Dreaming of Aussie Love Never Disappoints

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

My first true love was Father Ralph. I wanted to be Meggie Cleary as she romped on a tropical island with her forbidden lover. Because of that lifelong love affair between those two people who could never really have one another, I fell in love with Colleen McCullough’s work. The epic miniseries, The Thorn Birds, aired on television for the first time in 1983, and it shaped my unrealistic ideals of love. 

It was fantastic!

Being a young Catholic girl who grappled with her faith and the rules of the church, especially where priests were concerned, this epic story of family and illicit love set against the backdrop of the venerable and powerful Catholic tradition was delicious. Watching the sweet and neglected Meggie Cleary grow-up to be a beautiful but broken woman who fell in love with the handsome and sexy Father Ralph was just my type of scandalous love story.

Over the course of several nights, hunkered down in front of our 18” color TV in my Holly Hobby flannel nightgown my mom handmade while munching on Jiffy pop, I relished watching Meggie morph into a formidable woman who learned to live her life on her own managing her inherited empire with strength and dignity. I was encouraged by her courage to be herself, to stand-up for herself, and to not take crap from anyone, not even Barbara Stanwick who played the cruel and jealous Mary Carson.

It took years for me to sit down and read the novel from which the miniseries was based. I was not disappointed. The book, as in most cases, was even better than the miniseries. For unknown reasons, I have not read another book written by McCullough since.

That is until I found a novelette by McCullough at a yard sale recently. The Ladies of Missalonghi was not the epic tale I found with the Thorn Birds. However, this short but sweet novel was a delight to read.

In the midst of the #MeToo movement, this book, written decades prior and occurring in pre-World War I times, is surprisingly feminist. The book details the life of an extended family in one small village in Australia. The tale reveals that the men of the family have been taking advantage of the woman for decades. Forcing them to live in poverty while the menfolk steal their money and land.

The women are not unintelligent or incapable, rather they are submissive and ruled by tradition. They trust the men and do not openly question or challenge the obvious inequities. They are happy enough to just get along with the bare minimum.

All of this changes when two strangers come to town and enter the life homely but lively Missy. Missy is a dreamer and a spinster who wants more from her drab, brown life. She wants color and adventure. She craves beauty and love. Her mother and aunt discourage her dreams, compelling Missy to muddle along tolerating her lackluster life.

Una enters Missy’s life at just the right time. Una, through books and conversation, keeps Missy’s dreams alive. She encourages her to be strong, to be different, to acquire all she wants.

John Smith appears and stirs Missy’s heart. She decides to marry John before she even knows him thanks to the ideas that Una firmly planted in her mind.

Missy awakens to the realities of her own desires and the fact that the men of her family have been swindling and oppressing the women. Missy digs-in and speaks out. She takes action and changes the lives of every single person in the town.

McCullough manages to create a male character who lifts up women rather than holding them down and back. While I appreciate the way McCullough celebrates women, she narrowly manages to make sure that the women make the changes for themselves rather than relying on one kind man to rescue you them from the dregs of poverty and misogyny.

McCullough weaves in a few scenes and lines that make my skin crawl, but overall, especially considering the era she wrote this novel and the era in which she set the novel, she did an excellent job celebrating all that woman can do. The women never appear frail, weak, and needy. The women are stoic, kind, and generous. The women are self-sufficient, creative, and talented. The women are educated. Their only real character flaw is that they trust men implicitly and refuse to confront them despite their concerns.

If you are looking for a sweet romance with a twist a mystery and an element of surprise. If you crave a book that manages to make you feel good and even empowers you, this page-turner, The Ladies of Missalonghi, is a nice way to spend a pleasant afternoon reading under a tree or at the beach.

High Pressure Fails

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

As he steps from the shadows, his menacing eyes make me certain that I must react swiftly and fiercely. I scream with all my might, but nothing but silence fills the air around me. No matter how hard I try to emit a loud, shrill warning, only smoke from my hot breath floats around me in the cool night. I feel my heart start racing as my adrenaline courses through my veins. I begin to panic. Tears fill and sting my eyes. My vision blurs as my attempts to scream fail over and over.

