Essential Estrogen

I remember holding his hand, rough and strong, as we left Sunday services that morning. I always held his hand because I always wanted to be close enough to hear everything he had to say... not to mention everything that was said to him.

The early afternoon was sweet with rain and ripening honeysuckle vines when we passed through the heavy double-doors. I stopped to let my lungs enjoy the early summer banquet and he stopped too. We both took long, deep breaths and then exchanged big grins like a secret.

We only had a moment before other members of the congregation began to spill out onto the front sidewalk and into the gardens. Most of the women hurried off down the road or hopped into vehicles. Sunday lunch wouldn't cook itself. Some of the adolescent boys walked a few steps behind their fathers, but most pushed and poked at each other before running around the south side of the building.

This morning the men, most of them elders and deacons, were in a huff. The pastor had given his intent to leave our congregation which left us in need of a pastor. Their eyes shifted as they spoke, no one willing to say exactly what he felt in his heart about the situation... at least not until the unofficial spokesmen said their piece. Mr. Hinkle, the town postmaster pulled on his mustache as he began to speak. He was followed by a banker, a police officer and the man who owned the feed store.

I wasn't really listening to what they had to say. Every so often one of the men would steal a glance at me. It was uncomfortable and unnerving. I gripped his hand a little tighter and inched closer to his leg.

Someone suggested the elders should take turns giving the sermons until a new pastor could be found and soon I was forgotten as the men jockeyed for position in the 'holier than thou' parade. Names were being placed onto a list which one of men copied onto the back of his church program. After a few minutes it seemed as if the men had hit a wall and I thought they might need some help.

"I bet the Widow Woman Barlow would give a fine sermon," I said.

I swear, you could have sneezed and knocked the lot of them over like dominoes. They just stood and stared. A bird flew over us and screamed but no one turned to watch it fly away or to see what had it upset. From the way they were staring at me, I began to wonder if I'd done something to screw up the natural order of the universe and cause all the birds to scream and fly away.

"Young lady," a grey-haired man with a full beard began, "this is a conversation and decision for the men in this church. I'd strongly suggest you learn to keep your place."

I'm pretty sure the man had more to say. At least his mouth opened as if there were more words on their way up. They didn't make it and I was pulled over in front of my father as his voice rolled like thunder around us.

"Now see here!" my father began. "I understand most of you don't allow your sons, much less your daughters to partake in our discussions. Having met some of your sons I do understand your decision. You would do well to remember that this is my daughter and she adds importance to everything she does."

There was more, but I don't remember it exactly. I know from the looks on the mens faces and the redness of their cheeks that my father gave them something which rubbed them the wrong way. The scary part was that, although my father was defending me and my right to be in the group at his side, I couldn't tell anything from his expression.

Once he had his say, Dad spun me around and up onto his side. He was walking fast and kept his head down. I just knew I was going to GET IT when we got home. My stomach began to hurt and I wanted to cry.

When we got to the pickup, Dad took me around and stood me on the open tailgate so we could look at each other eye-to-eye.

"If there is one thing I want you to always remember it is that you never let anyone tell you to sit down and shut up," he told me. "Don't ever bite your tongue because you think somebody else thinks you should."

This blogswarm is in support of the rights of women to participate fully in all aspects of our society without fear of harassment, intimidation, sexual harassment, online stalking, slander, predation or violence of any type.

My contribution to the effort is to share the true story of my father and how he let me know in no uncertain terms that I am important and my voice is important. In addition to blogging in the blogswarm today, I encourage everyone to speak with someone and let that someone know just how important he/she is. You could very well say something that person will carry throughout his/her life.

By the way, Widow Woman Barlow did give a fine sermon that summer.