An Open Letter to My Mom

This is tough election for Dems. My Mom has flat out said "A black man should not be President before a woman is." My son is black, and I was offended. I am a woman, and I have struggled all my life for professional recognition in spite of my gender. It's a real ambivalence I feel, although I would never, ever, say that "blacks" shouldn't get what somehow white women of privilege should. (After all, she loaned $5million to her campaign, she ain't exactly a washer-woman.)

I can't help but hear the echoes of history, the struggles over abolition and suffrage for women. The fact is that neither women nor blacks have anything close to a real slice of the pie of American wealth.

What saddens me though, is the carping now among Dems. Truly, we can't lose with either Hilary or Obama, though I support Obama. I am tired of hearing that the media has been unfair to Hilary--she rode her husband's coattails to a Senate term and, yes, I'll say it, sold out on Iraq. I read two articles in the Nation and knew better than she did. But forget it, either way--with Obama or Hilary--we'd be better off than we are today.

And every missile we send to our own is a victory for The Man. Keep us fighting amongst ourelves and we will never be a real challenge real power: the oldest strategy.

So this is the letter I sent to my mom, in response to her sending a link to a kvetch about how unfair the media is. It is offered, as Rod Serling might say, for your consideration. I mean, really! A black man and a woman are the top contenders, and we are fighting about it. Is this really nothing short of the Twilight Zone? Wake up, America!

Mom--

I love you, you know that. I support Obama, you know that. I love Hillary too, you know that. I know that you support Hillary and that you love me.

I am an unapologetic feminist who has worked her entire life in male-dominated trades and professions: laborer through college and lawyer now. I have been called a "lawyerette," scoffed at, bullied and discriminated against. I have also been rewarded for intelligence, vision and integrity without family connection, experience or external genitalia. I happen to believe that intelligence and vision are important in leaders, and that "experience" is something that neither women nor black people have much chance at because we have both been shut out of the inner circle since this nation was founded. I have walked the talk of feminism in my life always, every day. I am a lawyer and single mom, by choice, and I owe a great debt to feminists who came before me. They gave me the duty to choose a candidate based on policy and vision, not on gender, not on race.

I have read all the position papers, which, contrary to the assertions in this column you sent, are not difficult to find--they are but a click away.

I liked John Edwards best, but he's out of the race. One thing feminism did for us was teach us all that we needn't ride our husband's coattails to a dynastic success, and that if we did, we'd be judged on our own merits eventually. Remember what your father said to you? That connections might get you the job, but what you did after you were in the door was on you.

The media is to blame? Who, in this age of internet democratization, really can blame the media unless you rely on the media to spoon feed you your opinions? I know you do not.

Like Michelle Obama, I am proud to be an American, for the first time since we elected Gore and got stuck with Bush. And for the first time since I was born, both I and my son can really really say "I could be President." We, the People, can't possibly lose this time around, no matter who is the Democratic candidate. So could we save our ammo and energy for the general election and quit trying to shoot our collective self in the goddamn foot?

love,
Cindy

Ben is four today

Today my son is four. His day was crowded with celebration. Last night we baked forty-eight cupcakes to take to his school. He had one before bed and one this morning with breakfast.

I sang to him this morning when he woke up, smiling as he usually does. At school, they sang to him and he got to wear the birthday hat. Tonight, after home made pizza and cheers all around, we sang to him and more cupcakes followed.

Yesterday was Mozart's 250th birthday. We went to the symphony. The Ann Arbor Symphony presented a children's concert: Poulenc's Babar and a world premiere piece--a jazz composition setting the book Sweet Music of Harlem to music. I wasn't sure how Ben would do, and he loved it. Before the concert, the A2S presented a "petting zoo" of cello and violin for kids to try.

Although his form is better on the violin, it was the cello that made him smile. Yo Yo Ben.

When I was sitting all night in a chair in Huetzel Hospital with him in my arms four years ago, I never imagined that we'd be here, in Ann Arbor, able to experience all these wonderful advantages on the bus line. On any bus line. The twists and turns of life are simply amazing.

Happy Birthday my lovely son. The music you bring to life is celestial.

How do birds keep their feet warm?

Yesterday, after a long morning walk in the snow, my dad joined us for hot chocolate and pancakes. We were watching the birds at the feeder--we get a remarkable variety here. Two flashy pairs of cardinals, purple finches incognito, a red-bellied woodpecker, juncos (juncoes?), red-breasted nuthatches and white-breasted ones too, and our real joy, a carolina wren.

My dad asked Ben, hoping to stump him, "How do birds keep their feet warm?"

Ben opened with a joke, "Well, they don't wear boots," he said, with a smile. "They are very, very cold, getting seeds in the snow. Their feet have talons," he said, holding his hands up jaw-height and curling his fingers down like eagle talons.

My dad said, "Yes, but how do they keep their feet warm?"

Ben pondered the birds, darting down from the big spruce tree onto our patio feeder and back again to the deep green cover.

"They have boots in their nests, that's how."