Note : The title, " The Feminine Mistake," has  been used before,
but it is too good to pass up in this context,
BR
 
 
Washington Post
 
‘The Feminine Mystique’ at  50
 
By _Kathleen Parker_ 
(http://www.washingtonpost.com/kathleen-parker/2011/02/24/ABsg1XN_page.html) ,  
Feb  13, 2013 01:16 AM ESTThe Washington Post 
(http://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/kathleen-parker-the-feminine-mystique-at-50/2013/02/12/0169524c-75
52-11e2-95e4-6148e45d7adb_story.html?hpid=z3#license-0169524c-7552-11e2-95e4
-6148e45d7adb) Published: February 12  
 
 
< 
Now is the time for all good women to pay homage  to Betty Friedan, who 50 
years ago wrote the game-changing manifesto “_The Feminine Mystique_ 
(http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0393063798/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&camp
=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0393063798&linkCode=as2&tag=slatmaga-20) .”
 
With that book, Friedan helped propel a revolution led by, of all people,  
unhappy housewives. 



 
 
One feels silly even writing such a sentence, but revolutions have to start 
 somewhere. Why not in the checkout line at the Piggly Wiggly? Or wherever  
Friedan, who was actually writing magazine stories the whole time she was 
bored,  went to shop.  
Friedan did, indeed, identify and give shape to “the problem that has no  
name” — female angst born of privilege — but she also helped launch a 
flotilla  of myths that have many women (and men) still scratching their heads. 
 
As her critics have noted, Friedan didn’t tackle any of the legal obstacles 
 to women’s equality. Nor did she pay attention to women of color or 
members of  the working class. She mostly noted that women like her — 
well-to-do,  
well-educated and stifled by domestic bliss — wanted and deserved more. It  
simply wasn’t fair that men had fulfilling lives, intellectually and 
monetarily,  while women were expected to find satisfaction in the latest 
invention aimed at  whiter collars and cleaner toilet bowls. 
Anyone familiar with “The Stepford Wives” can grasp this notion. Thus,  
thousands of women like Friedan, recognizing themselves in her lament, charged 
 out of their houses and into the streets. 
Doubtless I would have been a member of the stampede had I been of age, but 
 as it happens, I was being raised by a widower and assumed that all men  
delighted in carpooling and cooking. How little I knew of the toils of sad,  
wealthy women. 
Thus, the feminist movement left the station without me — except to the  
extent, as readers sometimes remind me, that I benefited from the protests of 
my  foremothers. Indeed, I am grateful for the suffragists who thought my 
vote  should be equal to any man’s. And I am thankful that the workplace I 
entered  recognized my value. But the world in which I grew up never suggested  
otherwise. 
In all those years when Friedan and colleagues were demanding an equal 
rights  amendment, I heard only words of encouragement from a lawyer/father who 
demanded  much and often intoned: “An unnecessary law is always a bad law.” 
He never once  suggested that a girl was in any way less capable than a boy 
in any arena (the  combat exception was so obvious in a household of male 
warriors that no one  bothered to debate it). 
The focus of most conversation was on simple principles: Hard work leads to 
 accomplishment leads to self-respect. I could not divine a gender element 
to  these truths. I also saw plenty of working women, including my 
pediatrician, as  well as those who, despite having been professionals before 
becoming mothers,  had chosen to run busy households.  
Nevertheless, I was marinating in a culture that was shifting, and I was  
surely absorbing the zeitgeist. But members of my generation also were 
becoming  unwitting hostages to myths that few were brave enough to challenge. 
My 
own  skepticism came to full fruition the moment I became a mother.  
Unlike Friedan, I wasn’t tethered to home but to a job. Rather than 
resenting  the prospect of staying home with a baby, I was stricken by the 
realization that  I couldn’t. The “strange stirring, a sense of 
dissatisfaction, a 
yearning,”  words Friedan used to describe thwarted ambition, was for me the 
sense of having  abandoned my son.  
Revolutions are like children — eager and hopeful in the beginning; then,  
like teenagers, suddenly riotous and unruly. They have their own ideas about 
 things and pick up friends who are bad influences. Sometimes they need to 
be  spanked. Fine, okay, a timeout. 
Fifty years later, Friedan’s movement has reached full adulthood and, one  
hopes, is seeing a shrink. Among lessons gleaned from the couch is that  
maturation requires recognizing our mistakes and our own roles in unwelcome  
consequences. What worked for privileged, educated women hasn’t worked so well 
 for those at the other end of the socioeconomic spectrum. And although 
women  have the same need as men to lead meaningful lives, the feminist mystique
’s  great failing was in advancing the notion that caring for children 
posed an  obstacle to self-realization.  
In a twist to delight the Fates, Friedan’s ultimate legacy may well be a  
stay-at-home dad, grateful for the latest appliance that liberates him to  
carpool and make organic treats — squealing oui, oui, oui! all the way  home.

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