The Classic Liberal got me thinking about my first brush with feminism was when I was in high school, circa 1974 ish. I was preparing to step onto the school bus, but noticed a girl behind me also waiting. I stopped, slightly bowed (ala Obama to the local dictator thug) and said “After you.”
She nearly bit my head off. I don’t recall the exact words, but I remember the venom in her voice. Something to the effect of, “You male chauvinist pig! I don’t need you to let me go first!”
Day-yamn. My fragile mail ego was bruised, even though I was an Alpha Male and she was a non-entity (Hey, I can’t help it that it was a small school and I was a jock and she was neither good-looking nor sexy). I did what any guy would have done under the circumstances. I got on before her and ignored her. But her actions seared into my brain. I never again gave a shit what any so-called feminist thought, said or did. And I looked for every instance to piss them off. [Real women, such as my wife and daughter, I’d walk through fire for them.]
I had wonderful, lovely, intelligent, learned girl cousins who were militant womens’ libbers in the late 70s and early 80s. I argued with them, loved them, and ignored their idiotic views. They slowly moderated their views, sort of like a new convert to Christianity slowly loses her wild-eyed new-found fundamentalism. They are normal now. Still feminist. Still eating tofu and keeping their maiden names, blah blah blah. But I still love them. Michelle, Liz, Bridget and Rebecca, you know I love you. It’s those other insufferable womens’ libbers that I can’t stand!
Gator Doug says the same damn thing, only much more eloquently.