When I first started college over ten years ago, I thought I wanted to teach. I had this fantastic World Civ teacher that made me want to combine my love of history with teaching. However, after a time, the introvert in me whispered, “Do you really think you can handle that many people day in and day out?” She had a valid point. I mean if I took online classes to keep away from too many people in a classroom, what made me think I could teach in one?

Needless to say, I did not become a teacher. However, I kinda did.

I work in a small town computer repair shop. Our owner has been in the business for 28 years and has built a loyal customer base. People come from all over because she’s built a solid reputation for being the best. Our customers love her down to Earth nature, plain spoken honesty, and brilliant mind. So do I. I’ve learned a lot from her and learn something new daily. I tell her all the time that I only thought I knew something about computers before coming to work for her. Plus, I have a huge appreciation for working for a woman owned business.
My job didn’t begin as working on computers. With most of the jobs I’ve had, I’ve prided myself on knowing how to do more than I was hired for. Six years ago, I started out helping customers and ordering stock mostly. Soon, the focus of my job was bookkeeping and office managing. As I picked up more and more computer knowledge, I’ve started assisting with IT and repair.

I can’t explain how rewarding it is to work in IT. We offer remote support for home and business. It’s a great feeling to be the comforting voice on the line reassuring someone that the computer that runs their livelihood is not dead, can be fixed, and no, all your hard work and files are not lost to the void. We work with all manner of people from the 85 year old grandmother who just wants us to show her how to upload pictures of her grand kids to Facebook to complicated business networks with specialty software. We are privileged to work with veterans who have been gravely wounded or lost their sight defending our country. Making their lives a little easier in any small way is very rewarding.

One of the best parts of my job is that I remotely teach the elderly how to use their computers. I get excited when people call and remember what I taught them the last time we spoke, even if it’s something as simple as changing their Facebook photo. One of the oldest customers I assist just turned 92.

Recently, a customer introduced to me to her daughter as her “computer girl.” She said, “You know that thing I do where I scan and email you pictures? Kacie taught me how to do that.” Their pride for accomplishing something just makes my day. I feel like I’ve accomplished something as well.

It’s refreshing to teach people who want to learn. Their zest and drive to understand something that seems so complicated to them is refreshing. Teaching is very rewarding whether it’s in a classroom full of students or one on one at a desk. My boss says, “If you stop learning, you’re dead.”

I’m glad to be teaching and glad to be making some small difference in the lives of those we help. It makes me feel hopeful if I can give someone who is lost a little direction. Fulfilling work that you enjoy is important to living a happy life. Mine, at the moment, is the happiest it’s been in a while.

You Don’t Look Sick


One of my most recent trips to the doctor had me seated

next to a lady who was very pregnant. This isn’t

surprising for the OB’s office. However, this very

cheery lady proceeded to ask me how many

children I have. None. Then, was I just there for

a check up? No.

After her questioning and me explaining my

issues with PCOS and hypothyroid, she smiled

at me and said, “Well, you don’t look sick. At least

that’s something.” I know she was trying to be

nice, but I was irked.

Dealing with illnesses and issues like mine, I

hear that a lot. I see that my fellow sufferers

hear the same. It’s almost as if my illness isn’t

valid because I don’t look like I have an illness

all the time.

Nevermind the pain, the frustrations, the anemia,

being cold all the time, my hair falling out, the

swelling, the rashes, the depression, how I turn

into a crazy person if my hormones are off, the

weight gain, the insulin resistance, the heavy

prolonged menstrual cycles, the ovarian cysts,

high blood pressure, the heart palpitations, and

that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

My worst enemies seem to be the fatigue and

memory loss. I can sleep 10 plus hours and still

wake up tired. Small things that I should

remember are lost in the wind. Mentally, I can

feel great some days, but my body has no get up

and go. There are a lot of times where I take a

shower and have to rest afterward.

If I don’t get at least eight hours of sleep, I am

like a hungover zombie. I look about like one as

well. I make plans for weekends like I’m your

average adult only to come home from working

half a day on Saturday and sleep the afternoon


Also, no matter if I’m on my feet all day or not,

they tend to swell. If it’s a bad night and my body

decides I need something new to be allergic to,

my lips swell. I end up looking like Will Smith in


All this has vastly improved since I started doing

low carb, and it’s a work in progress, but there

are still bad days. My hormones are adjusting to

my bit of weight loss. My husband never knows

if I’m going to be sweet or salty. I am like Forrest

Gump’s box of chocolate. You never know what

you’re going to get. Although I feel a lot better

most days, sometimes the hormones get the

jump on me.

