The Idolatry of Motherhood

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My two babies from a long ago vacation…

“Being a mother is the greatest thing a woman could do.” Kathie Lee Gifford uttered these words some 25 years ago to Regis Philbin, while I watched the tv with an older friend, who had a house filled with children. “I don’t think that’s always true,” I responded, but was quickly reprimanded by my friend. I responded by saying that it certainly was true for some women – perhaps many women – but not every woman. I decided (wisely, I thought) to let the subject drop.

I was not yet a mother, but knew I wanted to adopt children who needed homes. I had always wanted to be a mom one day, but didn’t feel the drive for pregnancy that many women experience. A graduate student at the time, preparing for a career, I also was not blind to the fact that professional mothers had much more challenging lives than professional fathers (and that unfortunately has not changed over the years). And even though I very much wanted to be a parent, I knew there were women who did not feel that calling in their lives.

Being a mom is a core part of who I am. Yet, not every woman is able to be a mom or is called to be one. This might be a choice, or imposed on a woman by circumstances. It also might be a woman who has biological children but is either unwilling or unable to be the parent a child deserves, offering support, love, and a home.

Yet, one thing remains true in our society. Being a mother is seen as the highest ideal for a woman in our society. Every little girl is expected to want children, and every newly wed woman is asked about the time plan for starting a family. New moms have to make choices about employment and child-care. Young women who aren’t even married wonder how they might balance children and a career one day, while that thought rarely crosses a young man’s mind.

And if a young woman doesn’t want children, or is not planning for them, disdain often is reigned down upon her. She is seen as selfish, uncaring, egocentric.

All this occurs because we have made motherhood an idol. It goes along with the ideals of placing women on a pedestal. Either women conform to the patriarchal notion as saints in the household, sacrificing all for their children, or they are knocked off the pedestal to be trampled by others’ judgments. Motherhood is a gift, not a requirement. For me personally, I wanted both my children. They are the most wonderful part of my life, but also sometimes the most challenging. I worry, celebrate, offer guidance and sometimes judgment, and have spent more time and money on them than I could count. As much as they fill my life with joy and love, I know that motherhood is an ongoing journey which has occasionally been smooth and other times been filled with rocks and potholes. I know I have failed miserably at times. The one consistent thing I can offer is my never-ending love to them.

Yet, choosing to be a mother does not make me a saint. It is simply part of my journey. As Mother’s Day approaches, I pray that our society will find better ways to honor mothers. We can see them as real human beings, who are fallible and have dreams and desires apart from their children. We can also honor women who have other callings in their lives, and do not have biological or legal children. Let us step away from thinking of them as less than because of their life circumstances or decisions. I know numerous women who have no legal children who have been instrumental in helping me rear my own, and in offering support to me when I often most needed it. I also feel I have a number of other “children” who are not legally related to me. Their presence in my life fills my heart.

Some Native American tribes pray to the Great Mother. A mother is someone who gives birth – and this might be a physical birth, but it also can be giving birth to love, hope, compassion, kindness, peace, and joy. For Mother’s Day, instead of focusing on a biological act, I hope we can focus on giving birth to these qualities in our society.

Someone Else’s Baby

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One incident from my daughter’s childhood has stood out in my mind the past few days. I often took my children to parks and play areas. While my son was in kindergarten, I took my daughter to a nearby playground, and let her dig in the sandbox while I sat a couple feet away from her on the edge of the box. Other moms and children came and went, when one mom approached the area, and began to exclaim, “Where is this baby’s mother?” I gave her a confused look, because I was closer to my daughter physically than any other mom, and then responded “Right here beside her.” She looked surprised, muttered, “Oh,” and then went to another area of the park with her child in tow.

I immediately understood the issue. I am a blondish Caucasian, and my daughter is a petite Asian. It was just the first of many times people have assumed we could have no relationship because of our appearance and races. Ava was adopted from China as a baby, so naturally we do not favor each other. I always knew I wanted to adopt internationally and cross-racially. I took on this dream when I was in junior high. The dream originated with the understanding from the Bible that every single person is a child of God, and deserves to be loved and wanted. I knew there were lots of children in the world who needed homes, and I wanted to provide those. How that child looked was a non-issue. And if my dreams had really continued, I would have adopted many more from around the world. (I keep trying not to envy Angelina Jolie for being able to do just that.)

