Well Done, Sister Suffragette

In the earliest months of parenthood, we go through so many wonderful firsts: first step, first solid food, first word ("askitiki" — we still don't know what it means; we think it must be Greek). Now, at eighteen, my daughter's milestones are less celebrated, less dramatic. But, today is special.

My daughter is voting for the first time.

It's "Super Tuesday" (although a clever Facebook friend referred to it as "Stupor Tuesday" instead). My daughter is a registered Democrat (like her mother) and she'll be voting in today's primary.

But, not for my candidate.

Wow. This came to my attention several weeks ago. At a late dinner with two fairly progressive friends, we were comparing the potential nominees. My husband (who had enjoyed a rum tasting at a museum opening earlier, as well as a couple of beers with dinner) spilled the beans. Apparently, my daughter had done some research and felt her values were more aligned with one of the other contenders. She had confided in her father and sworn him to secrecy.

I thought he must be mistaken.

No. I was mistaken. 

Wow. I had a few quick words with her when we got home. (As you can imagine, she was furious with her dad.) When pressed, she admitted that she had made up her mind, in part, because she took an online survey and the results told her which candidate she matched.

"Oh," I snapped sarcastically, "That's a really intelligent reason! If it's online, it must be true."

Once I was past my initial surprise, I realized that my daughter's right to vote (something that our forefathers and, especially, our foremothers fought desperately for) is hers and not mine. I have no right to tell her who to vote for any more than my husband has the right to tell me.

Wow. It was another one of those moments when it was abundantly clear that my daughter is her own person. Not the personification of some abstract concept I might have about what she should be. And, certainly not a "mini me."

My daughter, who to my great pride considers herself a feminist, did her own thinking and came to her own decision. And, despite my skepticism about online questionnaires in general, she is voting with her heart. She isn't strategizing about "Which candidate is more electable?" or "Which is more likely to beat Trump?" (I told you we're both Democrats.) When push comes to shove, I have to defend her decision. Even if it's unexpected. And even if it isn't mine.

Why is so much parenting success — especially in these late teen years — bittersweet? We want our children to be happy, confident, independent. But it continues to catch me off-guard when I realize that she needs me less than she did. That she's ready to roll without me.

Eight years ago, I took her my daughter with me to vote for Barack Obama. The atmosphere at our polling place was energized, upbeat, wonderfully optimistic. We all knew we were making history (we happen to live in a mostly-blue town in a mostly blue-state). I wanted her to respect and appreciate the process, and I'm glad she joined me.

This morning, I asked if she wanted to go vote with me. "No," she declined, "I'll go on my way home from school." I just nodded.

After all, it's her decision.

If you've enjoyed this post, I invite you to order the book Lovin' the Alien here.     

Pretty As A Picture?

In the past week, President Obama has received a lot of unwelcome press. As you've surely heard, at a recent fundraiser, he jokingly introduced California's Kamal Harris as "by far the best-looking attorney general in the country."

Was this a compliment? Was it an example of sexist marginalization? Or maybe a bit of both? 

You know what I think?

Who cares. Please. Move along.

If you regularly read Lovin' the Alien, you all know that I am a big old feminist with a capital F. And, I'm thoroughly unashamed to admit it. But, this seems a little silly. Isn't there some real news, people?

Harris is attractive. Period. And, Obama was introducing her at a social event, not urging people to vote for her or approve her nomination. I truly don't believe he was belittling her. He could have said the same thing about a good-looking male colleague. In fact, five years ago, the Italian Prime Minister Silvio Burlusconi called Obama himself "young" and "handsome" (and, "suntanned" too, um ... okay ... that's a different story). 

Clearly, the president desperately needs some gender sensitivity training. Not. I think we're taking political correctness a bit too far. Whether you agree with his healthcare reform or his take on taxing the one percent, President Obama is not a male chauvinist. In fact, the irony here is that Obama has appointed a record number of women judges, with two at the Supreme Court level, including my elementary school classmate Elena Kagan.

Truth is, how people look matters. (To many voters, regardless of his policies, Mitt Romney looked like a president should look — whatever that means. Tall, white, and male, I guess.) By and large, better-looking candidates do better. So do better-looking celebrities and better-looking business executives. Not fair, but not not true.

And what's true for people is especially true for female people.

As the mother of a teenage daughter, I am hyper-vigilant when it comes to girls judged by their beauty rather than their brains. But, it's a losing battle. Try to teach teens that appearances can be at worst deceiving and at best irrelevant, and they will look at you like you have two heads. After all, they're not blind. Whether it's a table of perky cheerleaders in the cafeteria or a class clown whose boyish charm helps him get away with disruptive antics in geometry, there are countless examples in high school. Better-looking gets treated ... well ... better.  

And, unfortunately, teen girls can be their own worst enemies. 

I just read a story in The Washington Post about a current social media phenomenon, called "beauty pageants." (I would say a "new" phenomenon, but that would only prove how completely out of touch I am; it's probably been going on for a while. Like most middle-aged moms, I'm hopelessly behind the times when it comes to what's hot and what's not with my fifteen-year old and her cohorts.) 

