Talkin' 'Bout My Girl

 With a hug and a "my girl," Michelle Obama managed, in one moment, to sum up all that is good about people in general, and my gender in particular. Oddly, with the most ordinary gesture, she transformed Hillary into a thing of beauty, elevated her out of the muck where the best she could be, for some, was a lukewarm alternative to a very nasty man. To put it mildly.

Facebook is filled with images of just that kind of solidarity, the uniquely female energy that helps us to transcend our shortcomings. We somehow look more beautiful when we come together, boosting each other into a whole that is infinitely greater than the sum of its parts. Not that the parts are anything to sneeze at. Look at any picture of a group of women of any age; it glows. 

Nothing against men; there are some I truly adore. Who else but a woman, though, could pull off what Michelle Obama has? No matter what ulterior motives she might have -- and let's face it, we all have them -- she has done, for Hillary, what my friends have done for me so many times. What I hope I can and will do for them in return. When the going gets so tough we think we can't go on, sisterhood pushes us forward. Gets us through the roadblocks at home and at work, the impossible juggling of motherhood and career, the self-doubt that plagues us no matter what we do. Most of us will never crash through the ultimate glass ceiling, but we endure our share of bruising obstacles. And, more often than not, it is the women -- "our girls" -- who get us through. 

History will be made this November, when we elect our first woman President. This is something for all of us to celebrate, women and men and everyone in between. The misogyny and sexual assault that have become central issues in this surreal campaign are not just women's issues, no matter how the media and political strategists try to frame them. And Hillary's shattering of that final sheet of glass -- well, it's about fucking time. Though our founding fathers might not have imagined this day would come, it is the logical result of what they created. We were an experiment in equality and endless possibility, and we have discovered, along the way, just how infinite those possibilities are. 

He's come awfully close, this nasty man, to undoing everything we stand for. But there is no mistaking his insincerity; he can (and will) talk until his orange face turns blue, but he is neither interested nor capable of lifting anyone up but himself. Again, this is not a gender issue, and most men I know are as offended by his words and deeds as I am. 

In the end, though, it takes a woman. A strong, bright, beautiful woman, kind of like the women I call my friends. "My girls," always ready with hugs -- and a bottle of wine and some chocolate -- to lift me up over the hurdles and nurse my wounds if I get cut by the glass. Kudos to Michelle, and, in all fairness, a shout out to the not too shabby guy who stands behind her.