1983, the year I had the age of reason by saying that the major researchers in child psychology. Whatever they thought of me, what mattered was that I would celebrate the wedding between Ken and Barbie. This was to be able to jump two ropes together. Was to succeed to spell all the words of my key words without making too many mistakes.
the top of my seven years counted well, I knew by heart all the songs from Nathalie Simard, Martine I read in bursts and I dreamed of the day when I could finally have my K-Way to me.
1983 is also the year I learned to make flowers with Kleenex. That was the year I have a denture incomplete on my class photo. That was the year where I tasted a kiwi for the first time in my life.
Life was simple and easy. Even if I wanted, there was nothing with which I could break my bicycle.
But yesterday I was shocked to read the latest special Chatelaine 50. Behind the door of my house, all was not rosy. 1983 is the year when a spouse can be charged with sexual assault against his wife. This means that before the coming into force of this law, a husband could rape his wife without any problem without being punished by the courts! Three years later, Quebec is implementing a policy of intervention in conjugal violence.
It reminded me of a story told me the mother of a friend. In 1974, she separated from her daughter's father who raises his hand a little too often on them. For custody Legal her baby, the mother had to be followed for a year's time by a social worker who had to establish whether she had the capacity to see to the welfare of his offspring. Then she had to adopt it in good and due form! Her own daughter!
Anything.
These are not stories that go back four centuries. No. That was yesterday.
I write these words and my three daughters are living together. Sat trickster lulls Max kid on the computer. There Aurélie Laflamme in the DVD. Worse, there is the full carefree living.
Like me in 1983. When I thought the worst tragedy that could happen in life a woman was not to find perfect wedding dress. Not that it was perfectly legal for a husband to rape his wife.
I look at my chickens and I am happy to have given them life in this world where everything is possible for them. Where they will not have to fight to choose another profession than a nurse or school teacher (in the 60s, three in five workers were teachers or nurses). They can live without fear of being jailed if they abort (abortion was decriminalized in 1988). They may give birth where and with whom they wish (the midwifery is officially recognized by the state in 1999 and is allowed to give birth at home since 2006). Where they can work successfully outside the home (in 1973, seven out of ten women stayed home). Where they can go jogging without fear of being raped at the corner of the street (in the late 70s, one in three women admitted to hospital emergency rooms had been beaten or raped).
Yes, there is still work to do. It is not over. Too many children who grow up in a poor environment, within a single parent (three out of ten children). It lacks the estrogen within the judiciary (16% of judges are women). The Pay Equity Act is going wrong. It should greatly improve the work-family balance.
But I look at my tribe all pink and I think they have every right to be carefree. Because the world changes in 25 years. And when I am a grandmother, I hope that equality, true, will be among us.
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