A few days before Hadley turns 14, she yells from her room, “Mom! Mom! Mom, are you here? Where are you, Mom?”
I am feet away from her, sitting at my desk, waiting for a moment to say, “Yes?” or, “What?” or, “I’m RIGHT HERE WHAT DO YOU NEED?”
“Guess what I JUST learned?” she says, this time standing outside the room where I write. She is exuberant, and I am sure she’s going to tell me something like the Apple watch is on sale for only $5,000 at Target, or that Lululemon just came out with a new pair of leggings that are black and high-waisted – totes different than the 2019 black, high-waisted leggings we have to get them, now.
“I’m gonna be able to vote in the next Presidential election!” Hadley says.
And just like that she is 18, but she is also 14, and 10, and 6, and 2. All at the same time I see her at these ages – what she’s been, what she’s growing into, and what she’ll be. It’s as if I’ve known her all my life and at the same time I know nothing – not a clue – what it is she is capable of.
When she tells me about the voting, I remember her third birthday. She’d woken up around 5:30in the morning as per usual, and walked into the kitchen. I told her today she is three, and I don’t remember why, but we sat on the floor together, and she said, “Today? Today, I’m three?” And I said, “Yes! Happy Birthday!” And in the same voice as she declared she will one day be able to vote for a President of the United States of America, she said, “Uno, dos, tres? That’s me?” And I said, “That’s you.”
I am working on a story when Hadley tells me about the voting. It’s a story observing the 25th anniversary of the decision made in the Christian Reformed Church regarding women being ordained. Twenty-five years ago a t-shirt in Walmart was pulled from stock because it said something about a woman being the next president, and some found that offensive to family values. Twenty-five years ago, Susan Sarandon won Best Actress for her role in the movie, “Dead Man Walking,” – a nun who must tell a man who’s committed a heinous, terrifying crime that God’s love extends to even him. Twenty-five years ago I was a Sophomore in college, feeling like I was just getting the hang of being a student after years of not having a clue what I was reading or writing or hypothesizing.
I’m actually not working when Hadley tells me that one day she’s going to be able to vote. I’m texting a friend telling her that this story is frustrating for me to write. I’m telling her that it’s making me angry. I tell her that the decision was this: that both sides of the argument believe that they are right, and so not all churches in the CRC support the ordination of women.
“So things aren’t changed,” my friend texts back. “But they are changing. So write that.”
Later, I turn on NPR and hear Terry Gross interviewing Nina Totenburg. I learn that it was Ms. Totenburg who found out that Anita Hill had submitted an affidavit that had been ignored. Ms. Totenburg was the one who broke the story, persuading Ms. Hill to speak about what happened.
I listened and thought about the story I am writing, and the three women I am highlighting – two of them in churches who are for the ordination of women, and one who is not. All of them are leaders.
And I thought of my almost fourteen-year-old, who, at the time this will be published, will officially be four years away from voting in the next Presidential election, and so I think I’ll tell her this:
Things aren’t changed, but they are changing. And you get to be a part of that. You get to step into this battle that is sometimes a party; sometimes a feast. You will mourn, you will laugh, you will be confused and frustrated. You will feel joy and doubt, and sometimes it’ll all happen at the same time.
And it won’t just happen at 18. It’s happening now. It happened when you were 10, and 6, and 2 – every day since the first October 23rd – you are changing.
HGF, none of us are ever finished. That might be the greatest, and the most frustrating miracle of all.
Happy Birthday, you fireball. You go on and interrupt me from my ruminating and tell me what you learned about yourself any time. I love you.
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