Ramona the Feminist

Saturday, March 27, 2021


Today is a very sad day for me, as Beverly Cleary, whose books helped make me a lifelong bibliophile, has passed away at the age of 104.

Like my friend Carolyn, I found Beverly Cleary's Ramona books utterly relatable. I was a younger sister, and my sister would often tease me and called me a "pest" in the same way Beezus would tease Ramona. It bothered me at the time, but now that I have the perspective of age, I realize now how large a compliment it was, even though she didn't mean it that way.

Ramona was unapologetically RAMONA, and that is a splendid thing to be, indeed. As Carolyn notes, she took up space in the world when girls and women were expected to shrink their true selves to accommodate the egos of men and societal norms. Not Ramona, who had a very large heart and cared for others, while simultaneously trying to find her worth in the world. She knew she had value, but the circumstances of her age, gender, birth order, and social norms combined to label her Ramona-ness as something to be criticized, suppressed, devalued.

Ramona the Pest was published in 1968, when I was three years old. The expectations for girls were evolving, but the toxic social norm of deferring to boys and men because girls were "less than" was in full force, and continues to this day, to a somewhat lesser degree.

For me, the lesson of Ramona was that it was right to become frustrated and upset when I was being disrespected based on my gender, my age, and the expectations of others. As I grew, I lost that lesson for a long time, and trying to twist myself into something I wasn't for the comfort and benefit of others made me deeply angry and resentful. But Ramona stayed with me, quietly reminding me that my feelings were valid and worthy of consideration and I should not sacrifice my well-being in service to the patriarchy. The result? Now that I'm older, I still rage against the machine but I am more content in my efforts, knowing the goal of egalitarianism is not an aberration but a desire for society to be its best self, without marginalization and suppression of the other. My goal is morally defensible, and utterly correct.

The real feminist in this story is Beverly Cleary. And she expressed the essence of feminism - the right to be who you will and make the choices that define you - through Ramona. Ramona the Pest, Ramona the Brash, Ramona the Egalitarian, Ramona the Brave, Ramona the Feminist.

Thank you, Beverly Cleary, for writing stories about ordinary kids with ordinary problems, who nevertheless dream of greatness. Thank you for influencing generations of girls in a positive way, giving them permission to be who they are, and to view themselves through the lens of self-determination. You will be missed in this world, but Ramona - and all your characters - will live on.



Achievement unlocked: Creating lifelong readers.


Beware the Ides of March

Monday, March 15, 2021

 

Today has been kind of a strange day. 

As many of you know, today is the birthday of my twin children, Moe and the Smart Son. Since we lost Moe to suicide in 2013, this day has been a tough one for me, and given how tough her death anniversary was for me in 2020, I really had no reason to anticipate this day would be anything other than a bloody train wreck. 

But it isn't. The first thing I thought of when I woke up was the fact that it was the Smart Son's birthday and I needed to transfer some birthday bucks to his PayPal account. Not the twins' birthday, just the birth of my surviving child. In fact, I didn't even think of Moe's birthday until Sister Stacey sent me a text early this morning letting me know she was thinking about me, and it still took me a second to realize what in the Sam Hill she was talking about. 

I'm not sure how I feel about this. 

On the one hand, I have guilt that Moe wasn't the first thing I thought of this morning. I do still think about her daily, but she's no longer the first thing I think about as soon as I wake up. And when I compare my almost-non-reaction today to my emotional reaction in years past, it almost seems as if her presence (and absence) in my life is no longer as important to me as it once was. 

On the other hand, moving forward with my life (and taking part in other people's lives as they move on, as well) is the natural order of things, I suppose. Should I be happy that I can think of her with love and gratitude without also experiencing heart-wrenching grief? I honestly don't know. Losing her, especially to mental illness and suicide, is without exception the worst thing that has ever happened in my life. 

Is the fact that my strength in managing my grief is increasing a sign of healing and hope? Or is it a sign that my grief reactions are changing because she's not as important to me now that there're some years between her death and now? 

I wish I knew.

Moe would have been 30 years old today. I miss you, Pumpkin.