ROLE MODELS VS. RUNWAY MODELS

When I opened the letter, I knew there'd been a mistake. 

I was being asked to join my alma mater's President's Council for Women. 

I stopped and read it again. Then I ran out and had the letter framed. In my alma mater's colors. 

In the Fall of 2014, I traveled to New York City for my first Council meeting, still convinced there'd been a grave misunderstanding somewhere along the line. I'm certainly not the most accomplished or financially successful of my law school classmates. Not even close. 

But when I arrived at the forum, I knew it was real. And it was fabulous. I was surrounded by amazing women at the very pinnacle of their careers. They were smart, funny, and kind. And they wanted to give back. They weren't focused on leaning in; they wanted to step back and see how they could help young women coming up behind them. 

The experience was life-altering.

Interestingly, when asked, many of the women attributed their success to loving fathers who told them they could do anything they wanted in life. Fathers who encouraged them with a blind eye toward gender, and a warm (and often playful) heart full of love.

When I got home, a single thought consumed me. Young girls need to be exposed to role models, not runway models. 

Role models like the women with whom I'd just spent three incredible days. Role models like my own father, who was the best physician ever born, and who I know adored me (even though he was an All-American football player in college, and I was his fourth daughter and final child. Whenever I asked him if he was disappointed that I wasn't a boy, he always said no, but I knew he was lying, and I loved him more for it).

A few days later, Super Bowl mania hit TV. The players gave speeches. The owners smiled. And the only women on the scene were jumping around in skimpy outfits, shaking their long hair from side-to-side. They weren't on the screen because of their intelligence or accomplishments. They weren't prancing around because they were charitably minded. They served a sole purpose, as ornaments. In team colors. 

I was a cheerleader in high school, and I loved it. Back then, it was the only "sport" available to girls. But that was real cheerleading, with physical prowess. It involved acrobatics and the (mandatory) splits. And we were fully clothed. It was nothing like what I witnessed on TV.

During the Super Bowl itself, an unlikely advertisement gave me hope. Maybe you saw it. I hope you've at least heard of it. It's an ad tied to Proctor & Gamble's "Like a Girl" campaign. A voice off screen asks people of various ages to act out what it means to throw like a girl. You can imagine what happens. Then a young girl steps onto the scene, winds up her arm, and lets an imaginary baseball fly. She is the epitome of strength and confidence. My heart soared, tracking the trajectory of the invisible orb. 

For the record, I don't consider myself a feminist, primarily because I don't want to be defined by particular issues. To me, what matters in life is character. And strong values. I want to be a "trench buddy," both at home and at work. The person who will never leave you behind when the going gets rough; when you're fighting for ideals that are important. And young girls are important.

So what have I done about my role model project since the Super Bowl? Nothing. Except talk about it with people I respect. I guess that's a start, but it's surely not a finish. 

Until recently, I felt like a failure for not following through. But then, a few months ago, I was blessed with a granddaughter, and her birth taught me something. I no longer think that my project needs to be played out on the national stage. I've decided to start small, and serve as a role model for her. I want to teach her to use her mind and open her heart. After all, she is my true legacy. Life isn't about money, or whether you have the corner office, or what prestigious awards you receive. It's what you leave behind. 

Maybe that's what all of us are ultimately called to do. To be living examples of goodness and lives well lived. To show young girls how to embrace ordinary moments that make life extraordinary. Fully clothed.