Raising a Feminist

This last Saturday was the Fourth Annual Women’s March, which began in 2017 out of necessity. Women and men witnessed the rise of a misogynistic racist into our highest office, and knew what that would mean for women’s equality, reproductive rights, immigration, and a thousand other problems we still face everyday in this country, so they took to the streets. There hasn’t been a turnout like the original in 2017, but each year tens of thousands descend on Freedom Park with their homemade signs, fight in their eyes, and determination in their hearts. They want to be heard. They want to be seen. And though the Women’s March has had its share of conflict, mainly the alienating of some cultures and races, they have done their best to weed out those that perpetrate this way of thinking. Because equality should work for everyone, not just white females who were born with a vagina.

I enjoyed watching the coverage of the march on Saturday and reminiscing with my husband and son about last year’s march, the one we went to. The running joke in our house is this: We took Jackson to Washington DC for the first time when he was just learning to walk, we took him the second time when he was just learning to march, and we will take him again when he is ready to lead.

An 11-month-old Jackson waving from the Washington Monument. Jackson toddled around the monument moments after, assisted by Daddy, Grandma, and Mommy. That’s the White House (President Obama was in office) behind us.
10-year-old Jackson chanting with a megaphone in front of the Trump Hotel in Washington DC

I won’t take you down the rabbit hole that was the Women’s March of 2019, but you can read about our experience at the red link. And I’ll leave you with some of my favorite pics from last year’s march, and the call to go yourself! There is nothing quite like standing amongst the fold of women, men, and children all marching for the same thing.

M.

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