Thurdays

It was Thursday, and we all knew what that meant. It was off to the gym for my mother. My sister and I packed into her little, light blue Honda Accord. The seats were gray, with faint little dots of white or black here and there. We drove along the roads, and I looked out the window at the passing city. The juxtaposition of the trees and flowers next to big corporate buildings and power plants was not funny to me then, as it is now, it was just simply awkward. The sun was shining down relentlessly, baking us inside the tiny car with no Air Conditioning. We parked at the gym, my mother bouncing off towards one door, her black, used, gym bag banging against her hip, the black strap contrasting with her white skin.
"I'll pick you up in an hour," she calles to us with a wave and smile. I smile back and my sister waves. My mother knows we will be fine. I took my sister inside the building just next door, the cool air conditioning welcome against my sweaty skin. The woman at the desk smiled at us, just like she did every Thursday. Her perfect white teeth and manicured nails seemed so strange in the realm of a gymnasium. We walked into the same room as always, eating the McDonald's our mother had purchased for us, while we waited for her class to be over. My sister still loved all the old, worn toys that littered the carpet. She would make up fantastical games to play while we waited, and I would watch, politely, but rarely join. I was always too busy looking towards the door. At long last (an hour and a half later), the door to the day care center opened. I turned towards it, the ring of the bell still sounding in my head as the opening of the door set it off. There she was, the light of the sun shimmering on her, bringing out the red tint to her hair, the sheen of sweat on her skin, the smile on her lips. The water bottle in her hand was nearly empty, but the water still left inside sparkled with the sun's light. She was kind, and beautiful and yet tired and worn all at once. I was close enough now to see the dark circles under her eyes, the habitual way her lips formed a smile, but I knew she genuinely loved us. I took my sister by the hand once more and followed my mother to the car. Just another Thursday.

Feminism

Oh, boy. If I thought male-domination was something I had to conquer before, then this class was certainly giving me a run for my hard-earned money. I was standing in the middle of the high-school gym, running my fingers over my skirt and hoping there were no wrinkles. It was my first JROTC uniform inspection. Throughout the swarm of green uniforms all standing in perfect formation, I was the only one wearing a skirt and the only one with tiny feet. Out of thirty cadets, I was the only girl. I won't lie, it was a terrifying process being drilled on our knowledge and having our uniforms examined by our instructor who was over-zealously searching for any and all errors. I had studied my heart out and had let none of my fellow male cadets help me, even if every single one had (eagerly) offered. I would sink or swim, but either way, I was doing it on my own. My uniform was nearly immaculate, just one small error, but my knowledge was perfect. I flawlessly answered each of the inspectors questions while the boys around me gave the generic "I don't know" response. I felt entirely proud of myself. Miss Independent. So, even if they razzed me about being the only skirt and called me "Little Foot" for a month because of my tiny shoe size, I had done it by myself. But, I think the greatest thing of all was that they were still there to catch me if I fell.

So, the above being my scene involving aspects of feminism, the following will be the reflection on Will Baker's Feminism. I found the piece to be very well-written, short and clever. Aspects of feminism don't need to involve educated woman at political rallies or hard-core, engrained beliefs, but can be as simple as girls doing things on their own, like Montana. She has no idea what feminism is, nor will she understand it for several years to come, but the attitude that she doens't always need assistance bolsters her feministic qualities and creates a witty story to boot.