It was 1968, and the Southern Junior High School faculty meeting convened. One of the agenda items was Laurin Schweet’s insubordination. I had lodged a complaint regarding differential treatment applied to me relative to a female cheerleader. The administration had waived the deportment rules that sanctioned gum chewing in class so that the cheerleader would not be placed on probation, but they would not waive the same rule for me.
The upshot of the faculty meeting was that I was correct; the disciplinary rules had been applied unfairly. The cheerleader was placed on probation. The edict was not shared with me in an objective, much less apologetic, way. Instead a teacher yanked my arm, pulled me aside after class, and hissed that she could not believe that I had acted with such defiance. In that moment, I transitioned from a sweet and deferential young teenager to one that lived the rest of her life refusing to retreat.
I’ve had ample opportunities to express resistance since then. As a college freshman, I refused to issue a formal apology to my dormitory housemother for a minor curfew breach. Only freshman woman had curfews; the freshman men did not, a fact that infuriated me. I was summoned by the Dean of Students who informed me that he would ensure that I never obtained post-graduation employment in my college town if I did not comply. I remained steadfast.
As a young associate attorney at a large Seattle law firm, I registered a grievance when an important new client was given the firm’s “face book” of resumes to select which attractive young women to staff on his case. I occasionally horrified my children when they were young; if I demanded access to management for some perceived inequity, they slipped into a mortification crevasse. I marched proudly with almost 400,000 other protestors in the Women’s March on Washington on January 21, 2017. I recently lectured a beleaguered traffic control officer that I was, in fact, a grown-up woman not a “little lady.”
It occurs to me that less vociferous protestations might be more effective, but I’m no less bold in challenging myself than in confronting others. Defiant opposition is the first cousin of tenacious determination. I cut myself no slack in the face of occasional exercise aversion. I’m not kind to myself when feeling reluctant about physical effort; I’m all tough love with zero gentle compassion.
Perhaps there will come a time when tranquility will supplant intractability and decorum will override disobedience. I hope not. I like to envision my future self as a retirement home rebel, petitioning food caterers for humanely raised chicken dinners and upbraiding caregivers when they chide me to behave myself.
If so, my conduct will probably create an agenda item for the nursing home staff meeting. Somewhere, my junior high school teachers are nodding their heads and commiserating.