Mandated Service for Women

Just before the War of 1812, Britain was seizing American ships and pressing American sailors into service in the Royal Navy. This aggressive act was met with hostility, embargo and, eventually, war. Today this battle is being waged again, but it is our own country men who are attempting to press the American people, both men and women, into military or civil service. While I am fundamentally opposed to mandated service, I can accept the use of a male only draft at times when our country truly has great need. In recent decades, however, many have tried to expand the selective service requirement to include women. They argue that American women now own all the same rights and privileges as American men; therefore they should shoulder the same obligation toward national service. But men and women, while certainly equivalent in capability, are fundamentally different. The special circumstances and dangers a woman faces, together with the need that we have for her here at home, should exclude her from mandated military service.
Before we can address other issues, we must first acknowledge the distinctly feminine challenges a woman must over come. Once a male body has passed through puberty, it performs basically the same functions on a day to day basis. But as we all learned in middle school health class, this is not the case for a woman. Puberty causes irreversible complications for the female body. In direct contrast with our male partners, our bodies do something different practically every day. For about three quarters of a month, little by little, the female body prepares itself to cradle life. The other twenty five percent is generally spent cleansing itself of the fruit of those preparations, except in those rare cases when the preparation proves worth the effort. In either situation, the female soldier would face an uncomfortable dilemma. Neither pregnancy nor menstruation is particularly pleasant, and both present privacy challenges.
Aside from the difficulties that every woman will inevitably face, there are serious safety concerns for a woman in our military here at home, let alone in combat. Sexual harassment of and violence toward women in the military, at the hands of their own comrades, are serious enough to warrant a special task force (dtic.mil, 2004). As a result of failed combat, a male prisoner of war may face abhorrent treatment at the hands of his captors. Many have experienced severe torture and mistreatment. Imagine if you will the added horrors that could be inflicted upon a female POW. The decision to accept that disturbing risk should rest solely on the woman herself, it should not be forced upon her, under any circumstances.
Secondly, we should consider the need we have for women in our economy. According to the department of labor website, an overwhelming majority of humanitarian career fields are dominated by women in this country. In 2007, women filled 92% of jobs in the nursing field, 81% of elementary and middle school teaching positions, 95% of childcare openings, and 91% of medical support jobs. Pressing women into service for our country could seriously upset our ability to educate our children, and care for the health and welfare of our citizens.
Most importantly, and dearest to my heart, is the toll that mandated service for females would take on the family unit. I acknowledge whole heartedly the contribution made to a family by a good and loving father, but the mother is truly the pillar of the home. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints teaches that “mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children” (Family, 1995). Mothers are universally recognized as tender care takers. In his proclamation Mother’s Day, 2002, President George W. Bush declared, “Mothers are central to the success of the American family. Their love, dedication, and wisdom touch countless lives every day in every community throughout our land. And their love and guidance of children help to develop healthy and spiritually sound families” (Bush, 2002). Abraham Lincoln once said, “All that I am or hope to be I owe to my angel mother. I remember my mother’s prayers and they have always followed me. They have clung to me all my life” (Bush, 2002). As the mother of five, I spend my life kissing ouches, scrubbing faces, and changing diapers for my little ones. I find that my older children are more independent, but they require my attention, encouragement and approval in their day to day lives. The absence of a mother, temporary or long term, is crippling to family life.
I was raised by a career military man, and later married one. I understand the sacrifice made by our military personnel and their families. Two decades before Sept 11, I was learning to take cover from terrorist attacks under my school desk, my father was out patrolling foreign borders, and my mother was home holding down the fort. She brought all of the happiness and security we had to our home. Perhaps that is why I feel so strongly about protecting this liberty. I respect and honor the woman that chooses to serve. I only believe it should remain a choice for her, even in times of war. Benjamin Franklin once remarked, “They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety” (Franklin, n.d.).

Chasing His Dreams

I married Gene Murphy on October 14, 1994. Seven months later, in late May of 1995, I crossed the stage in our town’s college auditorium and received my high school diploma. Rather than contemplating plans for my first grown-up summer that day, I was dreaming of joining my sailor sweetheart on the west coast, a home with a white picket fence, and lots and lots of babies. It took four years, but eventually my first of five boys arrived. Eddie was long and skinny, with blue eyes and orange-red peach fuzz which gave off the impression that his head was actually glowing. In the early days of motherhood, I suffered a great deal of anxiety directly related to the state of Eddie’s diaper. It did not take many years before I stopped worrying about diaper rash and began to worry about his future. Fretting over his future naturally led to concern for his education, which in turn led to concern over mine. I determined that my education, or lack thereof, would reflect on the kind of life my son would lead. There are some things that an educated mother can more easily gift her children than her uneducated counterpart.