I find myself face to face with the nameless assailant. I ball my fists and lift my arm, winding-up like I learned from all those Saturday mornings watching Bugs Bunny. I let my arm go full force hoping for a well-placed powerful punch to the bad guy’s nose. My blow is nothing more than a tap. My arm flops down beside me. I can barely lift the weight of it. Despite repeated attempts to defend myself, my impotence persists. Everything goes black.

I awake feeling defeated and frustrated and searching for my arm. Seriously, where is my arm? I had two when I went to bed and now I only have one! As I thrash around, I discover the numb limb hiding under my pillow where I had slept upon it all night rendering it dead, useless. Drenched in sweat and overcome with the feeling of pins and needles as blood drains back into my arm, it takes a moment for me to realize that I just experienced my recurring dream.

Reflecting on these frequent dreams caused me to wonder: Why am I so incompetent in high-pressure situations?

My lack of skill in times that require quick reflexes, precision, and strength go beyond my dreams. I fail in real life too. Too many times I have attempted to react in a split second. I want to be that mom who can capture the fleeting precious moments of life on film. I want to be the neighbor who can swoop in and save the day in any emergency. I want to be athletic and nimble, wowing younger folks with my abilities in any sports arena.

Unfortunately, my reflexes and my senses are dulling with age. I rarely walk-up the steps without tripping. I must choke two times a day on food, or worse, my own saliva. I mean nose running, tears streaming, full-on choking. Forget ever trying to thread a needle or read the directions on any package. Nothing works like it used to, and I can’t adjust enough to compensate for my ever-increasing shortcomings.

Land-Line Fails

Recently, on my street, there was a road rage incident that was escalating into violence. The two old men involved stopped their trucks in the middle of our quiet side street. Parked side by side they began shouting at each other from rolled down windows. Not satisfied with the effect his loudly uttered string of profanities, the guy closest to me started rifling around in his vehicle, I assume, to find a weapon. 

My kneejerk reaction upon witnessing this, as I peeked like a coward from behind my kitchen window curtains, was to grab the house phone from its cradle on the wall and dial 911. I pressed the phone to my ear waiting for the operator to answer as I watched the old guy get out of his truck ready for fisticuffs (I guess he didn’t find that weapon).

As my heart raced with fear, I realized that no sound came from the phone. I glanced at the phone and saw I had dialed 911. I pressed it to my ear again, irritated at the inefficiency of the “emergency” responders. Still no answer, or even a ring. I looked again at my phone only to realize that I had not pressed send. Oops. By the time I calmed enough to find the send button, the men had departed, peeling away, diverging at the stop sign, fuming, but alive.

Digital Camera Fails

My daughter’s track meets are one of my favorite places to be. I love to record her races and sometimes time her. I pull out my Canon EOS digital camera and pop on the zoom lens ready for her race to begin. As soon as the gun cracks, I bring it to my eye and find her on the track. Then, I press the shoot button. This ends in a variety of ways.

1. I forgot to on turn the camera. 
2. I set it in a mode that will not accurately photograph the action. 
3. The bill of the special baseball cap I purchased to show my support of our home team gets in the way, blocking the camera, making it impossible for me to look through the eye hole. 
4. By the time I figure all this out, she is directly in front of me. My zoom lens can’t find her at the close range.

iPhone Fails

Frustrated with the Canon, I switch to my iPhone camera. Wanting to document the entire race, I prepare to video. I switch my camera mode to video and I await the beginning of the race. The gun shoots, I hit record, and the runners turn the bend. It is then I realize she is not in that heat of the race. At this time several things happen. 

1. By the time she runs, I've run out of space on my phone. 
2. After deleting the videos of girls who are not my daughter, I am ready for her next race. The gun goes off. I attempt to press record, but my screen has gone to sleep. 
3. I wake the phone, press record, and capture her in the last stretch, crossing the finish line. I press stop and cheer for her and for me. 
4. I play my video only to discover it is of my feet as I cheer for her at the end of the race. 

