My friend Ellen has pointed out that her daughter is a budding feminist theologian. I say, you practice what you preach - or in this case, are preached to. And as in her house, we're feminists. And Helen is no exception.
Friday, Helen and I attended our parent-child class. Every class ends with a puppet play performed by either the lead or assistant teacher. The same story is told for three weeks, and then a new story is told.
In case you wondered whether a 3 year old could pay attention to a puppet show, they can. The kids sit mesmerized by the action. Helen started class by requesting a puppet show from two weeks ago be repeated. I actually didn't even clue into what she was requesting (though the teacher did) until it came time for the puppet show and Helen made her request again.
She didn't get the one she wanted (the teacher is not a jukebox, after all), but she did listen intently as always. The story was a version of Strega Nona, and the last line was "and whoever wanted to return home, had to eat his way home" to which Helen shouted "HER!". Because in Helen's world, the gender neutral pronoun is "she" not "he" and she's not afraid to correct people.
That's my gal!
Elaine
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