Just a Girl by Tammie Adele

I wanna be where the boys are I wanna fight how the boys fight I wanna love how the boys love I wanna be where the boys are   ‘Come on, let’s get in the car girls.’ Sometime around 1980 my Mum was ushering my sister and I into the car, on either side of our sleeping baby brother, in the hope that it would encourage Dad to get in the driver’s seat and take us all home. Our young family had dropped in on friends to drop off something-or-other. It was late on a Sunday afternoon and Mum wanted to get home to settle her kids in before another week of work, school and childcare. However, once there Dad had seen a new-second-hand car sitting in the driveway, so had gladly accepted an offer to have a look under the bonnet. After waiting patiently in the backseat of the car for a few minutes my sister, Tarnya, and I became restless. ‘Whose car is that?’ Tarnya had asked in a bored and unconcerned tone, noting that it wasn’t either of the parents cars. In an equally bored and unconc

You don't own me Don't try to change me in any way You don't own me Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay   ‘Where’s my dinner woman!?’ my uncle ranted at his wife after coming home at about ten o’clock at night.             During this event I, along with the rest of my family and my uncle and aunt’s kids, was an observer. Not a, then seventeen year old, influencer. Not a participant. Not a contributor. Just an observer as I witnessed my parents stand compliantly by and my aunty attempt to brush off her husband’s petulant demands to be fed.             While my aunty diplomatically pointed out to my uncle that he could get himself something to eat, I was gob-smacked that my parents had stood there and watched my mum’s sister have to defuse the situation as my uncle became more and more irritated at his dinner not being produced for him. My cousins, on the other hand, didn’t even raise an eyebrow, presumably because this was how things rolled in the

The ‘inferior sex’ got a new exterior We got doctors, lawyers, politicians too. Everybody - take a look around. Can you see - can you see - can you see There's a woman right next to you   Julia Gillard had just overthrown Kevin Rudd to become Australia’s first female Prime Minister. During the weeks that followed the media made much hype over this matter, as was to be expected whenever a new PM comes into power. However, unlike with other new PMs, this time round the media hype was fixated on Prime Minister Gillard’s wardrobe, hair style, gender and lack of children, with just one redheaded comedian avoiding the overused rhetoric by cracking jokes about Australia having a ‘rangger’ for PM. The media showed a distinct lack of interest in her policies and general ability to do the job. Many Baby Boomer males were heard lamenting that ‘She’ll get the female vote’. I really took offence at these comments. Were women that easily swayed? Were our votes less valid than the male

Take this pink ribbon off my eyes  I’m exposed and it’s no big surprise  Don’t you think I know exactly where I stand  This world is forcing me to hold your hand  On the moring of 24 June 2010, having already dropped my gorgeous partner of the last nine or ten years off at work, I parked the car in my building’s car park and proceeded to the lift up to my floor. The lift ride inevitably involved awkward moments for any male unfortunate enough to be caught either in the vicinity of the lift or, worse still, within the lift, as they awkwardly scrambled to get out of my way in, what I am told, is a sign of respect for women, but really just comes across as if they think they are going to catch the plague off me. Woops. There’s one at the door, and yes, this one is making sure that I don’t spread any of my germs by using his arm to ensure that the doors don’t touch me. ‘What responsibilities these men have!’ is what I typically think to myself in these situations. Once at my desk wit