truly understand the gravity of the amendment until it took place.
I feel that I was so removed from the struggle that it took to achieve this incredible milestone. Generations of women had protested in pursuit of a basic civil liberty that would allow them to participate in democracy and society. I recalled it all from my history classes, but until it occurred and the constitution was ratified, I had taken all of their work for granted, knowing that things would be different in the future and considering my own vote little if not completely inconsequential. When it came out in the papers, Sam brought it in and hugged me, as if I had been fighting the fight myself for years. I felt embarrassed; for over fifty years women had lectured, written, lobbied and marched to achieve such a fundamental change and I had stood by passively wrapped up in my own personal strife and consequence. I knew at that time, that many of the women who had worked for the change did not live to see it. I had suddenly felt it was my duty to utilize my vote as a tribute to them. Though I still question whether or not one vote could change anything, but at least I could still contribute.
I then began to wonder, almost equivocally, how and what I would have used this ability for if things had been different in my own time. As Becky and I dreamed about the novelties of adulthood—sex, college, and independence, we hadn’t thought of all of the other important things such as contributing to society, or letting your voice be heard through civic action. Once again, I feel this was almost entirely due to my own naivety. Though, I was a smart young girl, and I was certain that having this civil liberty, which I may have taken for granted, I would have almost certainly acted on, particularly if there were something that had impassioned me. Once I had fallen back into the dawn of the century, I had focused solely on what to do with my own life, and how to survive in this new world or get back into the old one. If I had been free to live my life as I would, without the confusion of time traveling, I feel that things might have been different. And then, I wondered, would my vote in the future have changed anything? After all, I was unable to vote in the past. Simply having a family could cause ripples beyond my understanding, but what if my action in this time changed the outcome of an election or a law?
My father had once explained this dilemma to me as a child. He called it the Time Traveler’s Paradox . Essentially, it refers to and applies to your ability and wish to change things from one time period to another, and the sphere of influence you might have. You will always regret some of your decisions, and you may always wonder how things could have been different had you been living in another time, because of your ability to travel between realms.
I was thirteen when he described this to me. I was already aware of his ‘excursions’, or his abilities, existing regardless of any reason, one way or the other. I hadn’t seen him in about two months when he appeared in the dining room while I was working on my homework.
He always appeared with a loud noise, usually a thud from landing on the floor or a piece of furniture or the like. And there was always this quiet hissing sound, a fizzle, like the static that I saw whenever he vanished, his image drifting in and out like a hologram. I was turning the pages of my algebra book when I heard the hissing of static growing louder in the dining room. My heart stopped in my chest, and I waited for him to appear. My mother had been in the kitchen when it happened, and when the hissing was followed by a loud thud, she went running to make sure everything was okay, and that he was still alive.
There were always tears after my father returned. Part of it was the unknown, the fear that he might not return, or that he might return in bits and pieces. But another part of it was the pure shock. It was like living on
I feel that I was so removed from the struggle that it took to achieve this incredible milestone. Generations of women had protested in pursuit of a basic civil liberty that would allow them to participate in democracy and society. I recalled it all from my history classes, but until it occurred and the constitution was ratified, I had taken all of their work for granted, knowing that things would be different in the future and considering my own vote little if not completely inconsequential. When it came out in the papers, Sam brought it in and hugged me, as if I had been fighting the fight myself for years. I felt embarrassed; for over fifty years women had lectured, written, lobbied and marched to achieve such a fundamental change and I had stood by passively wrapped up in my own personal strife and consequence. I knew at that time, that many of the women who had worked for the change did not live to see it. I had suddenly felt it was my duty to utilize my vote as a tribute to them. Though I still question whether or not one vote could change anything, but at least I could still contribute.
I then began to wonder, almost equivocally, how and what I would have used this ability for if things had been different in my own time. As Becky and I dreamed about the novelties of adulthood—sex, college, and independence, we hadn’t thought of all of the other important things such as contributing to society, or letting your voice be heard through civic action. Once again, I feel this was almost entirely due to my own naivety. Though, I was a smart young girl, and I was certain that having this civil liberty, which I may have taken for granted, I would have almost certainly acted on, particularly if there were something that had impassioned me. Once I had fallen back into the dawn of the century, I had focused solely on what to do with my own life, and how to survive in this new world or get back into the old one. If I had been free to live my life as I would, without the confusion of time traveling, I feel that things might have been different. And then, I wondered, would my vote in the future have changed anything? After all, I was unable to vote in the past. Simply having a family could cause ripples beyond my understanding, but what if my action in this time changed the outcome of an election or a law?
My father had once explained this dilemma to me as a child. He called it the Time Traveler’s Paradox . Essentially, it refers to and applies to your ability and wish to change things from one time period to another, and the sphere of influence you might have. You will always regret some of your decisions, and you may always wonder how things could have been different had you been living in another time, because of your ability to travel between realms.
I was thirteen when he described this to me. I was already aware of his ‘excursions’, or his abilities, existing regardless of any reason, one way or the other. I hadn’t seen him in about two months when he appeared in the dining room while I was working on my homework.
He always appeared with a loud noise, usually a thud from landing on the floor or a piece of furniture or the like. And there was always this quiet hissing sound, a fizzle, like the static that I saw whenever he vanished, his image drifting in and out like a hologram. I was turning the pages of my algebra book when I heard the hissing of static growing louder in the dining room. My heart stopped in my chest, and I waited for him to appear. My mother had been in the kitchen when it happened, and when the hissing was followed by a loud thud, she went running to make sure everything was okay, and that he was still alive.
There were always tears after my father returned. Part of it was the unknown, the fear that he might not return, or that he might return in bits and pieces. But another part of it was the pure shock. It was like living on
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