Play Nice

by Rachel Harrison

But the easiest way to tell who a man really is, is to injure his ego and see how he reacts.

I recognize myself in her face, her expression, and it’s exhilarating. This is the magic of family. The sense that you’re not alone in the universe, in your body, because there’s someone else out there who shares your DNA, who’s made up of the same stuff you’re made of.

This is why I like having two sisters. There’s always a witness.

The world will drive a woman insane, then point at them and laugh.

Men are never selfish. They’re smart. Women are always selfish. You want to be single? Selfish. You’re a wife and mother and do anything other than dote on your husband and children? Selfish. I want you and your sisters to learn to take that word as a compliment. Anyone who says that to you is trying to discourage you from doing what you want. That’s how you know you’re doing something right.

So often we’re trained to ignore our intuition. That it’s impolite or irrational to be anything but sweet and nice, arms open, ankles crossed.

How do you prepare your daughters for the world? How do you protect them? Do you tell them every ugly truth so that they understand? So that they know what to expect? Or do you fill their heads with dreams and hope for the best? Hope that they want more for themselves and don’t settle for the way the world is, that they demand it to be better, and maybe because of that it will be?

Remembering is not always a light shone into darkness. Sometimes it’s a claw reaching out and dragging you back.

Easier to call someone crazy than to confront the nuance of their circumstance, than to accept the callous cruelty that exists in the world we live in, the evil out there that revels in our suffering.