Yet, the world continues to be filled with people who think their “own” children are of more value than other children. The devastating refugee crisis in Syria is a perfect example. We turn our eyes, and try to wash the blood from our hands, ignoring the innocents who are living in pure hell, while spouting invalid information about protecting ourselves. We have elected officials who claim we have to have our “own babies” for a civilization to grow and thrive, and refuse to acknowledge the many cultures and skin colors which make up “America,” instead wanted to create a culture of exclusion. We live in a world where stats bear up the belief held by many that white children matter more than non-white children. We have a government keen to exclude millions of more children from health care and programs to help those in poverty, while beefing up the already largest military budget in the world.

Every baby is our baby. I come at that from a deep-seeded spiritual belief, grounded in the message displayed throughout the Bible. We are responsible for the children of the world. Even if someone does not agree with this theological statement, it is simple common sense to care for the children of our society and our world. We cannot completely remove ourselves from others. We are interconnected in more ways we can image – whether economically, socially, or scientifically. Labeling a baby as “someone else’s” is like saying our foot or hand does not belong to us.

We are all one body. Each child is our own. We are all in this together.

 

 

Adulting – For Real

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with my boy in 2005

Young adults today have created a new word – “adulting.” In the age of helicopter parents, we should have known it was only a matter of time until college students coined a word which represented what it was like to learn the skills needed to be an adult. I’ve seen students offering programs on Adulting, with topics ranging from doing laundry, basic cooking, to balancing a bank account. I always thought one should have those skills prior to leaving home (even if it’s just for college), but helicopter parents like to be needed. In a society where our self-worth is so shaky that we don’t even want to communicate respectfully with people of differing opinions, it makes sense that self-worth can be found in having another human being think they can’t do anything without you.

I by no means want to set myself up as the perfect parent. Both my kids practically kicked me out of their kindergarten classes their first days of school, and I begrudgingly went, thinking they could have offered just a couple tears to help ease my pain. But they didn’t. And that’s a good thing. The fact remains that every child needs to grow up, and parents can either make that easy or hard (or somewhere in between).

I’ve been a college minister for over 18 years. The one phrase my children hated was, “You will not go off to college and not know how to  …” One can fill in the blanks – do laundry, manage money, earn some money, cook, handle conflict, put appropriate things on social media, etc. As my own mother told me, the best parent gives the child the tools s/he needs to be a competent, healthy, independent adult.

That’s always the goal.

And then it finally happens. My boy is doing what he’s supposed to do. It’s been the goal the past 22 years that he would discover his unique passion and talents in life, and embark on the world of being an adult. He moved to Colorado this week – a state I have never visited, and one that is a 24 hour drive from my home. He is actually adulting – for real. He’s already called a couple times. I have received a few texts. It’s not to ask advice – but just to share his excitement at this new adventure. I am so grateful for technology which will allow me to continue to be part of his life beyond the occasional letter or brief long-distance phone call. He is no longer a kid, or a college student, but a young adult starting his adult life. He couldn’t be more thrilled. And that’s the way it should be.

I’ve always known I was more than Caleb’s mom. I have plenty to keep me busy in my own life. And I don’t intend to smother the one child who is still “at home” even though she’s off at college and Cornhuskin (anyone with a connection to Meredith College will totally understand that). I’ve shed a few tears, and some kind friends have listened patiently to my meandering reminiscing. Grief, worry, excitement – my heart is filled with each one of these emotions and so much more I can’t even describe.

But I do know one thing for certain – the boy will always be my baby. And I’ll always be his mom. Adulting – for real.

 

Adoption and Being Real

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Gold Medal Winning Gymnast, Simone Biles

I’m an Olympics junkie. The tv or computer (or both) run constantly during those two weeks, anxiously awaiting the next exciting event. I’ve uncovered a love for women’s rugby during the summer, and can’t wait to catch up on curling when the winter games roll around. I’m fortunate that my daughter enjoys watching much of the games with me, although gymnastics is her favorite for the summer games. Ava was a gifted gymnast in elementary and middle school, and maintained the skills throughout years of cheerleading. We turned up the tv for the qualifying round Sunday night, ready to see Simone Biles’ domination. We cheered with her teammates and parents. Except not all the commentators saw the event the same way we did.

