Dear girls,
I understand that visiting the cemetery on Tuesday wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. You were hungry (my bad for not stopping at Tim Hortons first), anxious about missing classes, and irritated by the long wait. I appreciate your patience and willingness to come along, even if it wasn’t your idea of a fun morning.
I realize that the historical importance of voting might not resonate with you yet. To be honest, I sometimes struggle to grasp it myself. Though I recognize it’s a privilege not afforded to everyone worldwide, there are moments when I take it for granted. So I can see why visiting a gravestone wasn’t high on your priority list.
However, I believe that one day, you’ll find greater meaning in it.
As you grow older, travel, and meet diverse people, you’ll begin to understand the lessons you’ve learned in school about equality and justice. You’ll witness firsthand the disparities that exist — whether it’s the treatment of people of color, the struggles of the LGBTQ community, or the challenges faced by individuals with disabilities. These injustices may shock and sadden you.
Your dad and I are working to give you a broader perspective on these issues — through volunteering at shelters, participating in Pride parades, and discussing race whenever we can. I didn’t grasp these concepts until later in life, and I hope to equip you with a better understanding from the start. You may roll your eyes at all this now (and let’s be honest, that’s definitely going to happen!), but I hope you’ll look back with understanding of why it mattered so much to me.
So why did I bring you along to vote and to visit Susan B. Anthony’s grave on election day? You sighed and complained, but I did it because I want you to recognize that, as women, you will face challenges simply because of your gender. Like every woman I know, you may encounter harassment, belittlement, or, at the very least, underestimation.
When these moments arise, I want you to remember that day. I want you to recall how you asked to wear a pantsuit in honor of Hillary Clinton and your excitement over finding blazers at Goodwill (pantsuits for the under-12 crowd are hard to come by!). I want you to remember the thrill of potentially witnessing a woman become president.
I hope you’ll cherish the camaraderie we felt with other women in their pantsuits at the polling place, members of a not-so-secret sisterhood. I want you to remember the woman who joyfully ran past us in line, calling out for high fives, and how we all laughed and joined in. Picture that stunning autumn day, the vivid red leaves, and the electric atmosphere. (And yes, I bet you’ll remember the unusual name, Mary Smyles Butts, on one of the headstones — it made me chuckle too!)
I want you to carry with you the memory of how we let a woman using a walker go ahead of us, despite waiting our turn, because that’s what women do — we uplift each other. Remember the woman ahead of us who stood in line for over an hour, holding a bouquet of white flowers, and when she reached Susan’s grave, she shared the blooms with those around her, including you and me.
I hope you can still hear us whispering excitedly as we walked back down the cobblestone path, asking each other, “Do you really think she can do it?” (And just to be clear, our support for Secretary Clinton wasn’t solely because she’s a woman; we had our reasons. But the prospect of a female president is undeniably thrilling.) The fact that a woman could get this close to the presidency is thanks to trailblazers like Susan B. Anthony, and we owe her immense gratitude for the hope she has given us.
In simple terms, I took you to the cemetery to honor the women who paved the way for you. I wanted you to gain insight into our past, which I hope will enrich your understanding of the future.
More importantly, I wanted to instill in you a sense of belief — not just in a potential Hillary Clinton presidency, but in yourselves as women. I want you to remember that when you face doubt simply due to your gender, or when someone belittles you for being female — even if it’s from the highest office in the land — you’ll recall that long line of women sharing high-fives, flowers, and support to honor a woman who sacrificed so much for our voices to be heard.
Even though Hillary didn’t win, her journey is a remarkable achievement. If she can come this far, then you, my dear daughters, can accomplish anything you set your minds to. That’s a celebration worth waiting in line for, no matter the election outcome.
Yes, I was disheartened by the election results. I’m worried about our country, and I wish you lived in a world where a woman had already claimed the presidency. But we’ve witnessed the strength of women on election day and beyond. Susan and Hillary persevered, and so will we. If not this year, then next time. Together, we’ll continue to push for change.
I brought you to the cemetery so you will always remember that one woman can change the world. Her name is Susan. Her name is Hillary. And her name is yours too.
With all my love,
Mom
In summary, this heartfelt letter recounts a mother’s journey with her daughters to honor Susan B. Anthony at her grave. Through this experience, she hopes to impart valuable lessons about women’s rights, resilience, and the importance of supporting one another as they navigate their futures. The visit serves as a reminder of the struggles women have faced and the progress made, encouraging her daughters to believe in themselves and their potential.