Or

4. I discover my finger was over the lens so no actual race was recorded just a lengthy close-up of my fingerprint.

Stopwatch Fails

As you can imagine, timing races with the stopwatch on my phone goes about the same. I think all but once I have never actually successfully timed her race accurately.

Selfie Fails

Selfies are another reflex oriented activity that I rarely achieve. First, angling the phone so that I get everything and everyone in the shot is a magic trick I have never learned. Of course, this has to be accomplished while getting an angle where I do not look like, well, look like I look. Bags under eyes, loose jowls, and wrinkles do not flatter especially in a selfie. Nevertheless, once I finally get the perfect shot lined up I push the button and …I turn off my phone…. EVERY TIME!

Kayak Fails

When kayaking with my daughters, inevitably, one of them has to pee and it is always an "emergency." I race toward shore locating a place that looks like it is accessible and private. We make it shore in the nick of time only to encounter a series of fails. 

1. The land is soft mud so we sink-into our knees as we try to get behind a tree to pee. 
2. Someone falls, cuts herself, and is bleeding significantly. 
3. I get them safely back into their boats only to fall out of my boat and into the cold water wearing my only dry clothes. 
4. From the lake, as I try to right myself and wrangle my boat, I watch helplessly as it fills with water. I watch it slowly begin to sink along with my hopes of having a fun and relaxing day on the water.

Truth be told, I cannot think of a single high-pressure situation that has not been a series of fails. Fortunately, I have managed to keep myself and my family alive. If I ever do find myself face to face with that assailant from my dreams, I hope my adrenaline gives me the power to knock him out cold. Maybe I’ll even be able to video the attack and take a selfie with him before I call 911 to have him arrested. Or not.

"I Wish it Would Rain” Said No One in Western PA, Ever

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Two weeks ago I scraped, washed, and swept my front porch steps and rails in preparation to give them a much needed fresh coat of paint. Much like spring cleaning the house, I like to get the exterior looking bright and shiny for upcoming warm days and nights ahead. All I needed to do was wait for two dry days so the concrete and wood could dry enough for painting. 

I’m still waiting.

Rain and storms have been in the forecast for weeks and there is no break in sight. Sure, we see the sun for moments at a time in the day. Just long enough to heat up the volatile atmosphere to create severe thunderstorms and torrential downpours. My dogs are in a permanent state of fear. 

I think we see less sun in the warm months than the cold ones. I had to unpack the vitamin D pills I stashed away for next winter. You’d think I would have learned that by now. I guess I am forever hopeful that this year we will have more sunny days.

Last year I didn’t even bother to paint the porches. There was never a fine enough day to clean them off before the humid Summer days arrived ensuring that any paint I applied would never dry no matter how long the rain might hold off.

Brian Brettschneider

Since moving here, I've found myself boasting, “Western PA has more rainy days than Seattle.” That, is in fact, not true. But, we are a close second. The landscape of the Laurel Highlands helps to keep the moisture locked in for most of the year. Of course, I am devising this from that one geography course I took in college where we discussed the leeward and wayward sides of mountain ranges and how one side is arid and one side is wet. We are on the wet side, I assume.

No matter the reason for our seemingly constant state of dampness, the lack of sun can be extremely depressing. It's warm enough to get my kayak out on the plentiful waters, but I fear while I am peacefully floating an hour away from my car in the middle of a lake, a massive thunderstorm will open up with sheets of rain and gusty winds causing me to simultaneously sink and capsize. If that doesn’t finish me off, I will be struck repeatedly by lightning and cooked like a marshmallow held too close to the campfire flame, black and crispy but not nearly as tasty.

Planning any outdoor events around here is a crap shoot. The weather folks are not helpful either. They predict calm winds and sunny skies. Convinced, you plan an elaborate outdoor party not bothering to erect canopies because the weather gal promised fair skies. You wake the day of the party confident you made the right choice until you hear the unmistakable sound of the dog whimpering in fear and rain pelting the roof. Seriously?

