What If...
What if every woman was allowed to work at her highest and best potential? What would that world look like, to men and women alike?
Hello, Talking About Money Community, how are you?
In this post I want to reflect on women’s ability to work at their highest and best potential. There are many systemic realities that keep women from achieving their God-given talent. To consider those structural and/or policy constructs that leads to women’s limitations, check out these previous posts:
Universal Childcare: We Can Do It (Because Once Upon a Time, We Did It)
The Biden/Harris Commitment to Asset Building and Financial Capability
"Never Let a Good Crisis Go to Waste": 5 Steps Essential to Strengthening America's Working Families
We must also remember the seemingly casual comments made in daily household conversations that leave an impression, sometimes for decades later. Have you heard of “sliding door” moments? These are the brief spaces in time when you (or the universe) choose a path that informs the rest of your life. I bet that if you take a few minutes to consider, you can think of sliding door moments in your own life, when one circumstance influenced where you are today.
In this post I am going to share a few stories told to me (more than once) by my beloved late grandmother, Jewell. (Yes, this was her real name. If only her mother knew how apt her name would be when she was born.) Jewell was not only beloved by me, but also by most everyone who knew her. She had an uncanny ability to be her true self while simultaneously lifting up your unique gifts and talents. I feel honored to have known her, and even more to be able to say that she was my grandmother.
Jewell and Her Early Path Towards Becoming a Professional
Jewell was the second child of nine siblings born on a farm in Kentucky. Her father was a farmer and a dry goods dealer, and her mother was (what else?) a farmer’s wife. Jewell’s eldest sister suffered from scarlet fever that left her somewhat frail as a child, leaving her as the de facto oldest of the brood.
Jewell had a love of learning. Once she graduated from the 8th grade, her father assumed that her education was complete, as she had learned all there was to learn in the two-room schoolhouse that she attended. But for Jewell, her journey was just beginning.
Thanks to the scheming of her mother and a friend from town, it was arranged that Jewell would stay with this man’s family during the school week, providing childcare in exchange for room and board, thereby enabling her to attend the county high school. Every Sunday afternoon my grandmother’s younger brother would carry her by horseback and drop her off in town, and every Friday afternoon he would return to carry her home for a weekend of chores and church.
And this is how Jewell graduated from high school in 1931, at a time when about half of all girls completed high school (and notwithstanding, the first girl in her family to do so).
But she wasn’t finished yet! Jewell went on to become a teacher in that same rural two-room schoolhouse that she had attended. She co-taught with a male teacher, her teaching grades 1-4 and him teaching grades 5-8 (though she became the school basketball coach since she was a better player! He was forced to supervise the younger children at recess while she coached practice). Jewell also attended a nearby teacher training college in the summers to pursue her college degree.
Let’s stop for a moment to consider this: Jewell, a farmer’s daughter in 1930s Kentucky, earned a college degree at a time when less than 10% of all women went to college.
By her mid-20’s she was a professional woman.
Jewell and Her Years as a “Hillbilly” in Cosmopolitan Detroit
After a while along came Grady – my grandfather –and swept Jewell off her feet (or so I like to think). My grandfather had an 8th grade education and had been living and working in Detroit’s booming car industry for about a decade when he returned home on a visit and met his future bride. He married my grandmother in 1940 and brought her up the “Hillbilly Highway” to live with him in Detroit.
As she told me her story, at the time of her marriage, my grandmother was quite excited for the move and the opportunity to live in a big city with modern conveniences. (I mean, indoor plumbing? Come on!) She soon had my father, and then my aunt, and told me that her life was pretty good – all she needed to do was to take care of two babies and keep her apartment clean. This was seemingly a life of leisure and a direct departure from her previous life of teaching days and farm chore evenings (and let’s be real: outhouses).
Others in my family have told me that it was hard for her to live in Detroit at that time, and that she was lonely there. What I learned in preparing for this post – but had not previously considered – was the wide sweeping discrimination that Appalachians faced in Detroit in the mid-20th century. But Jewell was destined to make it work since her children would be able to attend modern schools and get a quality education.
That house of cards came tumbling down one day soon after the end of World War II when my grandfather came home from work. He had been to the doctor and reported to my grandmother, “My heart is no good and the doctor tells me that I cannot work for other people. I need to work for myself. We’re going back to Kentucky and I’m going to by a farm.”
No joke, this is what I heard from my grandmother when I was growing up.
My grandmother was heartbroken at the news, as she had her hopes and dreams riding on her children being able to attend a big modern school and receive a quality education. She offered this alternative to my grandfather:
“What if there is another way for us to stay here? What if you stay home with the children, and I will go and get a job as a schoolteacher? That way we can stay.”
Can you guess what my grandfather’ response was?
Jewell and Her Life as a Wife and a Mother Back on the Farm
In 1946 my grandparents returned to their community and my grandfather purchased “the ol’ Mitchell place.” I’m still trying to figure out who the Mitchells were (as far as I know, we were not related to them), and I still haven’t unraveled how my grandfather financed the purchase of the 90 acres where he milked cows and grew tobacco.
My grandmother, father, and aunt were back among friends and relations. My father and aunt attended the two-room schoolhouse, and my grandmother resumed her job as a teacher. Then, when work on the farm became too great, she stopped teaching in order to assist my grandfather. After all these chapters of her life she became what her own mother had been all along, a farmer’s wife.
Now, don’t worry about my dear grandmother, because when I knew her, she was a happy person. Her four children each graduated at the top of their respective high school classes, and all four went to and graduated from college. Later she worked as the secretary for the county judge and served as treasurer for her church. And as I said at the out start of this story, she was loved and beloved by all who knew her.
But, what if…?
What if…her mother didn’t connive to get her set up to pursue her high school education?
What if…Jewell was not able to work as schoolteacher (or obtain her college degree) in her young adult years?
What if…my grandfather never had to leave Kentucky in the first place for a job in Detroit?
What if…my father and aunt had been raised in Detroit, far away from friends and relations?
What if…my grandfather had agreed with my grandmother’s idea of becoming the breadwinner of the family, and had stayed home with the children while she worked?
