Why can't an astrophysicist also be a princess?

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Why can’t an astro-physicist also be a princess?

Girls, books, and the power to choose

I recently saw a t-shirt ad for little girls that read something like, “Never mind princesses, I want to be an astrophysicist!” I get the idea. We want our girls to aspire to be anything they want to be, including the most prestigious, competitive, and challenging of male dominated professions in STEM.  We want them to be doctors, lawyers, engineers, scientists, computer programmers and every other occupation of high status with good salaries so that they can be independent women who are respected and admired.  But why can’t they also be princesses? 

What does it mean to be a princess, and does that automatically negate the possibility of being a scientist, a thinker and a doer? I don’t think so. The idea of being a ‘princess’ is correlated with the idea of beauty, femininity, fortune, and comfort. Little girls like ‘princesses’ because they are pretty and have amazing clothes, fabulous hair, and live in beautiful palaces often with magical friends and even fairy godmothers with wings! What’s wrong with that? I like those things too. Does it mean that I can’t also like science, math or critical pedagogy? Does it mean that little girls can’t have books about both or even better about astrophysicist princesses making discoveries about the universe and themselves? Of course not! Our girls can and should have it all!

Does being pretty or having stylish clothes mean you can’t also be interested in marine biology or chemical engineering? No way! Why does popular culture seem to be asking our daughters to choose between beauty and brains? Can’t they have both? Why create a dichotomy so that girls who are not interested in STEM feel like they are somehow ‘less than’ those who are? What’s wrong with being primarily interested in arts or literature, fashion or design? We can still be strong, intelligent and powerful women no matter what we choose to study, or how we choose to wear our hair or clothes. Those little girls out there playing with make-up and dolls who want everything pink are just as bright as the ones building with Legos and digging through the mud with sticks. They just have different ways of learning about the world. They have different kinds of creativity and imagination that fuel their curiosity, and that is okay.

Let’s make sure that the beautiful diversity of girls out there see themselves in a beautiful diversity of books. We need more books showing diverse women and girls doing all kinds of things - without limits. We need all kinds of women to keep the planet working and those women come from all kinds of girls. Our diversity as women is our strength. We are not all the same. We do not think with one brain, we do not all want the same things, and that is okay. That is healthy, normal, and beautiful.

Let’s keep encouraging little girls to pursue their dreams no matter what those dreams are. Let’s give them opportunities to explore, discover and create the world they want to live in. Let’s give them the books they need and deserve. But let’s also remember that we can all be more than one thing at the same time and that one way of being does not automatically negate another.  We can be superheroes and princesses, scientists and homemakers, mathematicians and mothers, filmmakers and fashionistas.

Here's to all of the badass princesses and queens out there who are also inventors, scientists, healers and technicians, and to those who are not - and who don’t want to be.  Equal rights means not having to choose one particular way of life, certain professions, or certain dreams. It means being able to choose many ways of life, any profession and all of your dreams.  Let’s write and publish books that inspire and engage all shapes, sizes, and colors of girls – and boys – in ways that are powerful and authentic. And let’s buy the books out there that are already doing that for our homes, classrooms and libraries. Let’s support the writers and publishers who have recognized this need and embraced it. All those curious scientist, explorer, builder, writer, artist, and doctor princesses are waiting for us. Let’s not let them down.

    (an earlier version of this post appeared on The Thinking Cafe blog at thethinkingcafe.com)

La Bruja


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La Bruja

A spooky Spanglish story for Halloween - Latinx MG

Sit down, sientate, there’s something you need to know if my mom is marrying your dad. It’s for your own good, so listen. It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just that I think you should be prepared in case something happens. I’m not saying it will, but it might.

It’s about the witch, la bruja. I was about your age the first time I saw her. Real, live and in person. It wasn’t my imagination. You may not believe it, but it’s la pura verdad, completely true. I don’t talk about it much because adults think I’m trying to get attention. I’m not. If I wanted attention then I’d want the good kind, not the kind that makes people think I’m weird. You think I’m weird, don’t you? Never mind,  I don’t really care what you think. 

I didn’t feel like going to bed that night. I hated bedtime like most little kids. At the time, I slept in a bed with my Abuela. That was back when I lived in Argentina. We lived in the middle of the city in a dark old building with creaky floors. You could call it spooky I suppose, but I thought it was perfect. It was right before I came to the USA.  

I didn’t know I’d be leaving home forever then, I had no idea. I thought I was just going to visit my mom, your future evil stepmother. Ha, ha, just kidding. Es una broma! Stop looking so scared. She’d left the year before. Basically, my parents were getting divorced but nobody bothered to tell me that. It’s wrong not to tell a little kid her parents are getting divorced right? Adults sometimes think it’s too much for a little kid to understand. But you know it isn’t, don’t you? 