During my short stint in "sunny" California, I learned a few things. First of all, "sunny" California is really foggy and cool much of the year, at least where I lived. Second, I learned to appreciate rain. A dearth of rain is great for awhile, then it kind of sucks. 

In drought-stricken regions, citizens are mandated to save water. Creative ways to save water are plentiful. Flush only when poo is involved. Turn off the water when you brush teeth and wash dishes. Take ridiculously short showers. Don’t water your lawn. Your car looking a little dull and dusty, tough! Water conservation is taught alongside potty training. Worse, strangers feel compelled to scold and report you if you dare to squeeze an extra drop of water onto your vegetable garden.

California caused me to miss green grass, the beauty of a thunderstorm, brimming rivers and lakes, the clean fresh smell after a brief shower, and driving amongst people who did not fear death at the slightest drizzle. It’s mind boggling how Californian residents, literally, cannot drive in the rain.

Yes, California has way more positives than negatives in the weather and beauty categories, but rain is essential. Without rain, so much is lost. I decided to take a moment, as I hunkered down in a riverside park shelter protected from the imminent rain, to ponder why I should be grateful for rain, the infinite, unrelenting, soaking, saturating, and constant rain.

1. The Color Green- Out west green is not a shade you see blanketing the earth. The mountains are brown, yards are brown, the sand is brown. Brown reminds me of death. Green is cheerful and lively.

2. Rivers and Lakes-The lakes and rivers out west are often dry, just big mud puddles. Here, our rivers and lakes flow, riffle, and lap. Though the levels fluctuate, I can always get my kayak to float or find a place to cast my fishing rod.

3. Fewer Fire Warnings-Though we do occasionally dry-out enough to cause some concern for brush and forest fires, they are rare. When fires pop-up, they are usually doused quickly with the abundant water we have available.

4. Self-Care-The only time my toilets aren’t flushed is when my inconsiderate children “forget” to activate that little silver handle attached to the toilet tank. I do encourage turning the water off when brushing teeth, but we take as many showers as we want. Sometimes they last ten minutes or more.

5. Ground Stability-This used to be a sure thing. Landslides are way more common on the hillsides of California due to the lack of vegetation brought on by droughts and fires. However, the excess of rain we have been experiencing here has caused over saturation of our hillsides. Houses and roads have been falling away. Cracks and craters are plaguing our roads. Houses along creeks and rivers are flooding regularly. We have been subjected to floods that occur only “once every 50 years” happening multiple times annually. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing.

6. Enjoying Thunderstorms-Regardless of what my dogs think, I love a good thunderstorm. The smells, the sounds, the cooling wind in the middle of an oppressively hot day, the flashes of light as diverse as fireworks, its all so majestic and magical.

7. Cleans the Community- A good rain washes away the pollen and dust that collect on the cars, roads and every other surface. A hard rain washes away the things man leaves on the ground, the trash and other unmentionable filth that inconsiderate gross people fell the need to dispose of on paved surfaces all over town.

8. Rainbows- Without rain, there aren’t rainbows. Rainbows are awesome

The water that rain gifts us is needed for life. Life is better with rain. Rain makes living more colorful, healthier, easier, prettier, and sometimes moldier. 

I know I have a choice. I can pack my bags and my kids bags and my husbands bags (because let’s face it they aren’t gonna do it) and move to some place drier and sunnier. Or, I could go to Seattle so at least my soggy life would be a hipper life. Unfortunately, those places come with a higher price tag, more traffic, more pollution, and overpopulation. 

I like my lush green hillsides and clean flowing rivers. Yes, I am tired of my backyard turning into a marsh, but the Mallard ducks who, along with the annual spring rains, move into the neighborhood each year are happy to splash and frolic, and maybe even find a small fish, in my lawn pond. So, for now, I’ll stick around. I’ll just replenish my vitamin D pill supply and put on my waders to mow the grass.