“Simone Biles’ grandparents…” was the usual talking point. Al Trautwig even tweeted that they were not her real parents, even though they legally adopted Biles as a very young child. They are the only parents she has ever known, legally, spiritually, and emotionally. Biles speaks about how her family came to be, and has said “It’s so normal.”

As my daughter and I sat on the couch, watching tv and the twitter feed, I told her how irritated the dismissal of adopted families made me. “I’m your real mom, and you are my real daughter.”

“I know. Some people are just stupid.” Ava shrugged it off, but I’m still irritated. Just like Biles, a family being formed by adoption is normal for my daughter. Yet, I’ve spent 18 years explaining that I love my child who was adopted just like I love my child to whom I gave birth. I’ve spent 18 years explaining that I am Ava’s “real” mom, just not her birth mom. I’ve spent 18 years explaining that we are like any other mother and daughter, even though we are of different races and came together in a less than common manner.

As a person of faith, I believe adoption is the highest form of parenting. The New Testament (Romans 8) proclaims that we are all adopted by God – loved and cared for as God’s own child. And even when we have birth children, we have to “adopt” that baby – promising to love and care for that child. We know of too many parents who don’t “adopt” their birth children, instead offering neglect or intentional abuse.

My daughter summed it up nicely, “Some people are just stupid.” And some people are just mean. Al Trautwig doubled-down before he finally apologized. I don’t know if he has learned anything from this. I don’t know if non-adoptive adults will stop making insulting statements to adoptive families. (“Do you love her like you do your own child?” “How much did you pay for her?” “I guess kids who are adopted have all sorts of problems.”)

It is more challenging being part of an adoptive family – the challenge comes from others who don’t understand what it is truly to love someone for her own sake, regardless of how she came into your life. The challenge comes from a lack of Christian charity and compassion, and the desire to make everyone over in their own likeness.

As God has adopted us, so adoption is the highest form of parenting. I’ve adopted both my kids – birth and adopted, alike. I hope Al Trautwig and others like him will realize families formed by are adoption are real and normal. Otherwise, it’s just plain stupid.

The Lucky One

 

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Ava and I at the baby shower my church gave soon after bringing her home.

19 years ago today, a tiny little girl was born in Southern China. She was possibly premature, and circumstances were challenging at best. The mother was unable to keep her, even though I imagine she loved that baby as much as any of us do when we hold a newborn. She loved her enough to make certain she found a home until a couple from America could arrive to bring her to a new home. 9 months after that difficult day of birth, those new parents arrived to find an infant wearing a Hello Kitty bib and obviously well-loved by her caregivers. Baby Ava looked at her new parents with a puzzled face, trying to figure out this odd-looking couple. She received the devoted attention of her big brother, new grandparents, and many well-wishers with casual grace in the weeks that followed. She couldn’t have been loved more.

As do many mothers, I recall the early days with my babies with great fondness and moist eyes. I had waited so long for this little girl to arrive in my life, and the days were more joyful than I could have imagined. So many others – friends and strangers – seemed happy for us as well. Yet, one sentence kept being repeated. “She is such a lucky little girl.” Even in China, people would approach us with the only English they knew, which was “Lucky girl.” I never wanted to receive such words about my daughter. Sometime in 8th grade, I realized I wanted to adopt, especially trans-racially. That was back when I was toying with going to the far reaches of Africa and translating the Bible for my life’s work. That desire faded within a year, but the idea of adopting children did not. I knew there were countless children who needed homes, and I didn’t particularly feel the need to have birth children. (And I know there are many women who feel this biological need, and I certainly do not wish to downplay that. I’m just made differently.) It never felt to me like I was doing a child a favor – I just thought of this as the way I wanted to arrange my family. My teenage musings had me surrounded by 4 or 5 children, all adopted from around the world. I can’t tell you the envy I felt for Angelina Jolie when she began to live out my dream.

I always knew I was the lucky one – not my baby girl. God had gifted me with the most incredible child – not perfect; no child is – but just perfect for our family. When people wanted to compliment me on the decision to adopt, I always responding by telling them I was truly the lucky one. Both my children are such complete gifts, the best things in my life. I offer untold thanks for them each and every day.

Every family is centered around the concept of hospitality. We welcome new persons into our inner circle, whether by choice or by blood. We choose to offer the most intimate part of ourselves, the good and the bad, the strong and the weak. We support them in the difficult days, and let them comfort us when our tough times come around. Ava and I have comforted each other when the tears came, and laughed far more often than that.

