Skip to main content

“Turn Around, Look At Me…” My Fight for Roe V. Wade to be reinstated.

“Turn Around, Look At Me…” My Fight for Roe V. Wade to be reinstated.

Anyone knows the essence of the 1960s would remember this song. The time piece by the Vogues that floated through my head tonight as I heard this long-forgotten song—along with feelings that have left us over fifty years ago. This song and others of the 1960s played on our home radio when I was a kid. Then the cool transistor radio, hand-held by my older brother played them as well.

We had a huge batch of 45’s and played them on an inclement weathered Saturday afternoon, when no friends were available to play with. We would listen to each 45 single and play Chinese checkers, crazy 8s, other card games and scrabble. Sometimes if it were warm enough, my older brother and I would play in our screened-in back room of our barn-house—unless it was a wind-whipped rain. Then it would be less convenient.

As life is quite different now. Back then, our country wrestled with the ongoing Vietnam War. Most of us wanted to forget that episode in our lives. The Berlin Wall rose becoming an object of our ire and fear. Women had no rights, too neither did many who were not white men. “Boys will be boys”, was still a saying. As crude as it was, to condone bad action by boys and young men, it put women at many levels beneath men in our world.

Women had to hide pregnancies in the workplace, until the Pregnancy Discrimination Act of 1978, which was an amendment to Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964.[1] Women could not own a home or be on the deed if they were married till 1974.[2] Abortions were illegal till January 1973. In the 1960s Birth control pills made women ill.[3] The other contraceptive contraptions were barbaric causing harm at time to the women using them. However, the women’s rights movements had begun to become more at the forefront in the 1960s.[4]

Unwittingly, the drug DES was still given to women considered having issue carrying a pregnancy full term—of which I am a product of. Which was not discontinued till 1971, due to health risks of the child born from a mother who’d been on the drug during that pregnancy.[5]  Hence later in 1979 finally DES was removed from being administered to cows and chickens to enhance their size for our consumption.[6]

Girls were disgraced with the word ‘tom-boy’ if they played with the boys or were interested in male dominated sports. It was expected girls and women would begin to look like men if they didn’t remain of a fluffy out of shape nature. Which pretty much left a girl, a woman in a most vulnerable position, and in no way could she defend herself against a boy or man who may be attempting to harm her. As we women were considered to just given in and not fight back. We were told never to talk about anything sexual or with any sexual reference in nature. I was told to never discuss having menses, even if it were to my husband. That was 1960s thinking in a mostly middle-class, white, Christian neighborhood. We were expected to not be interested in anything but provide our parents with becoming grandparents. We girls and women were considered ‘just a vessel’ for others to use, to show, and enhance the family structure. And anything that deviated from that model, would be condemned. And those would be considered sinful girls/women.

Granted back then our parents had total autonomy over us girls and even as young women. Teenaged girls could be given away as brides in some states and parents seemed so pleased to get rid of their female gender offspring. A diamond ring is still the dowry young women believe is the appropriate way of a man showing his love for you. Its not.

When I was nearing age ten, I’d had it. The 1970s was new. I had my hair chopped off like a boy. Of course my dad was upset, my mother acquiesced him by forcing me to get a tight curly permanent within the month. Yes, as a child of the 1960s I had no ruling over my hair ever. However, I would not relent to what was traditional. Instead, I would become a US Marine, remain physically fit in shape. I’d be a maverick in her own right. Everything I decided to do felt right. And as I’ve learned, if it feels right; then it is right.---Jody-Lynn Reicher








Popular posts from this blog

2023 Holiday Letter from the Reicher's

Well, I didn't think I'd be doing a Holiday Letter this year, but here goes... The Spirit of Norm is in the air. As the wind whips with minus a true snowstorm.  In hopes the Farmers Almanac was correct, I pray to the snow gods. Rain ensued the month of December thus far. We have nearly tripled the amount of rainfall usual for December in New Jersey. And I've witnessed its treachery. Storms such as these hit us hardest in July. Then remained fairly intense through til about early October.  Our daughters are doing well, Thank God.  Their Dad would be proud of them. Our oldest Sarah, now a Junior at UCLA pursuing her degree in Chemical Engineering. She's digging the whole California scene. Which I thought it was for her. She's had some good traveling on her off times from school. For her March 2023 week off, she drove her and a few friends out to Lake Tahoe and went downhill skiing for a first in nearly 5 years. She had to rent the ski equipment.  Funny enough when

Sledging the Hammer

  "You could have a steam trainIf you'd just lay down your tracks..."---Peter Gabriel's 'Sledgehammer' lyrics. This is not the tune that lay in my mind this morning as I reminisced about yesterday's volunteers to help on trail crew.    However, as I looked up the proper definition of sledging that song popped up. I say sledging, which is my own take on swinging a hammer that we call a "Double Jack". The Single Jack is six pounds. I know that because our regular crew of five including me and one staff supervisor are handling Harriman State Park Trails, and have to carry about four of those, two shaping hammers, along with a hoist, belay bag with heavy equipment, first aid kit, double Jack, three 18lb rock bars, a lopper, three buckets, three eye to eyes, two burlap straps, two green wrapping straps, two pick Mattox, a roe hoe or two, a bar for either the two ton or one ton hoist, the feathers with pegs for splitting rocks that we drill... s

It Follows Me...

One may wonder what would inspire someone to work hard labor voluntarily. For me it’s the love of many things. It’s the passion that won’t be broken. Because there are so many aspects to such service for me, that it may seem beyond comprehension. I’d compare it to my youthful desire to enter the military as a young child. Then for a multitude of reasons only to follow through thirteen years later at age eighteen entering the Marines. There were things that followed me throughout my life. Sometimes they were questions of how I ever gave up my over decade’s life dream to become a New Jersey State Trooper. My childhood desire to never wed—to never have any serious relationships with another human being. I desired only service in military and law enforcement nearly my whole childhood. Too the extent that even one of my Marine Corps superiors expressed to me last July, “I never thought you’d ever get married. It just wasn’t who you were. You were always a loner.” I replied, “Yeah. I know.