By Alissa Golob
When I was a kid I hated my birthday. No point in having an Arthur birthday when everyone was off vacationing in tropical lands with their families for March Break. As a teen, the soothing thought of sharing my special day with one Freddie Prinze Jr made the occasion much more bearable. Today, as a young woman in her twenties, March 8th is more meaningful to me than ever before. Not only is it the magical day that the laws of my country finally chose to recognize my humanity, it is the day that women across the world celebrate their humanity and achievements as well. I never understood the significance of my birth on International Women’s Day until I started to become a woman myself.
In 1929, after a long and drawn out battle of the sexes, women were finally recognized as persons in Canada under the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council. Who knew that almost one hundred years later, Canadians would still be fighting the same battle. Who knew that almost one hundred years later, the Canadian Medical Association Journal would release an editorial entitled, “It’s a girl!”- could be a death sentence. Who knew that some females would still be defined out of existence.
When my mother was just nineteen years old, she had an unexpected pregnancy. A first-year student at the University of Trent, she never expected to go from choosing her major to choosing baby clothes. When the doctor confirmed my mother’s shocking news, the first words out of her mouth were, “I’m pro-baby and everything, but I can schedule you an abortion if you like”. With a simple “yes” my life could have legally been taken in a blink of an eye. My value and worth as a female could have been literally sucked from me- no questions asked.