She is a gift, and on her birth day each year, I give thanks to the petite Chinese woman who offered this precious child for our family.

Let the Commencement Begin

 

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photo courtesy of Dustin Collins

The month of May normally brings flowers after all the preceding month’s showers, but it also brings the annual Commencement activities. Having worked in college ministry for 18 years, I anxiously await the ending of yet another school year. However, this season brings something different. My first born, Caleb, graduated from college this past weekend. It was almost jarring to find myself surrounded by hundreds of other family members and loved ones in mass seating, as opposed to surveying the crowd from my comfortable chair on the platform. Other Commencement days have found me propped in my seat, feet tucked under my legs, and covered by my massive academic robe. I only open and close the usual service with a prayer and a blessing, so I simply enjoy the rest of the service and offer up the occasional good thought for the graduates as they embark on their new lives.

Yet, last Saturday found me slightly shivering in a hard metal chair on damp grass, with no bulky robe to shield me from the early morning mountain air. The tears fought for release as I kept picturing a very tiny, but very loud, toddler running around – not a grown man ready to embark on the adventure of life. Some of the days over the past 22 plus years were quite long, but the years seemed to have flown by. How could we have reached this point?

I am a proud mother of a very wonderful son, and I am ready to let him go to become the man he needs and wants to be. I’ve been letting go since day one, actually. At just a few weeks old, I realized that he oftentimes stopped crying when I placed him in a bouncy seat instead of my arms. He skipped to school that first day of kindergarten, boisterously exclaiming to every neighbor we passed where he was headed. He insisted he could do things by himself, without my supervision or help. He was more than ready to let go my hand and grab the hand of a cute blond girl when the time came. And he was ready to deal with the consequences of any decisions he made which may not have been the best.

The time has come. It’s been coming. He’s grown up and he’s an adult.

That doesn’t mean I have abdicated being his mother. I actually corrected his grammar last week, and we had a good discussion about his reading material now that nothing was required. I’m still his mom, but I’m also his friend. There will be times I will provide unsolicited advice, but I know the decisions are his alone. And if he tells me to keep my opinions to myself, I might have to bite my tongue, but I’ll do it.

Adulthood has commenced. During the activities of last weekend, I heard one student refer to college as being the best four years of one’s life. I beg to differ. I know from my work as a college minister that these years are challenging, stressful, sometimes painful, and fortunately sometimes joyful. I hope and pray that there is more good than bad. Yet, there are so many wonderful years ahead. I want my son, and all graduates, to see that this is just the beginning, the commencement, of life as an adult. That life will include many different emotions, and many times that will be better than the college years. Life is about embracing the good, and enduring and learning from the difficult. I hope each graduate will be ready for some of the best years yet to come.

The Right to Parent

My daughter (center) with two of her best friends, also adopted from China and also my honorary daughters!

My daughter (center) with two of her best friends, also adopted from China and also my honorary daughters!

Today’s news is filled with a huge policy change in the world’s second most populated country. China has decided to end its one child policy. China is a major player on the global stage. More people speak Mandarin than English as a native language. Its economy directly impacts the global market. Its policies, both militarily and diplomatically, have major implications for numerous other countries. Yet, in my family, this policy hits much closer to home.

I always knew I wanted to be a mom. As a young teenager, I decided I wanted to adopt any children I had. Adopting babies domestically was quite difficult for many years (and is still not easy), and I knew there were countless children around the world who needed homes, so I intentionally chose to adopt internationally. When Angelina Jolie began to adopt children from around the world, I cannot say how much I envied her. She clearly articulated the thoughts I had on parenting and what it means to be a family. I eventually ended up with one birth child, and one child adopted from China. They are now college-aged adults who are the most important people in the world to me.

As people reflect on the one-child policy, there are so many different avenues to explore. We are facing a global population crisis, one which we never (or rarely) discuss in this prosperous nation of ours. China tried to deal with the issue when it instituted the policy so many years ago. However, the implementation of the policy has oftentimes been harsh, cruel, damaging and even inhuman. My daughter’s story (and so many stories of other children adopted internationally) turned out well. When we traveled to China to bring Ava home, everyone kept telling us she was a “lucky baby.” But we knew we were truly the lucky ones to have her in our lives. It has been vitally important over the years for her to understand her heritage and take pride in it. The Greensboro Chinese Association will forever be dear to me for all the myriad of ways they help adopted Chinese girls and boys to know their homeland.

