My gram was a suffragette. They’re called suffragists, now. Early in the century, soon after she arrived in the United States, she worked for women’s rights. She had a three-year-old daughter, after all.
She was, in her own feisty way, nurturing. I remember sitting on her lap as she sang “When It’s Springtime in the Rockies.” This was America, you know! I remember her lace-up black shoes that she wore every day. And the soft, flower-printed dresses, reaching about mid-calf, always with a narrow belt.
I remember her gentle smile that never quite reached all the way up to her eyes. She never told me stories from her home. Not about her friends or family or village.
Today is voting day in Ohio. After another cup of coffee (or two) I will go exercise my right to vote. Thanks, Gram. I like to think you’re holding my hand as I color in my ovals. I miss you.
March is Women’s History Month. Take a few moments to remember someone special.