I Was A Baby Feminist

“What are you? Some kind of women's libber?” The venom in his voice was corrosive.

“Oh, no, Nancy. Brian is absolutely right. The girl always takes the boy’s last name.” And then she laughed at me. She laughed at me!

Mrs. Brownstein towered over us as we sat at the little round table on tiny chairs, just inches from the floor. Tiny chairs, because we were tiny, too. Kindergarten tiny.

The word “always” came out of her mouth, long and sl…