My friend once described hormone issues like an

out of body experience. That was one of the

most resonating things I’ve ever heard in my

entire life. I can be just completely losing it,

and knowing I’m being crazy, and can do nothing

to stop it. I have to wait out the storm just like

my husband. He is usually great about it. He’s

seen the evolution of changes I’ve gone through

over the years.

I am an introvert and homebody. I’m happy with

work and home. I’m all about comfort zones.

Stepping out of them makes me a nervous,

anxiety riddled mess. If I’m home with my dogs

and a book, I’m am the happiest I can be.

Everything is right in my world.

For those of us who “don’t look sick,” please keep

those thoughts to yourself. I may not look like

the above photod today, and though you mean

well, sometimes it’s best to leave well enough


New Year, New Me

New Years Eve, I planned to make a huge pot of potato soup. You can’t go wrong on a cold day with hot potatoes, ham, sautéed onions, and parmesan cheese.

So, a run to the local grocery store was in order. We’re seeing record low temperatures for central Mississippi. I had the following conversation with every person I met:

“Hi. How are you?”

“Good, but it’s cold out.”

“And only going to get colder. Happy new year.”

“Same to you. Stay warm.”

If Southern folks can’t agree on anything else, the consensus is usually the same on cold weather and ice. My cashier said that they were running low on milk and bread as is the norm for extreme weather in Mississippi.

My soup was tasty and my cornbread was pretty and also tasty. I haven’t made a sweet potato pie in a while so that was on the menu as well.

My husband’s Mimi and mom couldn’t make it so me and my best bud took them a big bowl of soup, cornbread, and pie. Molly enjoyed visiting and had to sniff out the whole area.

I decided that my inner child would enjoy some fireworks. Tony is suffering from a bad cold so he stood in the back door and watched me fire off a few. After a few minutes, I knew it was too cold. I headed in and got in my warm pajamas, fuzzy house shoes, and cuddled up under my blanket.

While Tony and I watched t.v., I reflected on my year.

I’ve been seeing New Year, New Me posts. I don’t intend to be a new me. I like me. Do I need some bettering? Yes, but don’t we all. I don’t want to be a new me. I want to be a better me in 2018.

Better reader.

Better writer.

Better friend.

Better wife.

Better employee.

Better me and all that means. 


Please be advised that the following blog post contains sensitive subject matter and may be a trigger for those who live with present and past experiences with sexual harassment, abuse, and assault.


Social media has been filled lately with the #MeToo stories of sexual abuse, harassment, and assault. The recent attention to the subject has been desperately needed for change. I personally have shared my story(ies) with close friends and family. This has been about as far as it as gone. I’ve seen/heard of too many of my friends and others in my life who have gone through these type situations themselves. This is an issue for both men and women. A person’s gender does not determine whether or not one can help educate, change, and prevent future instances of abuse..

While this has been in the media, I have seen my fair share of people saying things like how someone dresses or their level of intoxication is just asking for an unwanted sexual situation. I can’t explain the feelings that come over me when I read or hear of someone saying it’s deserved or asked for. First, anger, obviously. Who in their right mind would ever believe that someone would wear something with the intent of getting assaulted? This is absolutely insane. Also, I should be able to expect other people to control their primal urges no matter how I’m dressed.

Secondly, I feel a deep sadness that people actually blame the victim. They point fingers at someone who has experienced what is potentially the worst thing that’s ever happened to them.

And third, I feel a fear for every person that I care about and even those I don’t know that they may experience what I myself have.

I’ve had several experiences with harassment and abuse throughout my life. I can remember the boy in middle school who made unwanted advances. I can recall the boyfriend who thought I needed a “push” to be ready for the same things he was, but the cake topper was my step father.

He was ex law enforcement, well thought of, and popular.

I realize now that I should have seen earlier signs. There were snide inappropriate comments and smacks to my backside when it began. While this was uncomfortable, I, in my fourteen year old mind, thought it was as far as it would go. Oh, how wrong I was.

