The back of "Playground" so far.
Looking for a big circle to trace for the next layer of stitching, I noticed this plate in the back of the cupboard. It dished up a whole bunch of stories. (Ha.)
It belonged to Great Great Aunt Kate, a woman that was long gone before I came into the picture. The only story I ever heard about her was from Grandma Rosee. Rosee had no middle name and her Aunt Kate had no children. Kate offered young Rosee a dollar to take Katherine as middle name. She took the dollar, and the name.
Fast forward a bunch of decades to sometime in my twenties...
Mom handed the plate to me. "You should have this. It belonged to Rosee's aunt." Flipping it over, there was a scrap of paper taped to the back, a note written by my mom, "Katherine O'Neill- a feminist." A pretty piece of family history took on a new meaning, a symbol of one of the big tug and pulls of my mother's and my relationship.
My first memory on the topic happened when I was around twelve.
One day Mom excitedly showed me a newspaper article about her recent charity work. Under her photo she was identified as "Mrs. Dad's first name (Mom's first name) Last name..." (i.e. Mrs. John (Sue) Smith)
"Why is Dad's name in here?" I asked.
She explained that was the proper way to refer to a married woman.
"But you did all of the work, and he didn't do anything!" I went on and on, yelling about him being the one who should be the in parentheses, if at all.
She took the article back, frustrated that I had burst her bubble. It was the first of many exasperated-on-both sides discussions between us regarding women's roles, with neither of us budging or understanding the other.
I'd like to think Aunt Kate would be glad I have her plate.
