What is a woman? That question appeared to stump United States Supreme Court nominee Kentanji Brown Jackson.
During Jackson’s confirmation hearing in the U.S. Senate, Sen. Marsha Blackburn asked Brown if Jackson “could provide a definition for the word ’woman.’”
“No, I can’t,” Jackson said. “Not in this context. I’m not a biologist.”
Jackson’s refusal to answer the question should have been a disqualifying moment as it showed that she was willing to put politics and ideology ahead of U.S. law, the Constitution, even human biology basics and common sense.
“Do you believe the meaning of the word woman is so unclear and controversial that you can’t give me a definition?” Blackburn pressed, Fox News reported.
“Senator, in my work as a judge, what I do is I address disputes. If there’s a dispute about a definition, people make arguments, and I look at the law, and I decide,” Jackson said.
Blackburn argued that “the fact that you can’t give me a straight answer about something as fundamental as what a woman is underscores the dangers of the kind of progressive education that we are hearing about.”
It’s a shame that Sen. Blackburn didn’t ask Jackson what terminology she uses to describe a “birthing person.”
What is a woman? I’m not a biologist either, but it’s not a tough question. And I don’t need to look at the law for the answer:
grandmother/grandma/”Gigi”/Nana/Bedstemor (Danish)/Nonna (Italian)/Obaasan (Japanese)/Abuela (Spanish)/grand-mère (French)/Savta (Hebrew)
Even the dictionary describes a female or woman as “of the sex that produces offspring.”
A young girl knows she will grow into a woman. She knows she may have babies. She is taught as a pre-teen about her anatomy, and that it is capable of conceiving and carrying life.
Little girls even play with baby dolls, pretending to be mothers. Girls play “house,” and even mother pets.
Synonyms for “femaleness” are even better:
Last week with the Supreme Court leak of the draft decision exhibiting that Roe v. Wade may likely be overturned at the federal level and sent back to the states for policy decisions, suddenly the left decided that “women” could lose their “right” to have an abortion.
The left did not say “birthing person” as we’ve been told recently is the only acceptable terminology for a human capable of giving birth. Their pre-printed signs said “A woman’s right to choose…”
Women who are Mothers
“Celebrations of mothers and motherhood can be traced back to the ancient Greeks and Romans, who held festivals in honor of the mother goddesses Rhea and Cybele, but the clearest modern precedent for Mother’s Day is the early Christian festival known as ‘Mothering Sunday,’” according to History.com.
The American incorporation of Mother’s Day was created by Anna Jarvis in 1908 and became an official U.S. holiday in 1914.
Maybe this Mother’s Day 2022, 108 years after the first one, we all can acknowledge that while we may be celebrating humans who can give birth, we can be thankful for mothers, because we know exactly what a woman is.
This lovely poem from the late New York Times bestseller Erma Bombeck, a favorite of this writer, epitomizes motherhood:
“A Mother’s Love” by Erma Bombeck
“You don’t love me!” How many times have your kids laid that one on you? And how many times have you, as a parent, resisted the urge to tell them how much?
Someday, when my children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates a mother, I’ll tell them:
I loved you enough to bug you about where you were going, with whom and what time you would get home.
I loved you enough to insist you buy a bike with your own money that you could afford.
I loved you enough to be silent and let you discover your friend was a creep.
I loved you enough to make you return a Milky Way with a bite out of it to a drugstore and confess, “I stole this.”
I loved you enough to stand over you for two hours while you cleaned your bedroom, a job that would have taken me 15 minutes.
I loved you enough to say, “Yes, you can go to Disney World on Mother’s Day.”
I loved you enough to let you see anger, disappointment, disgust and tears in my eyes.
I loved you enough not to make excuses for your lack of respect or your bad manners.
I loved you enough to admit that I was wrong and ask for your forgiveness.
I loved you enough to ignore what every other mother did or said.
I loved you enough to let you stumble, fall, hurt and fail.
I loved you enough to let you assume the responsibility for your own actions at age 6, 10 or 16.
I loved you enough to figure you would lie about the party being chaperoned, but forgave you for it – after discovering I was right.
I loved you enough to accept you for what you are, not what I wanted you to be.
But most of all, I loved you enough to say no when you hated me for it. That was the hardest part of all.