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Mommy, When I Grow Up I Want to Be a Marxist (for bell hooks)
By
Jeff Foster, Apr 24, 2009
“Mommy,” said nine-year-old Bell after taking a sip from her Hawaiian Punch juice box, “when I grow up I want to
be a Marxist.”
Bell’s mother vigorously scrubbed a pan in the sink. “Why is that, sweetie?”
“Because women have been controlled and objectified by our capitalistic patriarchal society long enough.” Bell
nursed her juice box. “We are nothing but a commodity for males to buy, sell, and swap.”
“If you want to become a Marxist, then go ahead,” Bell’s mother replied, scouring the pan even harder with the
crusty, long-suffering sponge.
“And,” continued the little Marxist, “I also want a red BMW, a six-figure salary as a tenured professor, and I
want to command disgustingly high fees for speaking engagements.”
In a desperate effort to loosen the petrified grease, Bell’s mother whacked the pan against the cabinet above the
sink. “Honey, you can’t be a Marxist and have those things, too.”
“Why not?”
“Then you’d be a hypocrite.”
“Oh.” Bell finished her juice box with a big slurp.
Bell’s mother dropped the pan into the sink and sighed. She looked down at her feet in despair. Her husband would
be home soon and would want his dinner on the table.
“Mommy,” said Bell, after a few minutes of deliberation, “when I grow up, can I be a prostitute?”
Jeff Foster holds a Ph.D. in English and currently teaches English and Creative Writing at the University of
New Haven. His work has appeared in such publications as The Foliate Oak Online Literary Review, Kimera,
Chiron Review, Confluence, and Change: An Occasional Magazine Dedicated to the Memory of Richard
Brautigan. In addition, two pieces of his flash fiction are forthcoming in Ampersand (&) Review and
NANO Fiction.
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