Everything you can do — You can do in heels

I would say that my grandmother was obstinate at best. She never took the easy way out. She always did everything 1000%, pedal to the metal, hard to the rails, in full makeup and heels. When she decided she wanted something done, it had to be done. Now. Exactly the way she wanted it done. Regardless of everything else. She wouldn't take anyone's bs, even her own kids, and expected diligent perfection.

She would always hoover in heels.

It was very simple and wholly unnecessary aspect of hoovering the house. Aside from not needing to fit expected 'feminine' traits — her husband has passed in the war, she had 6 boys, each with children, and a collection of stray neighborhood children that she took in. The house was a rolling tide of furiously organized chaos at all times. Even with managing the church community, her civic duty, her kids, other children, and organizing a huge family across the US and Europe — she hoovered in heels, always had on at least foundation and mascara, and never left her room in anything that would be termed as less than 'smart.' 

I never thought much of it until one easter. In the cliche white taffeta dress with pink sparkle trim, while stockings, and glitter plastic heels, I left church and ran off to her house to play soccer with the other kids, reminiscent of an Oliver Twist brood. The excessive layers of polyester in my skirt made it difficult to run, let alone see the ball under me, while my heels sank into the clay earth. Generally, I was a disaster and the boys wasted no time in noting every point in which I was terrible, especially considering that I was typically a fairly good teammate. 

I ran into the house, upset, and trying to rip off every piece of the cake topper costume I was made out in. Of course, I couldn't get any of it off myself, and fell exasperated to the floor. Grandma came up, and in her typical, unphased, unwavering voice said 'okay — tell me what is the matter.' I yelled that all of 'this stupid stuff' was preventing me from playing well, but she wouldn't let me change.

“Anything you can do, you can do in heels.”

She sent me back out there. Soon enough, the jeering and frustration made me angry. I decided I was going to show them. Show them how great I was, no matter what. I ran faster, slid harder, and generally became more aggressive. I wouldn't say I was great, but I held my own and my 'come at me' attitude bought me some clearance from the other kids.

I came back in when we were called fro dinner, still defiant and full of tiny human rage in strawberry blonde curls. My mother was livid, screeching about my torn stockings and shoes covered in mud. Grandma just smiled and told me to clean up.

This scene played itself out many times over and in many ways. I thought for a long time this was just grandma preparing me for finishing school and old gender stereotypes. I realize now that she was teaching me to value conviction and steadfast dedication.

Almost anyone can do something given the right conditions. That, however, is not how life works. You don't get to determine the rules of engagement like an 18th century battle. Life comes at you like Swampfox, and you still need to do what you set out to do if you ever want to succeed. You must be capable of doing things when they are difficult. 

There are still wars in the freezing rain, there are battles in the middle of the night. You don't get allowances for feeling sick, or having a bad night. The world is going to do what it will, with or without you, so you must be able to adapt, stand firm, and do it with poise.