Feminists hate my mother
Feminists hate my mother.
Feminism has fewer roots in love for women and more roots in spite for men. That’s how Feminist women, who fight for every woman everywhere, have come to hate my mother.
My mother is not a mutineer of Feminism. She is not twisted. She holds no grief with Feminist women, but yet they hate her.
I am a young man and know not enough about my ominous oppression of half this earth’s population, but I know that Feminists hate my mother.
“What do your parents do?”
“My father is a doctor,” I always say because he always still is.
“Yes…and your mom?”
Homemaker, housewife, domestic engineer--she doesn’t pick up a paycheck does that mean she’s unemployed?
To these formless words the Feminists always sigh, “Oh.”
“Oh.” Oh is a short expression that with their intonation has a long definition: Oh means your mom’s too dumb or too oppressed to have a “real” job. She’s not quick enough on the Feminism train or not allowed the opportunity by evil men to be anything but a stay-at-home mom.
Not my mother. Don’t call my mother a stay-at-home mom. My mother is a wake-up-make-their-breakfast-drive-them-to-school-do-their-laundry-buy-their-groceries-drive-them-to-hockey-pick-up-their-father-bake-their-dinner-never-at-home mom.
“Yes…and your mom? What does she do?” they always ask like I forgot what her job title was. My mother is the earth on which I stand, the air I breathe, the food I eat. She is my mother, a worthy enough job to take after working full-time shifts to put my father through medical school so that he can bring the income to afford this family. This family she produced, without pay, without vacation, without raises, without a gold watch, without maternity leave.
How dare the Feminists belittle my mother for being a full-time mother. As if being just a mother wasn’t enough for Feminism with a capital F. Being a mother to this family is being God to our home. And being just God is always enough.
Call my mom a homemaker, no. God is our universe’s Creator and mothers are our families’ Creators with a capital C.
Whether or not inflicted by a feminist persuasion, no man or woman has ever been, without first being born from a mother. And, I shall pray to God that no person will ever exist. What are we but our mothers’ children?
Feminism has fewer roots in love for women and more roots in spite for men. That’s how Feminist women, who fight for every woman everywhere, have come to hate my mother.
My mother is not a mutineer of Feminism. She is not twisted. She holds no grief with Feminist women, but yet they hate her.
I am a young man and know not enough about my ominous oppression of half this earth’s population, but I know that Feminists hate my mother.
“What do your parents do?”
“My father is a doctor,” I always say because he always still is.
“Yes…and your mom?”
Homemaker, housewife, domestic engineer--she doesn’t pick up a paycheck does that mean she’s unemployed?
To these formless words the Feminists always sigh, “Oh.”
“Oh.” Oh is a short expression that with their intonation has a long definition: Oh means your mom’s too dumb or too oppressed to have a “real” job. She’s not quick enough on the Feminism train or not allowed the opportunity by evil men to be anything but a stay-at-home mom.
Not my mother. Don’t call my mother a stay-at-home mom. My mother is a wake-up-make-their-breakfast-drive-them-to-school-do-their-laundry-buy-their-groceries-drive-them-to-hockey-pick-up-their-father-bake-their-dinner-never-at-home mom.
“Yes…and your mom? What does she do?” they always ask like I forgot what her job title was. My mother is the earth on which I stand, the air I breathe, the food I eat. She is my mother, a worthy enough job to take after working full-time shifts to put my father through medical school so that he can bring the income to afford this family. This family she produced, without pay, without vacation, without raises, without a gold watch, without maternity leave.
How dare the Feminists belittle my mother for being a full-time mother. As if being just a mother wasn’t enough for Feminism with a capital F. Being a mother to this family is being God to our home. And being just God is always enough.
Call my mom a homemaker, no. God is our universe’s Creator and mothers are our families’ Creators with a capital C.
Whether or not inflicted by a feminist persuasion, no man or woman has ever been, without first being born from a mother. And, I shall pray to God that no person will ever exist. What are we but our mothers’ children?
posted by Gary Crane at 1:08 AM
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