ThreadingWater

As a young teen in the ’60’s, I remember clearly the arrival of “The Feminine Mystique” in our house. Among the stacks and shelves of books that filled our living room, the slender volume with its dark blue cover was unassuming, stealthy even, the way it just lay there with the promise of pages devoted to women and mystery - without a hint of pretty models, lipstick, Playtex bras or feminine hygiene products.

“You should read this,” my mother said. 

Of course I did. And, more than anything else, I remember thinking at the time how my own family bore such little resemblance to the families Ms. Friedan wrote about.  In my family, my father fixed breakfast every morning, packed our lunches, washed, dried and folded my baby brother’s diapers and put on a suit and tie every day to go work in an office.  And, while my mother may have spent more hours standing at the ironing board, it was not unusual to see my father press a white dress shirt in a pinch.  After dinner, if he didn’t have to return to work, he was as likely as my mother to join my brothers and me in clearing and washing and drying the dishes.

I thought every family operated in the same manner, each member contributing what they could, when they could to make the whole unit work. Betty Friedan opened my eyes to the reality of the world outside my family and it was a shock. 

The world she described was, in fact, all around me.  It existed in the homes of my school friends, my aunts and uncles, the families that populated our suburban, isolated neighborhood. So many of those men and women leading separate, gender-defined lives with no regard for the suitability of their assigned roles would, by the end of that decade, be torn apart or rigorously and painfully tested by the truths exposed in “The Feminie Mystique.”

What has always seemed lost in any discussion of feminism, then and now, was how much the ideals of feminism have to offer not only women, but men and children. It was a message central to Ms. Friedan’s writings, one that could even draw criticism from other feminists.

“The Feminine Mystique”’s impact on me was to change my view of my father, to open my eyes to the expansiveness of his character, his ability to redefine traditional gender roles for the good of his marriage and his family.  In our current testosterone-driven world of violence, war, and chest-thumping over cartoon images, the informed discourse of the “The Feminine Mystique” should be required reading for every boy and girl.

The world needs you now more than ever, Ms. Friedan.  Rest in peace.