When I was a kid, back in the mid-1950’s, my “path” was frequently laid out for me: wife, mother and caretaker of my parents once they turned elderly.

            I never saw myself that way.

            Home was not a happy place, so why would I want to be a homemaker? My parents were cruel taskmasters, so why would I want to be a parent? I was forced to babysit my younger sister who was a self-centered narcissist, so why would I want to have kids?

            My place of refuge was school, and even that wasn’t such a wonderful place. As a shy kid with low self-esteem, my academic goal was to be invisible. I trembled as I worked on every assignment, as my parents offered strict punishment for any grade below an A.

            My teachers weren’t always kind or patient. Most of them ignored me, allowing me to languish in my seat and so not receive the education I deserved. Some of them actively humiliated me, calling me stupid in front of my classmates, putting me in the corner with a dunce cap. Some sneered or snickered when they called my name, most likely because they knew I was too fearful to respond.

            As I grew older, I became more aware of the path my parents expected me to follow. My life experiences solidified that their desires weren’t mine. I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted or how I would get there, but I had to get away from that toxic environment.

            In eighth grade we were led into the church to hear speakers talk about the religious life. Priests, monks and nuns addressed our classes, explaining what that life meant to them. Monastic life appealed to me.

            Prayer came naturally, and although I’ve never been able to meditate, closing my eyes and reciting the prayers every kid learns, gave me a sorely needed sense of peace. Since I loved quiet, living in near silence seemed like a joy. I was a hard worker, so the thought of cleaning or gardening or even, heaven forbid cooking, felt like solace in a terrifying world.

            When it came time to sign up, I eagerly completed the forms. All I needed was a parental signature.

            Imagine my trepidation when I handed the papers to my mom.

            She tore the papers up into tiny pieces. She insisted I’d never be fulfilled in that life, that a woman’s job was to marry and have kids.

            When I declared that I didn’t want either, she walked away.

            My ability to choose my own path was taken away. I cried about it for days.

            As high school came to an end, I knew I wanted to go to college. I was comfortable in academic settings. I felt safe at school, even though I was often bullied by girls in the locker room or when teachers taunted me in front of the class.

            But at school, no one struck me, hit me with a belt, grabbed my arms and shook me until I saw stars or slapped me so hard my neck hurt for weeks.

            Because my brother was allowed to go to college, my parents allowed me to apply.

            After much research and consideration, I had limited my college choices to Ohio State and San Francisco State University, where I’d study math. I was also interested in the University of Redlands and the University of Southern California, both which offered degrees in Math and Russian.

            My brother thought he was brilliant. Why not? My mom told him over and over how smart he was, as opposed to telling me that I was a failure. He was an arrogant bully, much like my dad.

            He applied to the California Institute of Technology to study engineering.

            We drove from our home in San Bruno down to southern California supposedly so both my brother and I could look at colleges. Our first stop was CIT. We walked around the campus on our own, not part of a tour. It was a hot, windy day. The lawns were green, the buildings impressive.

            Redlands wasn’t too far away. I had begged to visit, so after spending two hours at CIT, my dad reluctantly drove to Redlands. I expected the same treatment: that we’d walk about the campus.

            I should have known better. I had never been considered an equal to my brother even though my grades were sometimes better than his.

            All we did was get off the freeway, travel down the long palm-tree lined road that led to the administrative building, then turn around and leave. I cried, begged, pleaded, but my dad refused to stop.

            My freedom to choose was taken away from me.

            The only college my parents would allow me to attend was the same college where my brother was going to go: USC.

            I spent three years there, living on campus. I chose my classes, ate when and what I wanted, and slowly made friends. I loved that life, dreaded the end of each school year when I was forced to return home and resume my life as a household slave.

            By this time, I had dated a bit, even found a young man that I seriously thought about marrying. Until he told friends that he liked me because I never had any opinions. That relationship ended within days of that comment.

            I knew enough that if I married, it would be on my terms, to someone who respected me as an equal. Who saw potential in me to do great things. Who didn’t put me in the motherhood box.

            I wanted the freedom to choose when and if I had kids. What I did with my life, in terms of career, continued education, hobbies and activities.

            My husband has given me all that.

            In today’s political world, women’s rights are being chipped away, piece by piece. All the things we fought for, reproductive freedom, the ability to vote, hold valued careers, be treated as equals in the workplace, are disappearing.

            Recently a professional football player gave the commencement speech at a Catholic university. He praised motherhood and being a wife. That’s his view of what a woman should aspire for.

            Didn’t he know that there would be highly educated women sitting there? Women who might have played college athletics, but who dreamt of something more than kicking a football?

            The college did send out a statement that his views didn’t represent the college’s philosophy, but the damage was done.

            The player’s view of women, that of the happy housewife with an apron around her waist and kids tugging at the strings, is what many want, the life as portrayed in old black-and-white TV shows where the little woman cleaned house in a dress and pearls.

            If today’s young women want what I did and continue to do, then they need the freedom to choose. If she wants to be wife and mother, then she can. If she wants to be President, then she can do that as well.

            The freedom to choose is a wondrous thing. Please don’t take away that right.