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Fwd: just a mother
>Subject: just a mother
>Date: Tue, 27 Jul 99 06:25:07 -0700
>x-mailer: Claris Emailer 1.1
>From: davies <email@example.com>
>To: "Annette Olsen" <firstname.lastname@example.org>,
> "Cheryl Sanders" <email@example.com>,
> "Brennon Davies" <firstname.lastname@example.org>,
> "Joe Oliver" <email@example.com>
>A few months ago, when I was picking up the children at school, another
>mother I knew well rushed up to me. Emily was fuming with indignation.
>"Do you know what you and I are?" she demanded. before I could answer
>and I didn't really have one handy--she blurted out the reason for her
>question. It seemed she had just returned from renewing her driver's
>license at the County Clerk's office. Asked by the woman recorder to
>state her "occupation." Emily had hesitated, uncertain how to classify
>"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job, or are you
>just a . . .?"
>"Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother."
>"We don't list 'mother' as an occupation . . .'housewife' covers it,"
>said the recorder emphatically.
>I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same
>situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a
>career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high-sounding title,
>like "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar."
>"And what is your occupation?" she probed.
>What made me say it, I do not know. The words simply popped out. "I'm a
>Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."
>The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair, and looked up as
>though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing
>the most significant words. Then I started with wonder as my pompous
>pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official
>"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in
>Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply,
>"I have a continuing program of research (what mother doesn't) in the
>laboratory and in the field (otherwise known as inside and outside). I'm
>working for my Masters (the whole darned family) and already have four
>credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding
>in the humanities (any mother care to disagree?). And I often work 14
>hours a day (more like 24.) But the job is more challenging than most
>run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are in satisfaction rather than
>There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she
>completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door. As
>I drove into our driveway buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was
>greeted by my lab assistants--ages 13, 7, and 3. And upstairs, I could
>hear out new experimental model (six months) in the child-development
>program, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt triumphant. I had
>scored a beat on bureaucracy. And I had gone down on the official
>records as somemore more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than
>"just another . . ."
>Home . . . what a glorious career. Especially when there's a title on