My life changed drastically. Every man I met became a potential predator. I didn’t want anyone to touch me. My view of myself changed. I disgusted myself. I was damaged with no self worth, and I felt like everyone could see it. For the past sixteen years, I haven’t felt comfortable around people. I had to admit to my sweet boyfriend (now husband) what was happening to me after he witnessed it first hand. Had he not caught my step father in the act, I may never have spoken up. Tony cornered me in my room and demanded to know how long I’d been enduring the abuse. His brown eyes were a mix of sorrow and anger. He told me that if I did not speak up, that he would. My relationship with him has been changed. He’s been so tender and understanding about the lingering issues that I’ll probably have for the rest of my life. My heart has been hardened because of what happened to me. If sharing my story will prevent it from happening to just one person, it is worth putting my private experience out there.

Please, if you feel like someone might be making inappropriate advances toward you, no matter how insignificant it may seem, tell someone.



September is my second favorite month. It is second only to October. We are over halfway done with 2017. I’m not complaining. 2017 is trying too hard to be like 2016, and we all know what a wreck that was. Fall, my favorite time of the year, is just around the corner… somewhere else. For Mississippi, it’s more like fall is no longer than a week, usually in November.

Summer is considered over, but we still have temperatures in the 90s until October.

Kids are going back to school, football is beginning, and we’ll be bombarded with pumpkin spice every-frickin’-thing. Places like Wal-Mart will get a jump on Christmas, and make the garden center a winter wonderland. This drives my husband crazy. He shakes his head and in his most frustrated tone says, “What about fall? It’s just pushed aside for Christmas because that’s what businesses make the most money off of.” He’s a grumpy old man at heart.

September feels like new beginnings to me. Maybe it’s the subtle shift in the air or just a new school year.

I stepped outside of my house this morning to a crisp, cool breeze. It felt like autumn. Although I’m not naive enough to think it will last, I fully intend to enjoy the current cool snap. Fall is the most wonderful time of the year for me. The leaves are falling and plants begin to die, but as for me, I’ve never felt more alive than in the fall of the year.

This time of year always makes me think of my favorite things. Things like books, fresh coffee, cinnamon, fuzzy socks, and crisp autumn apples. I want to be outside. Doing yoga. Walking. Doing anything really. I get excited about all the colors and caramel apples and spiced tea. The world seems right during the fall. If sunset were a season, this would be it. My candles go from coconut for summer to things like apple cider or cinnamon bun.

I can’t wait for the smell of burning leaves that drift over the neighborhoods. I am ready for my best friend’s tradition of carving pumpkins every year. Cool, clear nights with skies full of stars are what I’m most looking forward to. I’m ready for a harvest moon hanging low in the sky.

September is the gateway to the best of the year. 

Being a Muffin

I am not your average woman. I’ve tried to be for years only to realize that being average does not work for me. I am not domestic. I’m a fair cook, but other than that, my domestic skills are limited.

On the outside, I am long haired and when I’m feeling girly, I paint my toes. Other than this, I’m a jeans and sneakers or boots kinda girl. My hair is normally down or in a ponytail. That’s about it. No makeup, except for special occasions. I can apply a decal better than I can eyeliner.

I heard a speech P!nk gave the other night about how her daughter said that she felt ugly because she looked like a boy. I thought of myself as a preteen. I wore a ball cap and had a short haircut. I was mistaken for a boy on more than one occasion. Over the years, throughout my teens, I did all the makeup and girl stuff. However, I’ve never been totally comfortable with it. I mostly did all that because I fell victim to our society and its expectations of girls.

I’ve gone back and forth at war with myself over my appearance and being more feminine. It’s taken me almost thirty years to realize that I need to be comfortable with myself. I’d rather spend my mornings reading or writing than perfectly applying makeup. I couldn’t contour to save my life, and I’m fine with that. Shopping is not my thing. Most of my clothes are ordered or second hand. That’s fine, too. We put too many limitations on our girls.

Girls can be mechanics, techies, gamers, into sports, and things that are considered “guy things.” We don’t have to be made up and dressed like paper dolls. We don’t have to be what society expects. My femininity is not defined by how I look.

I’ve heard many names for it. Tom boy. Androgynous. I just know what’s me and what I like. I saw a little girl in a gas station a few days ago. Her shirt said, “Be a cupcake in a world of muffins.” It was written in glitter and on a pink shirt. I smiled to myself as I recognized that I am in fact a muffin. And that’s great.