Basically, an anonymous "pageant host" sets up the contest and girls post self-portraits ("selfies") using the smartphone app Instagram. Then, any of Instagram's estimated 100 million users can give the girl a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down (comments can be a lot more specific and a whole lot more hateful). Enough negative feedback and the girl is — publicly — disqualified.

Nice.

Let's consider for a moment how many levels of wrong we have here ...

Who is this anonymous host: a group of beer-buzzed fraternity brothers, a particularly competitive queen bee, or your average everyday pedophile? 

When sexier photos are rewarded with higher rankings, how are other contestants (many of whom are underage) being encouraged to behave?

How do the nasty comments and insults affect the self-esteem of teen and preteen girls, for whom — let's face it — self-esteem is a tricky business to begin with?

And, what are people (100 million of them, remember) doing with the pictures now that they're out there? 

Here's what worries me most, I think. Where do teenage girls find a safe haven anymore? Back in those rose-colored good ole days, you could compartmentalize and protect yourself. Yes, you might be teased at school because you had braces or acne or a few extra pounds, but you could escape it when you got home. Now, our girls are always connected. All media, all the time. And with their mobile phones virtually grafted to their bodies, they can't get away from it. Ever.

We are also raising our teens in a world of unprecedented exhibitionism. They don't think about the repercussions, they just shoot and post. I would never (never never never never) put a picture of myself up on a "Nifty Fifty" beauty pageant, if I could even find such a thing. But, it's second nature to them. It's beyond second nature. Through a combined force of peer pressure and the itchy fingers urgency of mobile media, girls are compelled to participate. "Look at me," they're saying. "Validate me. Tell me I'm beautiful." Too often, the result is just the opposite.

Because, at the end of the day, these girls are looking for love in all the wrong places. 

Still Hopeful

Yesterday was Martin Luther King Day. My teenage daughter had no classes, but she had plenty of work to do. Six tests in four days — her very first high school mid-terms are this week, which has caused great stress in our household.

My husband was getting ready for a business trip, and I had a fair amount of advertising copy to write. And, since it was technically a "day off" here in Massachusetts, there was a list of chores about a mile high. (Isn't that how you spend your days off? Doing all the things you don't have time or energy for on days on.)

Nevertheless, I took a little break midday to watch Barack H. Obama become our president again.

Obama is a consummate speaker. In fact, it was through his inspiring oratory that he first came onto the national stage back at the DNC in 2004. The convention, which formalized the less than successful ticket of Johns Kerry and Edwards, was held here in Boston. I know. I was there.

You see, I was tired of hearing all of my liberal friends bitch and moan about President Bush and the Republican party without actually stepping up, so I decided to try and contribute to the cause. I volunteered and was duly vetted and security-checked, then sent an official badge and lanyard and a very nice DNC polo shirt. I can't quite remember what my expectations were in terms of my conference assignment, but I ended up playing an enormously valuable role. I — and I alone — ensured that all of the delegates — not just a few, mind you, but all — from the great "show me" state of Missouri got on the correct bus for dinner. No truants, no stragglers, no misplaced Missourians. I did my job and I did it well.

Yes, that is the extent of my political career and I am damned proud of it.

Anyway, even with all of that responsibility on my shoulders, I could easily see that this charismatic young man from Illinois was going places. When he ran for president in 2008, he did so in the name of "Change" and "Hope."

It's been a long four years. Poor Barack has had to fight a partisan Congress, an economy on life support, and a host of disastrous events both natural and man-made. He hasn't moved as quickly or definitively as many of my more progressive friends would have liked. 

But, if yesterday's inaugural speech is any indication, it looks like second-term Obama is going to stop beating around the bush (no pun intended) and push through the things he believes in. 

Like equality. He specifically mentioned Seneca Falls (women), Selma (blacks) and Stonewall (gays) in the same sentence. In doing so, he endorsed LGBT rights and equated them to suffrage and the civil rights movement. And, in case any listeners didn't see the connection (or weren't caught up on their American history), he came right out and said, "Our journey is not complete until our gay brothers and sisters are treated like anyone else under the law for if we are truly created equal, then surely the love we commit to one another must be equal as well." 

Wow.

He spoke about all of the policy bogeymen that have haunted his first term. Climate change (finally), immigration, universal health care. And, he evoked the victims of Sandy Hook Elementary School in a timely reminder (particularly timely as Vice President Biden's recommendations for gun legislation are considered). 

"Our journey is not complete until all our children, from the streets of Detroit to the hills of Appalachia, to the quiet lanes of Newtown, know that they are cared for and cherished and always safe from harm."

What I think was most powerful of all was his assertion throughout that his more progressive agenda was actually true to the very core of our country's values and the original mission of our founders. For good measure, he alluded to the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence throughout.

And, to top it off, he asked God to bless us. Can anyone really argue with that?

