I am the mother of a Homecoming Princess.
I never expected to be here. I am a proud feminist, a 1990s era female lawyer, filled with a yearning and a passion to overcome the obstacles that kept women down in the generations before me. Determined to break through the glass ceiling, and yes, even to wear pants to the office (doesn’t that sound like a laughable goal now?), I am of the generation that expected to have it all. And we have. Sort of. At least, sequentially.
I got to wear the pants and bring home the paycheck, one that was bigger than my husband’s. Granted, he was in his medical residency at the time and so I’m not sure that totally counts, but I’ll take it. I had my day in court (literally) and cross-examined male witnesses, making them squirm just a bit in the bright light of my scintillating wit and intelligence, in my fashionably broad shouldered black suit and blonde ponytail.
Then came the day of reckoning. After the birth of my first child, a daughter, of course, I had to make a decision. Stay on “part time” at 40 billable hours a week or work full-time towards the inevitable goal of partnership, with neither alternative being acceptable. I worked for a female partner who urged me “just try it, it’s not so bad,” but she had two nannies, a housekeeper, and a secretary and still never seemed to catch up. So I left. I tried a bit of part time contract work, but when the second child came, another daughter, of course, I let even that go. I decided to concentrate all of my energies on raising strong young women who would grow up to change the world.
And now, today, I am the mother of a Homecoming Princess. Yes, me. It’s almost funny, the irony of the situation. Sure, I bought both of my daughters princess costumes, fabulously glittered ball gowns that they wore everywhere. In my defense, not all of them were pink. One was a lovely white and silver number with a very appealing tulle skirt. And yes, I let them watch Disney princess movies too, and we have gone to Disneyworld/land/EuroDisney more times than I can count without trying really hard and cheating by looking at old calendars. So I guess I should’ve known that something like this could happen.
But I always made sure to accompany the princess experience with my own running feminist commentary. “You know, Cinderella really could go find the prince herself. She didn’t have to wait and rely on the mice to help her. And she could’ve called CPS on her wicked stepmother.” Or “That Snow White is really lame. She lets all those little guys go off to work in the diamond mines while she cleans up after them. And then she sings that incredibly annoying song while she does their work.” I tried the more ambitious princesses, like Mulan, who cuts off her hair and goes off to fight the Huns. They liked that one ok, but really wondered when she would get to have pretty hair again. And then Rapunzel, with the really pretty hair, just stayed in her tower, although in the more modern version she does hit the guy over the head with a frying pan. I kind of like that one.
In the car, on the way to all the lessons and and activities and practices (they did take dance lessons—tutus are pretty cute–but also played soccer, and volleyball, and even briefly, karate), we talked about how women hadn’t always had the vote and how women in Saudi Arabia had to cover their legs and couldn’t even drive. I did it so often it got to be a joke, and they would chime in on the chorus, saying the words along with me. Even their little brother, who bless his heart was born into pink Princess-land, knew the words. And he’s turned out to be a very kind young man. I’m still waiting to see which effect was stronger; if he brings home a blond, big boobed Barbie of a girlfriend I will know I have failed utterly.
And yet, maybe that’s not true either. Who am I to judge another woman by her appearance? I had a blond ponytail and (relatively big) boobs under my black suit jacket, and I felt like a feminist force to be reckoned with. I think I made a lot of people reckon with me, so to speak. So why can’t she be a princess and a feminist?
I think the answer is that women today can be whatever and whoever they want to be. If you want to wear a princess gown while you do it, then so be it. Girls or guys. No judging. It might be a happier world if we could just accept that we all are made up of so many different aspects. Our talents and gifts are not restricted to or by our physical appearance, just as our physical appearance shouldn’t have to be relegated to a place of unacknowledged value. My Homecoming Princess is a strong, intelligent woman who likes sparkly dresses and knows all about the DNA of dinosaurs. She can sing and play the cello and wield a hammer and a saw. She can tell you facts you didn’t know about Ancient Egypt and Roman Gladiators, with gory details, and she looks just as cute in her green museum t-shirt as she does in her dark green party dress with sparkly earrings.
Most of all, my Homecoming Princess knows how to be a princess in all the ways that count. She does look fabulous in her new princess outfit, although I am proud to say it is a jumpsuit. (She can wear pants to the office and on the football field, so I guess we won that battle.) And tonight when she walks out on that field, I know she will have incorporated all of the qualities of a princess that really matter. Her compassion and sense of humor, accompanied as they are by a fierce intelligence, make her a formidable force to be reckoned with. And I believe she has a lot of reckoning still to do.