For all the little girls who would rather be Batman than a princess when you dress up, who choose hoodies over dresses, who would rather play with Hot Wheels over Barbie, who think heels are a form of torture, and who think they are too boyish or rough around the edges, you are a muffin. That’s amazing, and you are pretty freakin’ perfect just as you are. And if you aren’t a muffin, if you’re a frosted cupcake who loves pink and glitter, and can’t live without makeup, you’re just as perfect.

Whether you are a muffin or a cupcake, don’t let anyone tell you that you should be anything other than yourself. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been told that I would be pretty if I wore a little makeup. Forget that noise. If you’re still deciding who you are, that’s great, too. Take your time. Just be authentic. Don’t fake it for the world. You will be doing yourself a disservice and denying other people the privilege of knowing how wonderful you are.

13 Reasons Why

If you haven’t seen 13 Reasons Why, it is a Netflix Original Series about a teenage girl who commits suicide. She is bullied until the point of breaking. I cried as I watched a tormented teenager’s life absolutely break her with little to no help. While my situation was never so bad as hers, I can still understand a fraction of the pain she endured.

13 Reasons Why brought back memories for me. I’ve seen reviews online that say that some of the things that went on in the show would not happen in real life, especially some of the things about the school faculty. However, I can absolutely see this happening.

It reminded me of a memory from my high school days. I had a teacher that we will call Mr. Blank since I don’t want to put someone “on blast” for something that happened fifteen years ago. It’s not a big secret that I was bullied in school. An overweight introvert with a love of books is an easy target. Throw in that I wore glasses and I might as well have had a bullseye on my back.

There was also an issue with my health. On one of my trips to the doctor, I got the unsettling news that I would probably never have kids. For a fifteen year old, this can be quite traumatic. So, in true Kacie form, I did what I did best. I wrote about it. In a letter. To a friend. I wrote something that went like I went to the doctor, didn’t get the news I wanted, but that everything would fine. Things would work out. I wrote that I hoped this didn’t change my relationship with my boyfriend (He is now my husband).

Having a bad day, feeling off with everything in life, and being an absent minded teen, I dropped the note in Mr. Blank’s class. He found it on the floor and read it out loud to his next class. He completely misread the situation. He told the class that getting yourself pregnant is no way to try to keep a guy. He had a good laugh with several students. A friend later asked me if everything was okay with me. She told me about the note, about all the laughing, and said that he even passed the note around to see if anyone recognized the handwriting. Along with her, someone else had noticed my handwriting and told the entire class. Rumors couldn’t have started faster if they had announced it over the PA system.

Mr. Blank was one of my favorite teachers. He was a great teacher, a writer, and brilliant when it came to literature. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe he would put someone out there like that. Then, after I thought about it, I found it didn’t surprise me. He often called out people on their homework and made them feel pretty small because they didn’t know as many big words as he did. At break, I went to claim my note. I explained my situation and asked him if he would kindly not talk about it anymore. I had just needed to get the words out of my hurt heart and uncloud my mind in a note to a friend. He didn’t say much, didn’t apologize.

However, I was humiliated. The initial fall out was much as to be expected. I was a fifteen year old virgin with a scarlet letter. I was fortunate that it happened toward the end of the year. It could have gotten much worse. Teenagers can seem like angels to teachers and their family but be horrid to their peers. 

There were many other instances of bullying from my peers, but when it’s instigated by a teacher, it is a whole new experience.  

After watching the show, I saw how easily this could be any teenager walking around today. My heart constricts at the thought of these kids going through the motions of life, needing help, and finding none. I hope that we as adults will stop failing these kids and letting them hurt until the point of breaking.

If anyone of any age needs to talk or needs help, reach out. To me. To anyone.

National Suicide Prevention Hotline


They also offer chat on their website.


My Papaw

My grandparents are both in the hospital at the moment. My grandmother had a bad fall, and my grandfather has pneumonia and congestive heart failure. They have tried to be independent up until now.

Some of my first recallable memories are of them and their house. When I was little, Papaw, or Paw, used to sit me up on their picnic table and hand me a piece of watermelon. I would make a huge sticky mess. He would say, “It’s not good unless you get it all over you.” Afterward, he would hose me down to help with the sticky.

