The Vagina Curse

These days I’m wondering if my dad is a psychic. As I get older it seems that he had all the right answers. It could just be that he’s already seen the years that I am living. It has been said that experience is the best teacher. Maybe his knowledge was just a handbook for me to follow while encountering life’s lessons.

From a very young age I realized that the color of my skin would work against me. It wasn’t anything to be sad about. It was just a fact of life. You’re black so that means that everything will be a little harder than it has to be.  The color of my skin meant that I would constantly have to prove myself to be just as good as a human being with less melanin. So I’ve always been prepared for the struggle to overcome color prejudices. Little did I know there was one that is just is just as difficult to change.

The struggle of being a woman is a new encounter for me. You see, gender was never a huge focus in my household. If you were black little else mattered. I was raised to be smart and independent simply because depending on others was no no. My parents told me that a partner was a possibility and not a luxury and that in order to be prepared for life I had to be able to take of myself in all aspects. Go to school. Get a good job. Be able to cut grass and do minor repairs on cars. I was never steered away from certain tasks because I was a female. I was taught that I could do anything that anyone else could do. I was a tomboy most of my life. I preferred ninja turtles over barbies. You would only catch me in a dress for church. I even remember my grandmother being concerned at one point that I would grow up to be a lesbian because I had little interest in anything that was deemed feminine (including crushes on boys). My parents never made a big deal about my gender. Being a girl didn’t mean that I had to like pink and dolls or not play in mud. I was allowed to just be.

Fast forward to 2013. We have Hillary Clinton, Condoleeza Rice, Oprah Winfrey, Beyonce, and so many other outstanding and powerful women who are making significant contributions to all walks of society yet I am still surrounded by people who consider women as the lesser gender. Apparently I was born with a limiting organ called a vagina. My vagina means that I should inherently let emotions dictate how I live my life. My vagina means that I should enjoy cooking, cleaning, and birthing babies. It means that I should save myself for the man I commit to but be well versed in the latest erotic fads. My vagina means that I should be comfortable dancing in 6 inch heels and skirts that barely cover my ample thighs for hours. It means that I shouldn’t use foul language or fight. That fidelity should be a given on my end but not expected from my partner. I should be forgiving of men but not take any abuse. It means that I should sit at home at night wondering when this one man will make up his mind to make me his queen and begin to build our kingdom. It means that I exist only to be in a man’s shadow.

It’s disheartening to say the least that I am still reduced to a smaller role simply because of my genitals. The part I play in the relationship dynamic is still one that reduces me to a supporting actor instead of the co-star. I am aware that relationships are team efforts but I don’t want to dim my star in an effort for someone else to shine. I am a thinker. I function more off of logic than feelings. I like to work and do things for myself. I will not become a shell of me because I was born with the lock instead of the key.

I am grateful to my parents for leaving out the importance of gender in my life lessons. It makes it that much easier to disregard every attempt to justify the need for double standards.