Believe Me (Or Don't)

Recently (okay very recently – like five minutes ago), I was engaged in a conversation at work about whether certain jobs should be restricted to females. Of course, I was initially outraged, but then the coworker (actually one of my superiors) amended his argument to mean pregnant women only and I had to agree. Of course there are physical limitations placed on a body lugging around her own body weight and someone else’s. Then, we discussed the idea of women having careers versus having babies. I feel I am doing both with relative success (of course, “career” in my case means office drone and unpaid freelance writer and “babies” means one well-adjuster toddler). He concluded his statements by saying “well, that’s because you’re not a feminist.” For a millisecond I was outraged. Me, not a feminist? Me? I am all for women doing whatever women do. Does that make me a feminist? Does that just make me a woman? I realized I don’t know. I don’t even know what the word really means (and, for those of you who have read more than one of my posts, you know I don’t like to do any actual research). That made me think about all of the labels tossed about every day, those words we use to define ourselves and others. Me? Married. This one I am sure about, as I had a wedding and have a husband. So I feel safe calling myself “married” or a “wife.” Mother. Though my son was, in strict Shakespearean terms, “not by woman born,” I was still awake through the operation where they cut through many layers to wrest him free of his warm uterine home. I have been with him every day since birth, nursing, loving, caring for him, so I feel comfortable calling myself a mother, as is any woman who opens her heart and home to a child. Any other labels I shirk off. Well, I rather like “friend,” so I will embrace that label and I have gotten used to “sister” as my siblings and step-siblings call me, but that’s it, I think.

This leads me back to the disturbing (to me) idea that has been with me lately: I am unsure of my own core beliefs. I admire people who have strong beliefs, but I never saw my own flexibility as a problem until I became a parent. Now, not only do I have to figure out what I believe, I have to pass those beliefs along to the next generation of barefoots (barefeet?). Already, I agonize over what to teach my son in terms of religion. This is an area where my coworkers have a distinct advantage over me. Because I am not certain of my beliefs, I am not sure what to impart to my child. I waver between faith and disbelief, not always in equal portions, so maybe all I can teach is to have any open mind, to form his own opinions. I do believe people should be nice to one another. I believe in basic common courtesy. I believe in always offering the last piece of pizza to someone else, but if no one else wants it, I believe I will take it. If there is one thing I am certain of, it is that I have many, many opinions. Of course, that could all change tomorrow.