Mamaw always made the best grilled cheese sandwiches. They were a staple of my childhood. On Saturday mornings, my cousins and I would eat grilled cheeses with jelly with Papaw and watch cartoons. Sunday mornings Mamaw made a big breakfast with bacon, sausage, eggs, grits, and homemade biscuits. Papaw taught us kids how to mix soft butter with syrup and dip our biscuits in it. Once a month, we’d have pizza night. Mamaw would call in our pepperoni pizza, and Papaw would load me up and take me to Mr. Tom’s store. He’d get me a Dr. Pepper, put peanuts in it, and get a Mickey Mouse ice cream. Leaving there, we would go pick up the pizza. Papaw would tell me not to tell Mamaw about the ice cream before hand. It was our secret. I’m sure she figured it out.

Papaw was always singing, and still would if he could. His voice projects and is full of old Southern sound. I learned songs by Kittie Wells, Hank Williams, and Charlie Pride at his knee. We’d sit out on the swing, sing, and watch the sunset until the bushes sparkled with lightning bugs. There was always music, and maybe a little dancing. He’d take us for walks around the neighborhood and let us play in the churchyard up the street. We’d go fishing and talk more than fish. He has always had a sweettooth and been keeper of the candy.  I only heard my name from Papaw when I was in trouble. Otherwise, he called me Baby My Baby, gal, or just girl. We’d eat breakfast, and then he’d say, “C’mon girl, let’s go work in the garden.” I think that’s why I love plants. I would hold the bottom of my t-shirt out and walk back to the house with fresh vegetables or plums from the tree in the front yard.

A few days ago, when he went into the hospital, he told me that he wouldn’t come out of this. I told him that he would have to get some rest and eat some protein so he could build up his strength and get better. He took my hand. He said, “Whatever happens will happen. I’m ready.” This is not what I was ready to hear, but I know he is tired. He’s ready, but my heart is not. 

Emmett Till

emmett till

Mississippi summers can be brutal. Even late August can be excruciatingly hot. Emmett Till and his group of cousins and friends went into a grocery store to get something to drink in Money, Mississippi, August 1955. A bunch of teenage boys can be rowdy. I imagine that there was a good deal of joking and pushing and laughing. Emmett was fourteen years old, handsome, and known as a kind boy with a hint of mischief. He had polio as a child that left him with a stutter. Friends said because of that he was a bit shy. He was growing to be a young man and was having an adventure. I imagine in 1955, Mississippi was a very different world than his hometown of Chicago. After his uncle visited and told stories about Mississippi, nothing would do but for Emmett to experience it for himself.

That day in the grocery store would be the beginning of the end of Emmett’s life and would start something Emmett probably could never believe. No matter what happened inside of that grocery store on that hot day in Mississippi, there is nothing that Emmett could have said or done to deserve what happened to him. A few days later, he was kidnapped, beaten, brutally tortured, wrapped in barbed wire, shot, and tossed into a river.

I first heard his story in school. We were only told that he was murdered. Even though I understand being sensitive to young minds, we are taught far too little about his situation. His death haunted me then, but now, my heart is absolutely crushed that grown people could do such horrific things to a child much less another human being. The boy who was not of age to fight for his country had no chance to fight for his life.

When his body was recovered, he was hardly recognizable. His mother who had not seen her son for days had to see his bloated, disfigured body. She was a single mother who did the best she could for her son. Her baby now lay dead in a casket which she decided to leave open to show the world. The world should still know today.

I read an article today about the defacing of a monument for young Emmett. While I was disgusted by the vandalism, I was not prepared for the outrage I felt at the comments on the article. With the internet and Facebook, there are always people trying to get a rise out of others. However, it brought to my attention that people in Mississippi still believe these things now. Today.

The commenters stated the attacks should be expected or even encouraged with the removal of Confederate monuments. Any person who has access to any source of media knows that the Confederate monuments will be moved to a museum, battleground memorials, or Confederate cemeteries. They are not being demolished or destroyed. This is ridiculous behavior for adults. They are recommending that the defacing of a monument created to remember a child that was murdered is called for because monuments are being MOVED. They are not suggesting defacing Union memorials, but one for a child. I am floored by the insanity of this.