As far as my shabby looking porch goes, I guess it will have to wait and until the weather cooperates. So, it will never get done. I can rest easy though. Nobody can see its sad state through the constant, torrential downpours.

Temptations: How I Wish it Would Rain

Resiliency: Life Must Go On

By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

Nothing is impossible I have found

For when my chin is on the ground

I pick myself up, dust myself off

Start all over again

Don't lose your confidence if you slip

Be grateful for a pleasant trip

And pick yourself up, dust yourself off

Start all over again.

Frank Sinatra~Pick Yourself Up 

When, despite being the victim of a surprise dog attack; bleeding profusely from the wound on her hand; suffering the pain of the bite plus the residual bruising, my daughtered proclaimed that she still loved and trusted dogs, I knew I was witnessing something profound. This child had the gifts of resiliency and forgiveness. She embodied the mantra, life must go on. 

Resiliency is a quality I both admire and envy. It is surprising how many folks lack the ability to pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and start all over again.

What both my girls seem to innately know and understand took me decades to embrace. I spent many years not forgiving and forgetting. This was not directed at others, just myself. I held onto every stupid, thoughtless, and embarrassing thing I ever did. It ate me up. 

Recently, I learned to stop beating myself up for all those things I regretted and just move on. I decided to learn from my mistakes, laugh at my humanness, and be happy with who I am. I truly believe watching my girls go through life with more wisdom than I ever had, woke me. (See how I used the term "woke?" I am so cool.)

My girls began their lives needing to be resilient. If they faltered in their ability to overcome the most of traumatic loss right at the start, moving on to have happy and fulfilling lives would have been extremely tough. 

So many fail to acknowledge or are unable comprehend that infants experience irrevocable grief when they are separated from their birth mother and placed into the loving arms of their forever family. Healing that initial, deep wound becomes a lifelong process.

I wonder, after enduring that immense break in trust, does every bump in the road of their lifelong journey seem smaller? Only they will ever truly know. Though, probably not until they are grown and have the gift of hindsight.

No matter, I marvel at the strength and fortitude of my girls to get over the obstacles, fears, and failures that life throws at them as much as I marvel at some of the things they struggle with. Seriously some pretty weird stuff sets them off.

When Maddie was little, she feared new shoes. Seriously, that girl had to be pinned down by another adult while I jammed a new shoe on her foot as she thrashed, wailed, and screamed bloody murder. The instant the first shoe was on her tiny foot, she calmed enough to admire it. The second shoe went on with no struggle. That is resiliency in its most basic form.

Now, she likes shoes. She saves all her stinky running shoes, placing them back in their boxes once worn to shreds, and stacks them lovingly, on a basement shelf. She visits her shoe shrine to reminisce about the races she ran, won, and lost in each pair. She's weird.

Makena freaks out every time I suggest we watch a new movie. She moans, groans, whines, and resists. I silence her with empty threats or promises of candy. She plops down restless on the couch waiting for her opening to flee. After fifteen minutes she is entranced. Afterward, she proclaims it is her new favorite movie and she knew she would love it. She goes on to watch it countless times memorizing the script and music

So many things happen, big and small, in a week that require one to be resilient. For example, dealing with a child's quirks and random meltdowns for strange reasons. Those who lack the ability to tap into just a little bit of flexibility must truly struggle with happiness and sanity. We can't function holding onto grudges or constantly questioning our decisions or the actions of others. We must forgive and forget.

My girls have modeled resilience in so many ways. They always find a way to make lemonade from lemons and other cliches.

1. I've watched them navigate heartache whether it's young love gone wrong or friendships gone awry. My girls showed me how to heal a heart with grace even though I really wanted to sock the heartbreaking little turds in the nose.

2. I've watched them struggle through problems at school with teachers that were not supportive or classes that were challenging. They fought back with open dialogues, studying more, and asking for help.

3. I've watched them deal with disappointment when they were told no and did not get everything they wanted. Though, I admit they are spoiled rotten and this happens less than it should.

