Watch Us Rise(51)

“A lot, okay? I know that Hanukkah is also called the Festival of Lights, and that it’s observed for eight days and nights, and it commemorates the rededication of the Holy Temple. Boom.”

“Yeah,” Mia says, humoring me.

“Yeah, that’s right. And Kwanzaa is an African American celebration that honors cultural heritage and traditional values. There are seven guiding principles that we should hold up throughout the year and not just over the holidays. So, in your face,” I finish, and slip my pajama pants on.

“What are the seven guiding principles?” Mia asks.

“Umoja, which means unity, um, Nia—uh, purpose, that means purpose, and faith—Imani, of course.” I pause.

“That’s three.”

“I know that’s three, and I know the others, I just . . .”

“And now I know that you did a basic Google and Wikipedia search on both of those so you’d know what to say when people ask, right?”

“No, it’s more than that. I’m just . . . ?I’m just into celebrating as a community. I mean, even the lobby of our building is all-inclusive with a tree, a menorah, and a kinara—for Kwanzaa,” I add, showing off a little, “and so I feel like celebrating everything too. I’m for everyone. I also wrote a poem for Jasmine. Do you wanna hear it?”

“Not now . . . ,” Mia says.

I start to read it anyway.

Womanhood

for Jasmine

Old-fashioned beauty myth media breakdown

Pretty—a pathetic fiction sold to us

Stores that carry only size extra-small Makeup meant to cover up and whitewash

Resolve to go natural, obliterate your machine

Bust boundaries wide open with our skills

Write ourselves into every future we imagine



“I realized that I was not being very intersectional, and so I revised my own thinking and ways of being in the world. I am a work in progress,” I finish.

“I know, Chelsea, I know. You are always very self-important. And I know it’s really important to you to be all-inclusive and all about diversity—I know that—we all know that, but can you please just be there for Mom and Grandma today? Can you just be all Catholic, and not be all weird about Christmas and God, and all the stuff you love to bring up that makes Mom lose it? Can you do that?”

“I can only be true to myself,” I say, grabbing my book and starting to walk out. I’ve been reading The Handmaid’s Tale and loving all the insane drama. “What would Margaret Atwood say, you ask?”

“I didn’t ask that,” Mia says.

“Well, she would say that as women, we have to fight for our bodies and minds, and that no one can silence us or shut us down, and people should value our opinions. That’s what she would say. And on top of that, Mom should really stand up for herself more, and she shouldn’t always be so quiet and subdued. If I’ve learned anything so far this school year, it’s that women need to raise their voices.”

Mia stares at me.

“Fine, I won’t bring up the religion stuff. I’ll be a good little Catholic.” I smile.





“The turkey smells delightful,” my grandma calls into the kitchen at my dad, who’s doing all the cooking for Christmas Eve dinner. We’ve just come from afternoon mass, where I both listened to the sermon AND did some mindful Buddhist meditation.

“Steven, I can’t believe that Lydia allowed you to do all the work today.”

“Oh, Mom, you know that Steven loves to cook, so why can’t you believe that?” my mom asks, sitting down and pouring us all a little bit of wine. My parents are very progressive when they want to be, and, I’m beginning to think, when it’s convenient for them.

“Oh, honey, I just never thought I’d be alive to see a man do all the work in the kitchen. I mean, it’s fine if you want to work and leave your kids in daycare all day and choose different life paths, but, honey—I would imagine you would want to still do a bit of the domestic work around the house.” Grandma smiles at us and takes a sip of wine.

My mom’s smile is tight as she passes the rolls around the table.

“Not that it’s all bad,” my grandma continues, “but a woman’s work is with the children too, you know? A man can only do so much before he feels taken advantage of, and begins to resent his situation.” She whispers that last part so my dad can’t hear as he walks out with the turkey. I’ve always known my mom and grandma have a testy relationship. I mean, they love each other—calling and seeing each other all the time—but I can’t help but feel like some of their relationship feels kind of toxic.

“Mom, Steven and I share responsibilities around the house and with the kids. We always have, and I think Chelsea and Mia have appreciated and benefited from that,” my mom says, squeezing my leg under the table. What? Does no one trust me?

“I know you two have a very new wave thing going on. Well, let me tell you all that your grandfather and I valued tradition. We believed in a traditional marriage—and it was important to both of us that I took care of the home and the children. Your grandfather made sure all of us were comfortable and taken care of. That was important to him. It’s the way all of us did things. And we were perfectly happy that way,” my grandma finishes.