Your website is very impressive. Congratulations! I could more or less understand the abstract texts, but not the story about Maria's red dress, unfortunately. Some of the sayings by famous men about women make me really mad!!!
On the other hand, I have no time for the strident feminists, women who will abandon their children to strangers in order to "be somebody" in some big corporation. As if raising children was not an extremely important job. I know many women whose husbands earn plenty of money, but they, the women, have to "fulfill themselves" by entering into a career. Granted, there are exceptional women who can make a great contribution to society in their special fields, but most women are average, by definition, and what is so much more rewarding about having an office job than looking after one's children? So many young people nowadays feel lost and have very poor manners because nobody has been teaching them.
When we had our children, many women looked down on me because I was "just a housewife." But it didn't bother me. I had time to play with my children, to talk with them, to teach them things and to learn from them, too. We were not rich by any means, did not have our own house or a new car every other year. But we had a nice home, good clothes, excellent food and great vacations. We were comfortable, and I was so glad to be able to stay home.
I realize that things are very different for a woman who does not have a family, and she may have to struggle to be accepted as a man's equal in a job where she can do just as well as a man. Women are certainly not less intelligent than men - sometimes we are smarter, more practical. We tend to be closer to nature because we are the ones who are made to give birth to new life.
E-mail sent by Valentina Bek, age 68, Toronto, Canada
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I was coming back of the school. I was studying Teaching at night and working full-time. It was May 1961 and I was 22 years old. I think that it was a Friday. I got off the bus and I walked towards the street that led to my house�s path. There was enough people and movement on the street. In the way I passed by my father. At that time he was 56. I complimented him. A soft rain was falling. He was holding an umbrella. In one hand he had a small bag with money and something else in the other, I can�t exactly remember it.
He worked as supervisor in a soccer stadium and on the weekends he used to sell men�s clothing in the public fair. He was going back home back after finishing organizing the tent for the next day. He offered me a space under the umbrella. I said that I was fine. It was a light rain. With few quick steps soon I would arrive home. My father was a tall man and very big, he was carrying too many things, it would be somehow awkward to share the same umbrella.
The sudden slap on the base of my ear surprised me and it took off my balance. I landed against the wall of the house on the corner of the small street I used to live. My father raced towards my direction and I did not notice when he reached me. He said something that I don�t clearly remember. But I do know that were insults. He got mad with my refusal in walking with him under the umbrella. It was a serious disobedience. If people around had said or seen anything I don�t know. I just ran fast to home. I was angry. I felt frustration and an overwhelming feeling of impotence dominated me. I couldn�t reply, or say anything. I had to bear the insult and move on. As always.
The gap between us increased. Funny is that in my childhood I felt closer to him than to my mother. When I arrived home, he said nothing. Nothing was mentioned. It happened and that was it. Since, more or less, I was 11 years old that I started treating him with reserve. He was the severe, austere father. The days when I used to seat on his lap and play with his hair, making braids and funny hairdos were over (He paid for any lice I could find). One day he threw me against the floor without any explanation. This was what hurt me the most, what deeply shook me. Later I discovered the reason. I was becoming a young woman.
I started to do everything to avoid annoying my father. To prevent conflicts. Only when I started to work I felt strong enough to face him, it gave me more independence. When adult, I never called him �father� or �dad'. It was always Mr. Augusto. He didn�t like it. He never said it directly to me. He complained it to my mother. Mother was our accomplice. She helped us behind his back.
That was my father way: Hard, severe, austere, dry and with two distinct views on education for his sons and daughters. I have two brothers. I remember that the youngest one liked to stay at home. "The man has to experience the streets"; my father thought. "Nothing of staying at home". One day he forced my younger brother to enter the dam and to prevent him to leave the water he threw rocks at him. �To make him a man�. My other brother followed my father�s footsteps.
Leonora, Age 66, Recife, Brazil
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