Watching my harassment complaint be treated with warranted, hard-fought seriousness, I felt the strength of my mother’s generation of feminists at my back.
My mom took me out for lunch when I got my first real job. I had interned before, but now I was freshly graduated with a glossy MA and a to-do list of dreams. This was the big time.
Over 2 p.m. vodka sodas, Mama regaled me with stories of youthful mistakes, moments of inspiration and humor throughout her career. I was advised to avoid certain after-work gatherings and too-familiar text messages between male office mates because context rarely mattered to a headline, she reminded me. I playfully rolled my eyes. She was proud of me. Before we left the restaurant she handed me a box containing her sparkly flamingo pin to symbolize our shared affinity for C.J.