Another monument for Emmett Till has been riddled with gunshots. Are we really still this backward that we can’t let a murdered child rest in peace? There are always casualties with war. Although it is horrible, it is expected. What is not expected is allowing your child to visit family and for him to come home in a casket after enduring God only knows what before a death he did not deserve.

No present living person has ever met someone who died in the Civil War. Emmett Till still has living family who loved and knew him. They saw his smiles and tears, and they knew the planes of his face. They still grieve for him. I did not know him, but I am angry for him. I am angry that he suffered and died, but also that his life and what the end of it began can’t be appreciated because of those who still have hearts filled with hate and spite. I know that hate will always exist and do what hate does. However, that doesn’t mean I have to be silent about it.


Moana: Not a Damsel in Distress 

My husband and I are big kids at heart. We still play from time to time, we still play video games, and we still watch cartoons. The cartoons are mostly movies, but hey, don’t judge me. Everyone knows that there has always been a theme for girls. The lead is a pretty princess, she gets into some trouble, somehow a love interest gets involved, they fall in love, and everyone lives happily ever after. That’s great. A nice traditional story that leaves everyone feeling good.

Last night, Tony and I watched Moana. Now, there may be some spoilers below. If there is any chance, you may get mad at me for ruining it for you, even by accident, you may want to stop reading. I intend to tell you everything I liked about this movie even if it means giving things away. So, let’s get started.

Moana lives in a gender progressive tribe.

When we first meet Moana, she is a child being steadily groomed by her father to be become leader of her people. I felt very good about this. In traditional Disney, there is usually a king or a prince or another strong male to rule the land. For a girl who was raised with this and being from a country that has never had a female president, I feel this is so important for our little girls. Also, when Moana is jokingly called a princess, she strongly says that she is the daughter of a chief and will one day be chief of her people.

She is a strong female lead of color.

Disney and other children movie makers have gotten better at including people of color. Maybe not to the extent I would like, but progress, my friends, progress. Pocahontas was a good one, so was Jasmine and Mulan, and of course, Tiana. I’m very proud that Moana is a strong Polynesian girl. All little girls should have someone to recognize with. Pacific islanders are well represented with Moana.

She is determined and pushes limits.

Where Jasmine was confined to the palace, Moana is not to pass the reef around her island. Her father has made it law. While her heart tells her that they should venture out to save her people from ecological destruction, her father will not be moved. Moana’s determination, strong will, and desire to push the limits are what takes care of business throughout the movie. This is important to instill in the next generations of our daughters. Sometimes what’s traditional may not always be right, especially when lives are at stake. I mean, remember human sacrifices?

She is brave.

From the time she is a toddler, she doesn’t have much fear. Even when things get tough and it’s obvious that she’s in a scary situation, she musters up courage and faces whatever comes at her. Sometimes as ladies, we are taught to be meek and mild and seek help for things. While this is important at times, we must also be able to face things on our own. Like Moana, we may be the only one standing for what’s right and for what we believe. Moana faces down bad guys, a demigod, and even her own father.

She actually saves someone else.

It’s a known pattern that the princess gets saved, the bad guys are vanquished, and good wins out in the end. That makes great stories. However, rarely do we see where a female lead saves other people much less herself. As I mentioned, Moana faces bad guys. Sometimes when other people are retreating, she rouses the courage within herself and saves the day. Maui, the demigod who is suppose to be a hero, often retreats and Moana stands to fight.

There is no romance.

Let’s all take a moment to appreciate this. While there is love between Moana’s parents, there’s no love interest, no broken heart, and no romantic fate. None. I can’t tell you how refreshing this was for me. She doesn’t fall in love. She doesn’t have a crush. She is just a teenage girl who is determined to save her people and become a great leader one day.

She shows depth and compassion.

While the seemingly bad guy being misjudged is not a new concept, Moana takes it to a new level. Because she shows compassion and uses her head, she realizes that not all perceived bad things are really bad. Sometimes if someone has been treated unfairly, they react in a negative way, and sometimes a little compassion and care can change how someone sees and reacts to the world.

She saves the day.

Moana has goals in life. When things don’t go as planned and things get tough, she listens to her heart, uses her head, goes on a grand adventure, goes up against challenges, and saves the day. Our little girls may not face the same type of monsters Moana did, but we have plenty of monsters in our society that they will face. They should be equipped with the knowledge that girls can save the day, too.