Over the years, I have found myself oftentimes questioned about the situation in China which led to bringing Ava into our home. Many people who ask these questions do so from an elevated place, believing that our country is one of freedom where people can choose how many children they can have and not have the government interfere. Yet, the long-standing eugenics programs in the United States, including in my home state of North Carolina, challenge such assumptions. These forced sterilizations had nothing to do with overpopulation and everything to do with who has a right to parent. People in power believed they could play God and make those decisions for society. People on the fringes, who were seen as less than, were forcibly denied that right without their consent.

As so many people in our country hail the ending of China’s one-child policy, we set ourselves up on a pedestal, believing that our land of the free is above that sort of thing. Our history negates such a belief.

I feel quite fortunate to be a mom. I know not everyone is called to be a parent, but for those who hear that calling, the people in power should not deny it. This being said, we do have a global population issue that needs to be addressed. One of the major reasons I chose to adopt was because there were children who needed homes, and I didn’t feel a great compulsion to create a “mini-me.” Instead, I encourage each person to look into her own heart. Why do I feel called to be a parent? What does that say about a relationship with a child?

Parenting may be a right to some people, but instead I offer that it should be a calling, a privilege, a gift.

Perfect Parenting

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My baby girl turned 18 a couple days ago. I wasn’t with her that momentous birth day – a tiny Chinese woman was – a woman who, for whatever reasons, knew she couldn’t keep this precious baby and so made certain the local orphanage would have her so that a nice family could adopt her. I give thanks for that unknown woman’s gift every year. I do distinctly recall the birth day of my other child, and the entire 20+ hours of labor and delivery without drugs. The women who told me that you forget all the pain once you see that little baby must have had epidurals.

Parenting is always an interesting action. For me, it’s been thought-provoking and intriguing to rear one birth and one adopted child. The ridiculous questions I have received about loving a birth child more than an adopted one I have found tiresome and irritating. Can some people really think that small? I know the answer is unfortunately yes, but parenting in these circumstances is so much more compelling than such petty questions.

We live in a society where parenting centers around perfection. An accomplished mother is one who raises the perfect child – the little one whose smiling face fills the facebook pages and instagram accounts, who always has great adventures, whose pictures are filled with the best friends, who is showered with awards and accolades, who is destined to be the greatest success. Isn’t that the mark of a perfect parent? Yet, recent information about college suicide highlights that many students use social media as a way to mask their pain and depression. Parents who beam about the public image of their children are often stunned and surprised that the face does not reflect their child’s reality.

I know I’m not a perfect mother. No one is a perfect parent. There is no perfect individual on the planet. We owe it to our children to be authentic. If we hope they can live with integrity, then we need to model what that means. It does not mean treating a child like one’s best friend, revealing all the minutiae of our feelings and emotions. It does mean sharing honestly, in an age appropriate manner, about the realities of life and what it means to live each day. As much as we might want our children to think we are superheroes, with facebook enviable lives, we need to admit when we make mistakes and when we are wrong. We need to let them know that sometimes life is hard – we can’t always pay the bills, we are betrayed by friends, we have moments of despair. Yet, it is even more important to help them know that whenever we encounter these things, we can pick ourselves back up (usually with the help of our loyal friends), dust off the dirt, and take one step at a time towards the future.

Those smiling faces of the children and young adults on social media need to know that whatever happens, it’s not the end of the world. People aren’t perfect, and we all have difficulties in our lives. Yet, there is a tomorrow.

I know I’m an imperfect mother, and I know my children are not perfect either. They are perfectly wonderful, but one of my goals has always been to help them celebrate their strengths and find ways to work on their weaknesses. I’m thankful for all the years we’ve journeyed together, and hopeful that we can share many more in the future.

Growing Up

945470_10100669394490121_1719016664_nMy mom always said it wasn’t your own birthday that got to you – it was your kids’ birthdays. My little baby boy turned 21 last week. I had a birthday a couple weeks before that, and it really didn’t seem to faze me one way or the other – but looking at the young male adult before me was something different. Like most parents, it seemed just the other day that he was a wild-haired, bright-eyed, rosy cheeked little toddler exploring anything and everything within reach. And now he’s officially an adult. Yes, he still has a little more than a year of college left, and I will do whatever I can to be a support in the coming years as he tries to establish himself, but he is officially an adult.

