I would be lying if I said that a red USA stitched onto a blue jacket doesn’t stir something within in me. I would be lying if I said I don’t fist punch the air when Australia wins a soccer match. Still, there is a much deeper level which all the misplaced patriotism in the world can’t touch.
For my grandmothers. Women who saved the farm, had unconventional sex lives, brought learning, lived lives of creativity or who held the house together in one hard struggle. For the women whose very presence changes the world. Women who were and are forces of nature. I will remember you and will pass on your stories.
For my biological and conceptual ancestors who marched and struggled. For the women who I owe my ability to write these words. I will also tell your stories, even if I have to wade through dusty archives.
This is the legacy I choose.