Anyway, boss lady calls me in and I’m all, “What did I do now?” and she’s all, “If you repeat any of what I’m about to tell you, I will deny I said it and fire your ass.” Wide-eyed and gape-jawed, I listened as she explained the pay disparity between me and my mostly male, mostly white counterparts with the same experience (and less drive) than me; seemed that every one of them was making, on average, about $20K more than me, and, get this, they were getting bonuses every year.

In womanly solidarity, boss lady upped my salary and hit me off with a bonus; it wasn’t what the men were making, but the extra in my paycheck sure was appreciated.

All of this came rushing back to me recently when I read this story celebrating the 90th anniversary of the enactment of the 19th Amendment—the amendment that granted women the right to vote—and imploring the U.S. Senate to pass the Paycheck Fairness Act, a new equal pay law that would make it tough for businesses to get away with discriminating against women. President Obama, who says he'll sign the law once it makes its way through the Senate, says the law would help not only women, but the economic security of our families. For sure, women are still making only 77 cents for every dollar earned by equally qualified men. And the wage gap is even greater for women of color, mothers, and women with more years of work experience. Even crazier? There’s also a HUGE disparity between the salaries and hiring of mothers vs. non-mothers. 

Now what are we going to do about it?

And besides, this was the point of it all. We raise our children and love on them and pray for them and prepare them as best we can to go out into the world and succeed. Maybe even be better than us. And if we’ve done our jobs right, then their leaving should be met with pure, unadulterated joy.

Still, it’s the leaving that’s the hard part—the day you hug them and kiss them good-bye and close the door behind them, knowing full well that when the lock catches and your hand, clammy and unsteady, loosens its grip on the knob, everything is… changed.

I didn’t expect that I would feel this way about Mazi going on to college. If I’m being really honest, I didn’t think I would feel this way about Mazi ever. He is, you see, my son. But not really. Specifically, he is my stepson, and, when I'm being honest with myself, I can admit it took me a minute to love him sans conditions—as if he were my own.