This is the man I voted for again two months ago. And that was the speech I waited four years to hear.

And I only have one more thing to say. "Hillary 2016."

A Good Day to be a Girl

Last night, I allowed my teenage daughter to stay up late with me as we watched the 2012 election returns. I think it is so important that we demonstrate and instill in our children a respect for this country's political process and a responsibility to participate in it.

At fifteen, my daughter is too young to vote. But, she has some fairly strong opinions, and I encourage them.

Nevertheless, to paraphrase Scarlet O'Hara, "Tomorrow was another school day." Despite our best intentions (and genuine concerns about the outcome), we gave up and went to bed, crossing our multigenerational fingers that our candidates would win.

Here is what we woke up to:

Another term for President Barack Obama. You may not agree with Obamacare. You may be disheartened by his progress towards a stronger economy. But, Republican or Democrat, you have to admit that he is a feminist with a capital F. He is two for two with Supreme Court Justices (Sonia Sotomayor and, my former Hunter Elementary classmate, Elena Kagan). He is pro-choice and supports Planned Parenthood. He signed the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act on his very first day in office. 

In the recent conversation — and controversy — over the definition of "rape," Obama stated the obvious:


     "Rape is rape. And the idea that we should be parsing and qualifying and slicing what types of rape we are talking about doesn’t make sense to the American people and certainly doesn’t make sense to me.

     So what I think these comments do underscore is why we shouldn’t have a bunch of politicians, a majority of whom are men, making health care decisions on behalf of women."

Go, O!

As women, my daughter and I were happy to see President Obama re-elected for a second term. But, as women, there was so much other good news:

The state of New Hampshire (right next door to us) is now the first state with an all-female slate. Governor? Check. Senators? Check. Congressmen ... er, women? Check.

The United States Senate will now have 19 women — the most in its history. Although we are not at parity yet, this is a significant increase since 1992, the so-called "Year of the Woman," when that number was just five.

The first openly lesbian senator has been elected in  Wisconsin (which shows that feminism and gay rights aren't  just coastal state fads).

And, in our own state of Massachusetts, Elizabeth Warren beat incumbent Scott Brown in a hotly contested race.

Wow! So much for their "war on women." Thank you, sisters!

In my next post, I promise to abandon all things political and go back to discussing typical teen issues: cell phones, boys, schoolwork, hormones. But, for now, I'm going to sit back and enjoy being a girl.

Last night, we proved that, as the once and future President said: "Women are not an interest group. You are half of this country." 

Amen.

If You Can't Beat 'Em, Spell Like 'Em

In 2008, Barack Obama was elected the first African-American President. He also became the first President elect who had successfully used the Internet, social and viral media in his campaign. He even had an app.


As you can't help but know (since the 2012 election coverage started long before 2012 started and is on pretty much 24/7), Mitt Romney is hoping to unseat President Obama this November. He is attacking the President's attempts at healthcare reform and economic stimulus. He thinks Obama needs to "Stop apologizing for America." And, like any self-respecting candidate in this Web 3.0 world, he created an app for it:


A Better Amercia


A-M-E-R-C-I-A. With that rather un-patriotic error, Romney has generated quite a lot of online buzz ... and not exactly the buzz he intended.


The world being what it is, the mistake was instantaneously picked up, ridiculed and memed. Memes are clever (and, granted, sometimes less-than-clever) online parodies. In the case of Romney's ill-fated app, the memes include his misspelled call for betterment coupled with a Scrabble game, a child struggling in a spelling bee, Bart Simpson, refrigerator magnet letters that read "DUMBASS," and, of course, an Etch-a-Sketch.


Poor Mitt. Poor proofreaders who work for Mitt! I'm an advertising copywriter by trade and I can tell you that these things happen. In fact, as someone who makes a living with words, I can only thank my lucky stars that I wasn't the person who mistyped or approved that one.


Then again, if Romney's purpose is to be seen as young and hip and social media-savvy, this may have been the ultimate Freudian slip. If you are reaching out to the texters and the tweeters, don't you need to talk their talk? Type their type? Or rather, typo their typo?


To the online generation, accurate spelling is a grossly overrated virtue. They simply don't have time for anything that gets in the way of speeding thumbs on a smartphone keypad. When I read the Facebook posts of my daughter and her friends, I cringe. And it takes superhuman mom effort to resist correcting her text messages. 


Amercia's a free country; there's no law against poor spelling. Why not go all the way then? Campaign posters should use acronyms (WTF! OMG!) and emoticons, drop letters, replace simple words with numeric digits (à la the Dictionary According to the Artist 4-merly Known as Prince), and avoid punctuation altogether unless it's to reinforce the candidate's point with a string of countless exclamation marks.


There are those who will criticize Romney for his new allegiance to Amercia. There are those who will think that those who criticize him are nit-picking. There are those who will think that those who criticize those who criticize are actually ignoring the real issues. But, let's all just admit that we love our country, no matter how we spell it. 


Here's what I say: gd bls amercia!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!