Generations

 The mallards quack and flap their wings excitedly before diving their heads down into the long green grass to search for the freshly spread birdseed. Esme smiles and looks over at her young granddaughter, Aubrey, who is watching the animals gobble up the treats. The small girl reaches into the brown paper bag in her grandmother's hand for another handful of seeds before turning, and, with a glowing smile upon her face, flings the seeds up into the air. They all watch as the seeds rain down onto the grass and then the ducks break into their frenzied dance once again. They make short work of the seeds and start waddling towards the bench where the pair sit, much to Aubrey's delight. Esme holds out the bag to her granddaughter, who happily reaches inside. Esme watches with pleasure as Aubrey releases another handful of birdseed. She is at her favorite bench, in front of her favorite pond, at her favorite park, with her favorite- and only- granddaughter; this moment simply couldn't be any better.

Suddenly, Esme hears a voice from somewhere behind them. She turns her head to see two young women walking down the trail a few yards away from Esme and Aubrey. Both women are overdressed, save for athletic sneakers, suggesting a break from work rather than a casual afternoon stroll. Though they are still a bit too far away for Esme to see their faces clearly, it appears they are in their mid to late 20s. The women are talking loudly, unaware that they have an audience, and Esme can hear every word of their conversation as they make their way down the path.

“How are things going with Tom?” says one woman to the other. Blonde and tall, she stands at least a foot above her raven-haired friend.

“Lonely,” her friend replies with an exaggerated pout, a hint of humor in her eyes, and a notably confident step. The blonde looks at her with a confused expression but her friend shrugs it off, “he found out I make more money than him and got all weird about it. Eventually I couldn't take it anymore, so I broke it off,” she confides. Her cheerful demeanor visibly dims, but only temporarily.

“Oh no! I'm so sorry, Cassie. I know how much you liked him,” her friend consoles her.

“Whatever,” Cassie makes a sweeping gesture with her hand, “it's his loss- not mine.”

“Well, of course. That's obvious,” the blonde says and they both share a laugh. When Esme glances over her shoulder again, she sees that the women have disappeared around a turn.

Esme turns back to her granddaughter and smiles before holding out the bag of birdseed for Aubrey to take. The girl scoops it up and before long is encircled by the ducks, with at least twenty on all sides. Though Esme's eyes are fixed on her granddaughter, she doesn't notice the girl twirl in a circle, sprinkling the seeds and joining in on the duck's little dance, because her mind is preoccupied with a memory. The women's passing conversation served as a reminder of a very important day in her life, one in which she had taken part in a most important issue: the fight for equal pay for women. She was remembering the Women's Strike for Equality on August 26, 1970.

Esme found that she could still remember the day perfectly. The strike had been organized by the National Organization for Women, and its president, Betty Friedan, a woman whom Esme had long considered a hero. It was the first big demonstration of the Women's liberation movement and she had been so excited to have a role in it. Groups of women protested all over the country, while Esme, in New York, stood with tens of thousands as they marched down Fifth Avenue. She'd proudly displayed her homemade sign with the words, “Don't Iron While the Strike is Hot!” written in bold lettering. They were the very words Betty Friedan used when she was first organizing the protest. Esme and the others had been overjoyed when New York City issued a proclamation declaring Equality Day. She felt a fresh rush of adrenaline run through her body as she relived the day in her mind; it had truly been one of the best of her life.

“Nana?” Esme blinks and is brought back to the present, where Aubrey is standing in front of her with the empty bag of birdseed crumpled in her hand.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Esme tucks a loose strand of Aubrey's wavy auburn hair behind her ear.

“I'm feeling hungrier than the ducks,” Aubrey pats her tummy with her hand for evidence. Esme laughs.

“All right then, let's head back and get something to eat,” she stands up and holds out her hand to Aubrey. They start towards the path, walking hand-in-hand. “Aubrey?” Esme prompts.

“Yes, Nana?” Aubrey looks up at her with sweet, innocent eyes. The sunlight brings a special gleam to the iris; a beautiful hazel color, they are a perfect match to her mother's and Esme's.

“Do you know what you want to be when you grow up?” Esme asks.

“Um...,” Aubrey ponders the question with an adorably serious expression before offering her answer, “maybe an animal doctor? I love animals!”

“Ah, a veterinarian. That's a lovely choice, Aubrey. You've always been so good with animals. Did you know that, back in my day, a man and a woman could have the same job but wouldn't get paid the same wage for their work? If you had been a veterinarian back then, you wouldn't have made as much money as a man would, even though you'd have been helping just as many animals every day,” she studies the young girl's face, curious for her reaction.

“What?! But that's not fair!” Aubrey declares, scrunching her forehead and nose in confusion.

“You're right, it wasn't fair at all. That's why women from all across the country, your grandmother included, stood together to take a stand against it. That was well over 50 years ago now. We went on strike for one day, which means we didn't go to work. We did it to show everyone how valuable women are in the workplace and let them know that we weren't willing to accept less any longer. And, our efforts made a difference.” Her pride was evident in her tone and body language to anyone who might have been looking. Her granddaughter could see it, though she was still a bit young to realize quite what it was.

“Wow, you were like a team of superheroes!” Aubrey cheers and Esme chuckles at her childish enthusiasm. A wide smile settles upon the old woman's face that instantly takes years off of her appearance. “So, did you fix everything?” Aubrey asks her.

“No dear, not everything,” says Esme with a slight shake of her head, her short white curls sway with the movement. “There is still work to be done.”

“Are you and the other women going to finish the rest of it, like you did before?” Aubrey asks.

“Not exactly, sweetheart. I'm afraid I've taken a less active role in my old age. But, your mother is fighting for change and, when you're a little older, you can too.” This time Esme's eyes light up as the sunlight reflects and her hope shines through.

“I can change things?” Aubrey's voice was filled with wonder.

“Of course you can. You can do anything you put your mind to; anything at all,” Aubrey imagines what it would be like to be in her grandmother's club of women superheroes and finds that she likes the idea very much.

As they reach the house and start up the path to the front door, Esme can see her daughter, Camille, through the front bay window. It appears she's setting the table for their lunch in perfect timing.

“Thanks for making the world a better place for me, Nana,” Aubrey says and Esme's heart warms at the sentiment.

“It's my pleasure, dear. Us girls have to stick together.” She squeezes her granddaughter's hand affectionately and they head inside to eat.