The next day I had lunch with a former college student of mine. I have been a college minister for almost 17 years, and catching up with former students is one of the true joys in my life. This incredible young woman is in her first year of navigating life beyond college. We discussed how things were and her plans for the future. It’s a truly exciting, but also nerve-wracking, time in one’s life.

As I thought about these two people for whom I care so much making the transition to adulthood, I remembered one of the best known verses of the Bible, found in 1 Corinthians 13:11. “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.” This letter is written to a community that is terribly divided and fighting over a wide variety of things, both big and small. In many ways, they are acting like immature children. The letter reminds them that when we try to live in God’s Spirit, we grow up. We firmly place childish behavior in the past, and learn to live as mature sisters and brothers.

Now, my brother and I still like to pester each other, even though we are decidedly middle-aged. Sisters and brothers are still sisters and brothers, even when they are adults. They are different. They view the world differently. They engage with others in different manners. They are their own independent people. Yet, no matter how they might differ, a true sister or brother will always be there for the other. While growing up, I could pick on my little brother, but woe be to anyone else who decided to do that.

Growing up doesn’t suddenly mean we have all the answers. It doesn’t mean that we don’t have differences with each other – sometimes very deep divisions. It doesn’t mean that we live in a world of rainbows and happily ever after. It does mean we are mature enough to meet the challenges of the world, and to engage with others in a respectful manner. It’s great to see my son, and my former student, put the childish things of the world behind them, and firmly grasp the things of adulthood. I become so frustrated and discouraged when societal and political leaders act like children and refuse to find ways to work together. One wonders if anything productive can ever come out of our nation’s Capitol anymore. I hope and pray that our church, and our society – both so badly divided and so often childish – can follow the example of the children who are becoming adults in today’s world. And a little child shall lead them.

Raising a Feminist – #HeForShe

with my son atop Beech Mountain

with my son atop Beech Mountain

Every parent has goals for her child. We plan, we dream, we hope. We all know that each child is unique, and there are so many things that parents can’t control. Yet, we know that we provide the core environment. The earliest messages our child receives will stay with her in some form or another, for better, for worse.

I have two fantastic kids. One of my goals has been for them to treat each and every person in a respectful and egalitarian manner. I definitely want my kids to be feminists, and one child in particular received this message on a continual basis. And that child is my son – not my daughter. I always knew that my little white male child could do so very much to change the world for the better. Female feminists can only do so much unless male allies join with them to create systems, societies, and cultural values which treat women and men equally. I have always been thrilled when my son railed against injustice and inequality. As a young boy, he not only began to realize that not all moms were ministers, but his eyes were also opened to the fact that many faith communities would not allow women to be religious leaders at all. During summer employment, he has often had a female contemporary as his supervisor, yet has continually had to steer people to speak to his female supervisor when they assumed he was in charge due to his gender. I am so proud of the young male feminist in my household.

Intelligent young British actor, Emma Watson, was named a United Nations Women Goodwill Ambassador a few months ago, and addressed the UN a week ago concerning gender politics. She strongly claimed the word feminist, and initiated the #HeForShe campaign. She spoke eloquently about the need for men to claim feminism and to take action combatting inequality.

Since the speech, Watson has since joined a long-line of self-proclaimed feminists who have dealt with backlash. Nasty twitter comments, a threat of leaked personal photos, and even comments about her attire while addressing the UN (which was both professional and stylish) have emerged.

Cultural misogyny is rampant today. The media has finally begun to highlight the NFL’s lackadaisical treatment of its stars who assault and abuse women. Sexual assault on college campuses is finally receiving the attention it deserves. In areas of professional sports and frat boy culture which suggests women are only important as decorative ornaments or means for a man’s pleasure, it’s vital that real men stand up and speak out strongly against these assumptions. Women are created in the image of God. They should be treated with respect, dignity, and an open mind which never limits who they are called to be.

My teenage daughter asked me if I had seen Emma Watson’s speech. I responded in the affirmative, and we talked about the content for a while. I asked her, “Do you call yourself a feminist?” She gave me the look of incredulity that teenage girls own, and responded, “What else would I be?” I’m thrilled that both my kids – a young woman and a young man – would respond to that question in the same way.