Ride, Sally, Ride

To the never ending amusement of my father, my mother raised 3 fiercely independent and "liberated" women.  I lived much of my life feeling obligated to prove my equality and have relished the opportunity to be one of the few women among a roomful of men.  It was so when I was 10 years old as much as it is today.

In the 5th or 6th grade, I went to sleep-away Girl Scout camp.  Our camp leaders were high school or college aged women who took us hiking, led us in song, and tried their best to discipline unbridled girly giggles.  My favorite counselor was a woman who went by the camp name of "Popcorn." (I don't know that I ever knew her real name.  It strikes me as very odd, now that I think of it, that we all had camp pseudonyms.  Why would we do that?)  Popcorn had a beautiful singing voice and introduced me to Oriental arts: fans, kabuki, geisha, calligraphy.  I have loved these things every since. She also surprised me in the degree of her zealous "liberation."  I had only seen such fierce "girls are better than boys" in my peers and thought it unique.  I didn't know other women, older women, might feel it, too.  In fact, I can recall  a conversation trying to one-up her with the list of accomplishments and occupations that I would hold as the first women ever.

It was that summer that Sally Ride became the first woman astronaut.  (At least it was that same general time.  My memory is not a reliable witness.)  Honestly, I was a little crestfallen.  In my selfish youthfulness, I did not celebrate her accomplishment as a leap forward for all women, but instead saw this as a First that I could no longer be.  I felt this panic that I had to get older, had to start right now to be all those things because there were women older than me, women like Popcorn and Sally, who were going to get to it first and be The First.

I was an idiot.

Tonight I learned that brave Sally died after what I imagine was an excruciating battle with pancreatic cancer.  (Pancreatic cancer, in particular, is seldom otherwise.)  I hope she knew how adored and rivaled she was by little girls like me.  Think of how she would have laughed to have heard my petulance that, thanks to women like her, there would be no Firsts for me left by the time I was a grown woman!  I am [slightly] less of an idiot today, and thank heaven for women like her. Thank heaven for Sally Ride.