Almost all my childhood was spent hating pink, not knowing what feminism was, and fully agreeing with everything my mother ever taught me.
The earliest memory I have of color preferences consists of saying that I hated pink and that I loved blue. Disliking pink in and of itself is harmless, but I do remember that I also thought it was “girly” and I was a “tomboy”. I tried so hard when I was eight years old to be a boy. I would ride my bike recklessly, I stopped playing with the Barbie dolls that I previously enjoyed, and I became proud of my scrapes and bruises because they helped me blend in with the rest of the kids. By the time I was sixteen, I purged my wardrobe of anything remotely pink. Our youth minister, Nick, began running out of ideas …show more content…
Anything she told me stuck in my head whether it was that letting a scraped knee “breathe” would help it heal faster, or that women couldn’t teach baptized boys in the Church. Following the church camp revelation, my younger sister, who went on the trip with us, told my mother and step-father about me and my newfound feminism. My mother quickly began to poke fun at the fact that I responded negatively to anything remotely sexist. On top of receiving negative vibes from my mom, my sister, Cristin, refused to see feminists as anything other than bra burning, hairy pitted, loud and angry men-haters. On the way home one day, Cristin and I were talking about feminism. I asked her if she believed that women and me. She thought that since she had never knowingly experienced sexism, that it didn’t exist, at least not in today’s America. To this day, my mother and sister insist that there are very big differences in women and men. They believe that men are “just better at somethings than women are and vice versa.” Because of these vastly differing opinions all under one roof, I have learned that the first thing I was taught wasn’t always the right one. No matter how much I disagree with my family members’ opinions, I learned how to express my opinions without disrespecting
The earliest memory I have of color preferences consists of saying that I hated pink and that I loved blue. Disliking pink in and of itself is harmless, but I do remember that I also thought it was “girly” and I was a “tomboy”. I tried so hard when I was eight years old to be a boy. I would ride my bike recklessly, I stopped playing with the Barbie dolls that I previously enjoyed, and I became proud of my scrapes and bruises because they helped me blend in with the rest of the kids. By the time I was sixteen, I purged my wardrobe of anything remotely pink. Our youth minister, Nick, began running out of ideas …show more content…
Anything she told me stuck in my head whether it was that letting a scraped knee “breathe” would help it heal faster, or that women couldn’t teach baptized boys in the Church. Following the church camp revelation, my younger sister, who went on the trip with us, told my mother and step-father about me and my newfound feminism. My mother quickly began to poke fun at the fact that I responded negatively to anything remotely sexist. On top of receiving negative vibes from my mom, my sister, Cristin, refused to see feminists as anything other than bra burning, hairy pitted, loud and angry men-haters. On the way home one day, Cristin and I were talking about feminism. I asked her if she believed that women and me. She thought that since she had never knowingly experienced sexism, that it didn’t exist, at least not in today’s America. To this day, my mother and sister insist that there are very big differences in women and men. They believe that men are “just better at somethings than women are and vice versa.” Because of these vastly differing opinions all under one roof, I have learned that the first thing I was taught wasn’t always the right one. No matter how much I disagree with my family members’ opinions, I learned how to express my opinions without disrespecting