitably be asked why she left, Amber would point to this scene.

The first time she cursed organized religion. The first time she cursed Christianity. The first time Amber saw past rose-colored glasses to glimpse the gender roles that were vestiges left behind from a Puritan past. It was the last time Amber answered that question without cynicism. Why tell her, and so many girls like her, that she can be anything she wants when she grows up? Why lie to them about the bias regarding gender roles in the United States? The next time Amber was asked this question, she paused slightly before answering “Ballerina.”