“You can’t really be a feminist. You don’t hate men, so you wouldn’t have a reason to be.”

“Actually, the reason I’m a feminist is because of my dad.”

“You’re a feminist because you hate your dad?”

She laughed. “No. I love my dad. He was awesome when I was growing up! He made me laugh, disciplined me right, but he also treated me with respect. He always told me I could be whatever I wanted, and supported me through all the childhood dreams of being a doctor, the president, an astronaut, the works. He got me matchbox cars and Tonka trucks, Barbie dolls and tiaras, whatever I wanted, but only if I was good. He got me my first game console and played racing games with me all day! When I got older, he told me that sex was something two or more people did to have fun, but that I had to be careful because it could have consequences. He never acted patronizing about it, even though he was my father. He gave me the information I needed, and trusted me to make the right decision with it. He would always urge me to strive to be better than him, to be the best person I could be, even though I was a girl.

“He’s such a good dad, a good man, a good person, really, that I started to notice when people treated me differently because I was a girl. I really noticed when people acted like I didn’t belong because of my lady parts, or treated me like I was a cute decoration. I noticed when men treated me like I was there for their amusement, or acted like I should be sleeping with them for validation. I noticed when guys made fun of me because I was a girl, and that everyone around me thought it was normal and an okay thing to make fun of. I noticed when I didn’t have very many female characters in things I watched or read that I could look up to.

“I noticed all of these things because my dad treated me just the same as anyone else. He treated me like a person. And I wanted to be treated that way by everyone else too.”