In case that’s floated right past you, the Democratic candidate for president is a woman.
I know, right? Who cares? Besides: Early on, she wasn’t even my candidate, but old age has rendered me pragmatic, and now she is. She, of the two candidates with the greater likelihood of winning the race, most closely aligns with my vision for my country.
It may not be your vision. So be it. I’m not here to try to convince you.
Early on in each of Clinton’s campaigns, there were statements (that special place in hell thing) made by her supporters that questioned the feminist bonafides of any one who doesn’t support the female candidate. While I understand — a little — where that sentiment comes from, I do not support it, nor do I support a candidate based on her gender.
See what I did there?
But as this godforsaken campaign has wheezed itself into multiple corners, died, and then risen again like a zombie, I find myself entertaining the notion that in my lifetime we just may have a woman president who has survived the most bruising campaign imaginable, and stayed standing — a woman, like me — well, not exactly like me, but you get where I’m going, don’t you?
Only in the last few days have I started thinking about what that means, at least for me. In my lifetime, women were often excluded from jury duty because she was needed at home. The Equal Pay Act was passed when I was 4. We still have a gender pay gap. When I was small, members of my gender could not get a bank loan or own a credit card.
So just for a moment, just for today, I’m going to allow myself to feel a little bit hopeful. I know. Silly, right? But I’m starting to feel it.