I’ve been a quiet feminist for over 40 years. I marched for equal rights, supported equal pay for equal work, worked for women’s issues from leading a troop of Girl Scouts to volunteering with battered women. I’ve believed that it is my role to be a partner in relationships with men and I pay my own way. I am not "the little woman." While working, much of my life was defined by what I did as a career, luckily, one which I loved. Gloria Steinman was a role model, I even had a tee shirt with her quote, “A Woman Without a Man is like a Fish without a Bicycle.” I loved that tee shirt.
When I was working, the particular line of the demographic sheet info read “Manager,” “Consultant,” “Supervisor,” and described the job of the moment. It was part of my identity like my address and age. In fact, a friend and I talked about the first time I needed to write “Retired” on a form and how that set me back for a moment to think about who I am without those titles. I now play with a variety of job-like identities as a volunteer which include Human Resource Consultant to churches, Board Member of an international NGO, Volunteer ESL Instructor, and Blogger. They all work, so does "Retired."
Imagine my chagrin when I checked in for my MRI last week and found that my professional status was listed as “Homemaker.” What the Hell??? How did that happen? Not that being a homemaker is a bad thing…it just reminds me of June Cleaver, not me. Gary and I had lunch later at a little café sporting a sign, “It’s not that I don’t understand the concept of cooking and cleaning, I just don’t understand it’s relevance in my life.” I’m not quite that bad, and actually am a pretty good cook, but I’ve always felt that there were far more interesting things to do in life rather than clean…and picking up after other people drives me nuts. No, I am not a candidate for the Happy Homemaker Award of the Year.
So, how does that happen? It feels archaic, my mother or grandmother’s generation. Is it the culture of the South?
And now, as I wait for a delivery of family room furniture today, I wonder if I can reframe my idea of what it means to be a “Homemaker” or if I need to insist that they change that label. Gary recalls my words when I came into his house, this house, for the first time. “This house does not show your personality, it tells me nothing of who lives here.” (I’m not always tactful either.) Together we have made this a home. Could we be homemakers? We’ve added art from places we love, we’ve added color and carpets and humor. We’ve made this house into a refuge and a place to bring friends and make memories. Could being a homemaker be being about adding love to a house and leaving the spider webs be??
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