Raising My Daughters in the Shadow of Feminism

Forgotten leftovers and unconventional lessons

Image by Author + Canva

I’m not your typical mom.

I’m more of a moldy leftover from Second Wave Feminism, something that lingered in the fridge, had a shelf life, but never made it to the front row. Being the only female adjunct among eight full-time male faculty members might seem like a victory.

I don’t see it that way.

My life was a constant juggle of ambition and the reality of raising five daughters. So, I didn’t teach my daughters the basic stuff one would expect from a mother living in the Western hemisphere. I certainly didn’t teach them anything domestic, like how to fold laundry or cook a memorable meal — unless Hamburger Helper counts.

I didn’t teach them how to set a dinner table with the fork to the left of the plate, the napkin to the left of the fork, the knife to the right of the plate (the blade facing the plate), and the spoon to the right of the knife.

I didn’t teach them how to mend a sock, sew a button, or knit a perfect holiday scarf. I didn’t teach them how to apply make-up, blow dry their hair, or do their nails. I didn’t guide them through gardening basics or baking tips. I didn’t emphasize keeping a spotless house or following a strict routine.