Little boys are curious creatures. They have to know the ‘why’ of everything. Why can’t I have a pet penguin? Why do I have to wear a tie to church? Why do Rolly-Polly bugs curl up like that? And so on. These are examples of the kinds of questions that my boys typically ask when they are very small. Often times we simply need to say something like “penguins are wild”, or “you look spiffy” in response to these. But then they grow older. The questions become more complicated. Three word answers no longer suffice. They want to know about the genetic make up of worms, or perhaps they need to find as many synonyms for the word cold as they can. There is no room in my head to store that kind of information. By knowing how to find the answers to these questions, I eliminate the need. It is my wish to unlock mysteries for my children and broaden their horizons. And in so doing, teach them to find the answers for themselves.

Teaching is most easily accomplished by doing. I remember well when my mom went back to college. I was thirteen years old. All my life, she had been waiting for me when I arrived home from school. Most of the time, there was a homemade treat waiting for me which I would gobble up before disappearing for the remainder of the day. I took for granted that my mother’s sole purpose in life was to welcome me home with a hug and kiss, fill my belly, and then good naturedly wave good-bye as I departed into my childhood Neverland. She would, of course, wait anxiously for my return, all the while pondering on which pleasures she should next bestow upon me. I was proud of my mother. Needless to say, college was a rude awakening for me. Mother was no longer found in the dining room after school, but in the basement surrounded by monumental piles of various educational materials. The tempting treats of yesterday were no more. Those days were gone, replaced with long days of whispered conversations and peanut butter sandwiches. I learned something very important about my mother during those years. You see, like me, she loved being a mother. The loss of Neverland, and its accompanying sweetness, was a greater sacrifice for her than it was for me. I watched her make that sacrifice and struggle through her days. When the day finally came that my beloved mother put on her black graduation gown and cap, I drove with her to the ceremony and watched as she received her degree. I was proud of my mother.

Like my parents before me and their parents before them, I want a better life for my children than I have. Education opens the flood gates of opportunity. If I neglect my education, they are very likely to neglect theirs. If they know that I have gained an education, I have worked hard to make it a good education, and it has indeed influenced my life, my words will then have meaning. Each generation builds upon the last.

Unlike most of my classmates, I have no intention of joining the work force after I graduate. I have children to raise, and it is their season. So why attempt to juggle the demands of a large family, the responsibilities of a marriage and the work involved with school? Because my years of strong influence over my children are numbered. Like me, they have dreams. I want them to live those dreams. I have chosen to follow my heart, so that they will see me do it. I am pursuing my dreams now so that Eddie and his brothers will get it into their heads to do the same. While I am doing it at a fast trot, I pray that for them it will be a full on sprint.

Evan

I find it fascinating how different siblings can be. Born of the same parents and raised in the same home, and yet polar opposites in personality and habit. Such is the case in my family. Each of my sons is very definitely his own person. My oldest son, Eddie is almost ten. He is creative, active and generous. His first word was "WOW!", and he has pretty much lived his life by that motto. Scotty is my second, and he’s eight now. Scott has the strongest personality I have ever had the joy of knowing. There is no force on earth that can stop that boy once his mind is made. Jesse is three and a half. Recently I was told by a middle-aged mother that she wanted to marry him. Oh, yeah. He’s cute, but he’s trouble. Ross is still pretty little, but he has an impressive will and a fierce temper.
In counting, you may have noticed that I omitted number three. I assure you, this was not accidental. He is the topic of today’s soap box presentation. I have briefly described each of my other children. Now let me introduce Evan. Evan just turned six. You’ve seen the Macy’s Thanksgiving day parade, right? You know those giant balloons that have to be grounded by about a hundred people to keep them from floating away? That’s the best way to describe my Evan. I tell you this to help you better understand my predicament.
One day about a year ago, Evan came down stairs and announced that he was going to get a penguin for a pet. Knowing that his little heart is a tender one, I wanted to be very careful not to hurt his precious feelings. My initial argument against his plan was that Kansas is not a cold enough place for penguins to live. He responded that we could fill the bath tub with ice and they could live there. We went back and forth for weeks. Every time I came up with a brilliant thought that I was sure would dissuade him, he answered back with what seemed to him to be a very rational solution. I was mortified. I had no idea how I was going to get out of the whole penguin thing, and even less idea how I had gotten so far into it to begin with.
It all came to a head one night some weeks later. At our house, Daddy does the tucking in. It gives him a chance to have a little alone time with the kids, and also to make absolutely certain that they are too wound up to sleep. And so it happened that I was downstairs enjoying some quiet when I heard Evan going off. I phrase it thus because he sounds roughly like a tornado siren when it isn’t being drowned out by a storm. Anyway, down he ran, his little face doused in tears. When I asked him what was the matter he managed to sob the words, "Daddy said penguins are wild!" I was speechless. Weeks I had spent trying to gently let my boy down, and Daddy had done it in one word: wild.
Obviously, Evan and I understood the word "wild" differently. The denotative meaning of the word wild is: living in a state of nature, not tamed (dictionary.com). Evan’s connotation of the word meant: "I can’t have one as a pet." We were communicating in completely different ways. If I had only known exactly what to say, and what it would have meant to my sweet Evan, weeks of stress and fruitless hoping could have been avoided. Besides that, I learned one other valuable thing. When he came up with the idea of our whole family riding inside a whale to get to Disneyland, I referred him directly to his father.