The day I saw the bruja for the first time was before I knew anything bad was going to happen. Divorce, being forced to leave my home. All that fun stuff. So don’t think that I conjured la bruja up from stress or anything. Adults think seeing witches in real life is either stress, or a great imagination. Don’t believe them, no lo creas! It isn’t that at all. Adults just can’t handle things they can’t explain. But you know there’s things they can’t see right? There’s so much they don’t know. 

My Abuela was the best. She cooked all the most delicious foods, empanadas, milanesas, tortillas. Plus, she told great stories. I used to spend all day with her, listening to her stories, cooking with her, doing errands together that ended up with me getting ice cream. I wasn’t a stressed out kid, I was a happy one. I swear.

You probably think that I made the bruja up in my head but I didn’t. I’m not crazy. Do I look loca to you? 

            The first night I saw the bruja Abuela got in bed and told me to get in too, pero no, I refused. I just stood there on the floor right next to her side of the bed. I wanted her to tell me another story or play with me but she didn’t. She just pulled up the covers and turned her back to me. It made me mad, you know? Why not tell me one more story? Uno mas? If adults would only cooperate with kids once in a while things would be so much easier.

            I was pretty stubborn so I decided I was just going to stand there the whole night to make a point. My point was that I could stay up all night if I wanted to. It was a dumb point now that I think of it, but at the time it seemed like a good idea. I just stood there in my pajamas with my arms crossed. I was waiting for Abuela to turn around and talk to me, tell me another story – solo uno mas.

            I was getting really bored standing there when I noticed the doorknob on the side door beginning to turn. Our bedroom was right across the hall from that door. We always used that entrance during the day, but I wasn’t expecting anybody to open that door at night. I remember just staring wide eyed  as it slowly creaked open. I didn’t move a muscle, but my heart was racing.

            Nobody opens a door that slowly unless they are up to no good, right? Obvio. So I was scared but for some reason I didn’t reach out and try to shake Abuela awake. It was like I was frozen to a spot on the floor just across from the slowly opening door. I stood there motionless, dura, watching, as the opening gradually became wider and wider. Despacito, despacito.

            Finally, it opened wide enough for me to see who was on the other side. That’s when I saw the witch. La bruja! She looked exactly like you’d expect a witch to look. Her skin was grayish and her nose had at least one hairy wort on the end of it. She was wearing all black and she even had the standard issue pointy witch hat. She was hideous and terrifying. Horrorosa!

            Somehow I was able to leap right over Abuela and in to my side of the bed in one swift motion. It was like I flew. Volé! I immediately shot under the covers without making a sound. And Abuela didn’t move a muscle.

            After a few seconds, I peeked out to see if the witch was still there. She was. She had come right in to the bedroom and was standing almost at the same spot I had stood a moment before. My heart nearly bust out of my chest, pum-pum, pum-pum. ! But still I couldn’t make a sound – silencio total. It was like I’d forgotten how to scream. All I could think of doing was closing my eyes and hiding under the covers. 

            The next thing I remember is waking up the following morning. The bruja was gone but Abuela was still in the same spot - stone cold dead right next to me -  muerta!. I swear! Te lo juro! At first I thought she was sleeping but when I touched her she was cold. You might be thinking that I dreamt the whole thing but I know I didn’t. You can’t dream someone dead can you? 

A few months later, I saw the bruja again.  Suddenly, there she was walking right up the stairs of my new house in the U.S. It was just after my mother had sent me up to my room for being bratty. I was pissed. It was bad enough having to move to another country, but now I also had to go to a new school and learn English with a tutor! I hated English, and I didn’t want to go to a new school. I just wanted to go home. 

That time the witch looked different, kind of cartoonish. She was two dimensional, like a drawing come to life. But she couldn’t fool me. I knew it was her by the way she stared me right in the eye. Her gaze has the power to paralyze. I can’t speak, I can’t scream, I can’t even run away. I can only close my eyes and cover my face with whatever is available, so that’s what I do. Eventually she disappears. That same day my English tutor fell down the stairs and cracked her head open, spilling her brains out all over the floor. She died, obvio. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Here’s the thing, the last time I saw her was this morning. It was right after I woke up. I’d been up all night thinking about the upcoming wedding. My mom and your dad.  A guy with a little kid and the dumbest moustache of life - ridiculo. No offense. I am not exactly happy about the whole thing. I already have a father, I don’t need another one. Especially not one with a moustache like that! And who wants siblings? I don’t, do you? Sit down, sientate! I’m not done. 

The bruja was in the mirror when I went to the bathroom, staring right at me. Again, she looked completely different, this time she looked kind of like I’d look if I was a witch. While we were staring at each other I tried to say something  but I couldn’t. This time I didn’t cover my face though. It’s like we were having a staring contest or something. Finally  I gave in and closed my eyes, but just for a second, solo un segundito. When I opened them again she was gone. 

Hey, what’s wrong with you? It’s creeping me out the way you’re just sitting there looking at me like you’re frozen or something. Are we having a staring contest? You look pale. Maybe you should lie down. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I can stand here right next to you all night if I have to. Or as long as it takes.