(2012) The privilege to choose, so newly won and dearly fought for (indeed, a fight still being fought) has not come without personal feelings of questioning and ambivalence. This piece is a portrait of my mother. My mother hates the color pink. She spent a good deal of my childhood trying to convince me to wear pants. I have never seen her wear make-up. I prefer to wear dresses. I own a hoopskirt. I enjoy needlework and cooking. But above all, I value that I have been able to chose these preferences, that they were not chosen for me simply by virtue of my gender. My mother has never understood why I like frilly, fancy things. She fought so hard so that I didn’t have to. Its taken her some time, but she’s come to understand that who I am is just another facet of what she was fighting for: someone who can chose to do what makes them happy. If I had been born even a generation ago, choosing these things would have meant choosing sides; it is because of people like my mother that I can wear a dress and cook and sew and be an activist for social justice.

Oreo Cameo: Mom

Oreo sandwich cookie