Does this title sound strange? Perhaps you are wondering “If she is your daughter, aren’t you her parent?” Well, [pause] yes and no. It’s a long story.
Her parents, whom I am honoring, are the ones who adopted her when she was an infant and raised her to adulthood. I was the young woman, not yet 19 years old, who birthed her and surrendered her for adoption. After holding her, feeding her, loving her for 5 days in the hospital, I dressed her in a sweater I knitted, rode with her in my arms in a NYC taxi cab, and then handed my baby, surrendered my baby, to a Catholic Charities social worker.
In adoption parlance, they are the A (adoptive) parents and I am the B (birth) mom. We never met but we became connected in this offbeat way.
Several years ago, a friend who was getting married for the second time happened to have a fascination with Barbie. Maybe it was a hobby or a whimsy or a fetish, whatever you call it when an adult collects Barbie stuff. You know Barbie. Everyone knows Barbie, the doll that has been around since 1959, Mattell’s weird ideal of the perfect girl/woman that no living female could ever achieve.
How lucky I was to have been there on January 21 at this historic, record-setting event, an event that brought hundreds of thousands of people to our capital and inspired millions on every continent to march in solidarity. It was so over-crowded that I can honestly say I STOOD for women’s rights rather than MARCHED for women’s rights (!) and it was truly extraordinary in many, many ways. This is what delighted me most: Continue reading