4. I've watched them lose or fail despite putting forth every effort. They allowed themselves to hurt and then set new goals. This helps me to move past the self-pity I feel when my writing has been rejected.

5. I've watched them be pushed to do something that made them scared, uncomfortable, and nervous. This could be as simple as ordering their own food at a restaurant, scheduling their own haircut appointments, going to the store alone, or as complicated as joining track, giving a speech, getting a job. With each first, they get a bit less nervous as their successes stack-up. They are overcoming more fears more quickly. I have to do less and less for them and that is a win, win.

6. I've watched them deal with death growing from not understanding the permanency of loss, to being afraid of falling into an open casket, to comforting others in their grief, to reconciling their own feelings when a loved one dies. Their empathy has evolved beautifully. Makena now engages me in detailed and disturbing dialogues on my death and hers. She really wants me to go first.

7. I've watched them overcome fears of trauma and blood. Maddie no longer runs and hides in the shower with fingers in her ears trembling in fear when she sees a bloody cut. Now she wants to be a doctor. Makena did not even cry when that dog mistook her hand for a treat. She couldn't stop examining her wound while I cringed and ran the other way.

8. I've watched them not even blink when their parents bombard them with sarcastic remarks about every single thing. They have learned to dish out the sarcasm and use witty retorts. I'm so proud

Maybe their resilience comes from necessity. Maybe it comes from experience. Maybe they were born with it. Maybe they are faking it. No matter, I know two girls, one who appreciates a cute shoe and one who is expanding her cinematic tastes beyond High School Musical. It's all good.

Young Love is Old Again

By Elizabeth Redhead Kriston

In sixth grade, I asked the cutest boy in school to go steady. He said yes! The next two weeks were exhilarating, exhausting, and excruciating. My first foray into love was a learning experience.

I mention this because, after all these years, I was certain that girls have come a long way in the area of young love. I felt feminism had become the norm and that girls today take control of their love lives, but it seems we have taken a step back in time.

Like many other kids my age, my models on how to have a good relationship were not the best. My mother, a fiercely strong, self-sufficient, and intelligent woman, chose to remain in a marriage that was not healthy for her or her girls. Even she didn't fully understand why. At the time, divorce did not seem like an option based on her family's beliefs and her religious beliefs. In fact, divorce was not an option until divorce became the only option.

Needless to say,  I grew up watching and living in an unhealthy relationship. My father was not a great role model for what a woman should look for in a mate. My uncles were prominent in my life, but at the time, they were a bunch of hippies who were more interested in free love than true love. 

At a very young age, I knew that girls were supposed to want to have boyfriends. Even now I catch myself asking preschool girls if they have boyfriends. How weird is that? I make myself cringe when those words spill from my lips. Girls are groomed from the earliest of years to feel like they will only be whole if they have a man in their lives. I was not immune from this expectation.

Aside from the expectations assigned to my sex, I really did have a crush on that sixth-grade boy. He was cute, sweet, and a bit of a mystery. He did not attend our school regularly. He came and went like the wind. I never knew if he would be enrolled in our small Catholic school until the year began. It was always a treat to find him on the playground on the first day of school. I remember him being a bit of an introvert despite his immense popularity.

I remember that he loved the Beatles. I would give up my lunch hour on the playground to sit with him and two other friends inside at the audio table with our teal plastic headphones plugged into the jacks as he inserted the cassette tapes of Beatles music into the player attached to the vinyl table. He lost himself in the music, and I lost myself in his beautiful face.

One day in the hallway as we were changing classes, with my heart racing and my palms sweating, I ran up to him and stared into his grey-blue eyes as I mustered up the courage to blurt out, "Do you want to go out with me." This was code for "go steady", be exclusive, be boyfriend and girlfriend. Much to my surprise, he said, "Yes." Before he could "pin" me or slip his letter jacket on me, we ran away in different directions. This was no textbook Happy Days moment.

I was so proud of myself and, quite frankly, I still am. I was not a popular girl. I was not the prettiest or smartest girl. I was not an athlete or an artist. I was just a regular plain and boring kid in sixth grade. My courage and brazenness were inexplicable. Nevertheless, I did it. I asked the most desired boy out, and he said yes!

