I’ve been listening to a radio series on NPR debating whether women who join the military should see combat. Maybe it’s because I’m old and my bones hurt, but honestly, I just can’t imagine volunteering to serve on a battlefield. Serving perhaps, yes, but in combat?
In my mind, I see women sleeping under the stars in cots, crawling in the mud, carrying heavy artillery, positioning themselves to kill someone (or avoid being killed), and I think, “Honey, leave it alone.”
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for equal pay for equal work. When men get paid more than women for doing the very same job, it makes the veins in my head pop out. But at the same time, I would never, ever in a million years want to play football with a bunch of 300-pound muscle men. And there are probably some women out there lobbying for that very right. Just watching football on Sunday afternoons with my husband makes me wince and turn my eyes from the TV.
I am not one who thinks women should be shut up in their homes taking care of the children. Especially if they don’t want to be. I am a self-acknowledged tomboy, and my husband and I split duties in odd ways. He cooks and I often mow the yard (well, I did more in Tennessee, where it was really hot and humid, because he couldn’t stand the heat). I can fix things. Sort of. I owned power tools before we married.
But I often wonder if exerting our equality with men is sometimes just about being ornery. Do we always want equality with men? Should we?