That moment has stayed with me my whole life — that cool,
controlled response to a threat, the absolute refusal to play the
victim. In both my grandmother’s stand against city hall and my
mother’s calm dispatch of a home invader, I witnessed the
assertion of one’s basic right to live life without being fucked
with. And I saw the power of that assertion.
Neither my grandmother nor my mother would have ever described
themselves as feminists. Far from it.
But I sure do.