I was stunned to learn when I arrived home of the death of Geraldine Ferraro. The name instantly rang a bell; she had been the runningmate of Walter Mondale in 1984. I'm told that when I saw her on TV, I cheered. Little did I know that at three years old, her image would be the first seed of many that would grow into the feminism that I now hold fiercely to. (For a great overview of her life, Kalli Joy Gray has you covered on the front page; my intention of this diary is to share a little bit of how her life impacted mine, even though I never knew more about her than the images I saw on the news or in my history classes).
As I think about it, I know that she was one of the people who helped "shatter the proverbial glass ceiling". I know that reference will sound hackneyed or dated, and I'm sure that there are many on tomorrow's talk shows, or in the next few days, who will use those exact words, or words to that effect. If you get ticked off at them for doing so, save your breath. Those words, while meant in tribute, are acknowledging the reality that there is still a HUGE glass ceiling in American culture; after all, we have yet to elect a woman president.
But the fact remains that she did things that a lot of people didn't expect women to do, and even though the three-year-old-me who cheered her on didn't understand that then, the nearly 30-year-old-me does. The almost 30-year-old-me watches the conservative crowd try to force women back into servitude, bearing children in sorrow, and cringes, particularly in light of the accomplishments of Ferraro and women like her. I watch how anti-woman certain people have become and think to myself, "Not only are they putting the glass ceiling back into place, they are lowering it so that women like me (and my daughters, should I ever have them) have to bow down so they don't bump their heads on it!"
Well, for one, I say, "F*ck the glass ceiling!" Women like Ferraro worked too hard for too long for us to give up the fight for equality. She (and they) spent herself (and themselves) in her (and their lifetimes) standing up, not just for our fight for equality, but for the fight for everyone's equality. Her example should inspire us to continue that fight for the next generation. Not just so that we can see a woman sitting as President, but so that our daughters have the same playing field as our sons, regardless of gender, and the glass ceiling becomes a thing of the past, its pieces trampled under the feet of progress and equality. Perhaps that's the best way to honor the loss of a legend: to allow what she stood for to shape us, and let it be what spurs us to shape the future.