A mother who took her daughter to the polls reflects on what Hillary meant
On the afternoon of the California primary, my daughter Isabel skipped from her kindergarten class, her blond pigtails bouncing. She was wearing her public school uniform: khaki skort, white uniform blouse. Pinned across the entire heart-half of her chest was her proudest possession: an oversized Hillary button.
Months have passed, and Hillary Clinton's image was so battered in the road rally of her candidacy that she began to resemble a big beautiful car from the gasoline days that had been in too many fender benders.
Those of us who voted for her early became increasingly disappointed by her fear mongering, the gas tax ploy and the negative campaigning that gave her a temporary boost in the polls but ultimately cost her the public's trust. Almost always her speeches seemed limp, whether delivered before or after Obama's mountaintop exhortations.
But there was also greatness about her. Her wit in the debates. Her practical solutions. Her tenacious -- isn't that the word everyone used -- spirit. Her comeback smile. And more than anything, there was history.
I, like a few other mothers I know, took my daughter to the polling place to share the landmark moment: voting for a woman running for the presidential nomination.
Isabel was the one who asked to wear a Hillary button to school, and she didn't take it off all week. I wasn't sure if it violated the uniform code, but no one said anything.
The only person who engaged her in debate was the playground monitor. She asked Isabel why she wasn't voting for Obama (perhaps hoping a six-year old might provide some clarity in a choice that befuddled many).
Isabel smiled. "Because Hillary is a woman, and I think a woman for president would be a good thing for once. Don't you?"
A woman would be a good thing for once.
Not once had I voiced any sentiment about voting for Hillary because she was a woman. And yet, as we drove the three blocks to the polling place, and as I circled the parking lot a second time (What? No spaces at the polls?) I thought to myself: I am, in fact, about to vote for Hillary in large part because she's a woman.
I smile when I hear younger women who supported Obama say that the gender of the candidate wasn't an issue for them. Graciously, they often add: "But," the "but" a strange and telling qualification, "we owe our success in the workplace to the women in the generation before us."
Women my age -- in our late 40s and early 50s -- said the same thing. The whiptail of the baby boom, we acknowledged that the previous generation made our freedoms possible. But those of us at the lower chronological reaches of the "Hillary demographic" have more in common with our predecessors than our successors. We're at the-Hillary cut-off point for a reason.
Unlike the next generation down -- even women only a few years younger -- we still remember what it was like to have radically fewer choices as a woman.
Many of us voted for Hillary Clinton in large part because she's a woman, and we're proud of it, and for the most part, still very proud of her.
For us, the new world of opportunity - and, it must be said, added drudgery -- started becoming manifest just as we were moving out on our own. It was a time of rapid change, and we rode the headwaters.
For us, back alley abortions were not historical anecdotes. We heard our mothers whispering about them. Girls who got pregnant in school were shipped off before they showed. In grade school, we were only allowed to wear pants on cold days, and only under our skirts. Later, some of us went to work for women bosses, but we were still required by their male bosses to wear skirts to work.
In high school, most of us were huttled by our counselors into teaching careers ("easier to have a family"). Some of us who competed in sports were banned from using the weight equipment, reserved only for boys.
College hit like a mallet.
I carried a NOW card, styled my feathered bangs a la Gloria Steinem (Farrah Fawcett no longer), and participated in the consciousness klatches. I maskingtaped ERA on top of my mortarboard at my college graduation. I was shocked when the amendment didn't pass. I remember one particularly amusing CR session I attended on toy stereotyping. The young mothers in the group were buying their little boys dolls. The girls were getting balls. At the time, many of us refused to believe there was anything but the slimmest relationship between destiny and biology.
When we got jobs and babies, that's when the hard learning began. That's when we learned "having it all" didn't come for nothing.
Eventually, I ditched the teaching degree and became a journalist. I even interviewed Hillary Clinton when she was first lady.
I didn't like her a lot, though my quick assessment probably wasn't fair, as we only had a short time together, and I was the press, the enemy. But even if I didn't feel much warmth, I had no question I would vote for her. She had the best health care plan. She's tough and smart, and she knew how to put the votes together in the Senate. More than any of the other candidates, I could envision her as president.
I also had no doubt that Obama would make a great president. I knew he would expand, not shrink, the opportunities available to women. But given the choice between equally good candidates, I, like many of my female friends and neighbors, picked the woman.
As we entered the polling place, my kindergartener padded beside me, somber and watchful. She plastered her "I voted" sticker cock-eyed on her lapel.
She stood beside me, waiting while I made my choices, and then as she saw me put my hand on the big red button, she suddenly reached up and pressed it with me. COMMIT TO VOTE.
When we parted the curtain to leave the box, Isabel had a big, loose grin on her face. I wiped away my tears, but more kept on coming.
"Mommy," Isabel said, her smile tensing into worry. "Why are you crying? Did Hillary lose?"
I squeezed her hand.
"No." My voice cracked. "Just promise me you'll remember this moment."
Posted May 20, 2008 | 03:59 PM (EST)