A Woman, Too
Surely other mothers would understand my frustration and need for change. After all, they are women too.
This is a letter from another American mother written to protesters earlier in 2017, after the Inauguration of Donald Trump.
Dear Protesters,
I’m sorry you are hurt. I hurt too. In 2008 I voted for Obama. In 2012, I didn’t vote at all. Either way, it didn’t matter. Nothing changed.
Protesters, I still didn’t have enough money to pay my mortgage, which had tripled. Neither did my family, my neighbors, my friends. And my job disappeared, over the Pacific, or the Atlantic. I forget.
It’s the right thing to do — they said, those third-world countries that keep changing names deserve a better life.
But Protesters, I didn’t get it. I still don’t. I looked in my refrigerator and then I stood in line at the food bank where they gave me rancid cake mix (did you know a cake mix can get rancid?)
I watched. I waited. Along with my family, my neighbors, and my friends. We held our breath as the Bail Out began.
Protesters, something did happen during the Bail Out. But it missed us: we lost our homes, our cars, our marriages. Still, we prayed, we waited, and we learned a few things while we waited, too.
We learned that one meal eaten late in the afternoon can be counted as lunch and dinner. We also learned that “Help Wanted” meant under 20 hours and if you get sick and you can’t pay the rent on the 5th of the month, a five-day “Pay or Quit” Notice of Eviction will be hanging on your door.
Then the daughter who can’t read will ask you what it says and the daughter that can read stops talking and, without asking, she does her homework.
And takes out the trash.
Protesters, I’m a woman, and I was so excited to see a woman candidate on this almost 100-year anniversary of the Women’s Right to Vote! Sure, I had questions about Obama Care, e-mails, and dead soldiers in Benghazi. And issues with Trump, war with Russia and global warming. But Protesters, as a college-educated woman, I know that all guilt should be proven or else it’s all just rhetoric.
After all, this is America.
So I listened.
Then my paycheck came in, direct deposit, and the bank re-calculated a $4.00 gasoline purchase, a $3.00 Safeway charge for milk, and a $3.89 charge for tampons (can it already be that time of the month!) This triggered two $35.00 charges and after I paid the water and the electricity I had two crisp dollar bills and a handful of change in the palm of my hand.
And fourteen days till payday.
Protesters, that night, I listened to Her one more time. I really, really, really listened.
Afterwards, I clicked off the television, tiptoed into my daughter’s bedroom and kissed her on the forehead. I also knew — something had to change.
And I also knew that She would understand my choice not to vote for her this time around.
After all, she’s a woman, too.
Protesters, in the end, you’re not protesting the new President. You’re protesting my cry for change.
You’re protesting me.
— I apologize if I hurt you.
With Love,
Another American Mother
Originally published in Atlantic Online (2016)