This boy and I were a couple for exactly two weeks. During this time, we never once looked at or spoke to one another. I was terrified. I had no idea what to do next. I willed him to call me or approach me, but he never did. What did happen was the biggest controversy any sixth-grade class had ever encountered.

Every day, before school and during our one hour recess on the asphalt playground/parking lot of our small school, the girls and boys would circle-up to debate over the relationship between the nothing girl and the amazing boy. It was astounding to know that these people, who rarely gave me a second thought, could spend all their free time at school talking about me and my beloved. 

Of course, I was never included in the great debates. Rather, I was relegated to the outskirts where I stood alone pining for my boyfriend's attention and wondering why these people cared so much about my dating status. They gesticulated, laughed, guffawed, murmured, and shouted all in the name of the romance that never was.

Two weeks after my proposal and his acceptance, the pressure got to him. As I sat at Silent Reading Time listening to more conspiratorial whispers at my expense, I felt the tap of rejection on my shoulder. Not wanting to respond to the tap, I remained hunched over my Judy Blume novel pretending not to notice. Moments later, a note, written on blue-lined notebook paper, neatly folded into a triangle, was thrust over my shoulder and into my face. Feeling doomed, I reluctantly grasped the note. With sixty eyes fixated on me and boring into my fragile soul, carefully reading my movements, my breath, and  my expression, I read the words hastily written by my beau, "I want to break-up with you."

My emotions were mixed with relief and sadness. I was glad to be done with all of the drama and controversy, but I was really sad that the boy of my dreams tossed me to the curb. Our love had been brief and oddly silent. We were paralyzed by our emotions, unable to connect beyond just going steady. Though it was the most inactive and wordless relationship I'd ever had, it was the most exhilarating one of my youth.

Now that my girls are at the age where they might find young love, I encourage them to be courageous and ask boys out. I tell them not to wait for a boy to make the first move. I instill them with my feminist beliefs and support them to be strong and true to themselves.

They are not on board with my advice. My older daughter scoffs when I suggest that she ask boys out. She insists that girls don't do that. REALLY!! She even went so far as to say that girls are only allowed to ask boys out to the Sadie Hawkins Dance. Upon hearing this I felt myself reeling as I searched for calender certain I had been transported back to the 1950's.

How is it possible that in 2018 a girl, my daughter, can truly believe that girls don't ask boys out? 

Had all my foremothers' work to fight for rights and equality been for not? Had bras been burned in vain? Where has free love gone? Do young women truly believe that boys should take the lead in all matters of the heart? Is this everywhere or just in small-town America? I can't imagine some girl in NYC wakes up in the morning hoping a boy will ask her out because she can't ask him out. Or, maybe it is more prevalent than I realize.

My younger daughter has no interest in dating. I am good with that. My older one has given dating a try a few times and discovered that for now, she prefers the company of her friends. She wants to keep her academics and athletics as her priority not allowing a mediocre boy to interfere with her passions. 

I am proud that my girls do not feel compelled to have boyfriends. After my brief relationship with that boy in sixth grade, I longed to have a boyfriend, a first kiss. Watching my sister fall in love made it harder. Not to mention my obsession with soap operas and the ridiculous and unrealistic love stories drilled into my brain day after day week after week. The magazines I subscribed to and the books I read fed into my romanticized expectations for young love.

All of that resulted in me giving-in and lowering my standards. I dated boys who I really didn't like just because they liked me. I got in too deep for too long in unhealthy relationships for years back to back to back. 

I want my girls to date boys for the right reasons. I'm glad they aren't in a rush. I'm glad they have a good role model in my relationship with my husband. I'm glad they see my mother and sister flourishing as single women. I'm glad they saw my in-laws married until death they did part. I'm glad they don't watch soap operas or read trashy magazines. I'm glad they put themselves first. 

I just wish they knew it's okay to ask a boy out!