As I saw the definition in black and white glaring back I thought to myself, "Merriam-Webster must be a run by a man". The word, "theory" gave me great pause, as if to say it were not real or somehow abstract. The definition was far less complex than I expected, since my thoughts just raced with this amalgam of beliefs that held that word, feminism.

I believe I am the true every day feminist, the women in women's movement. As I stared at my note pad the following is poured out of me, this is my definition: I do not want to be independent in the alone sense, to prove I can do it on my own, I know I can. I don't want to be anti-family, anti-marriage, or anti-men. I don't like it when I look down on my friends who decide to stay at home with their kids, they are valuable people too. I don't want to oppress my male counterparts to show I have the power to do so.

I endorse equality where it is applicable. I don't want a penis (not all of the time at least), nor would I give up my vagina. It's mine. I would not trade giving birth to my children, as twisted as that sounds...that's mine too. I like the idea of "women and children first" we are the leaders and future of the world after all. I like it when a man opens my door almost as much as when he does my laundry. I want the same physical standards for men and women in fire fighting and the armed services. And most of all, I want to feel a solidarity with the more radical feminist out there because she has nothing on me.

You see, I know Merriam and Webster is run by a man because after all of those thoughts and convictions, a definition would never be so simple and abstract if written by a women.

She would realize we deserve more that that.

    When I was seventeen I thought being a feminist had something to do with discarding the upper part of my undies. Sure, the act of rebellion ticked off dad (and mom), but it really didn't amount to much in the way of establishing women's rights - especially since I wore a double A cup size back then.

I don't know that anyone besides my parents really noticed.

Now, thirty years later - ""letting the puppies breath'' is just another vulgar term thrown about by crude comedians and all those drunken, beaded revelers at Mardi Gras or Harley sporting riders (and the wanna-be's) during bike week.

So much for progress.

Over the years I've wrestled some with being a feminist and what that meant.

When I was in my twenties I became the boss of my own family and a small corporation.

Being in charge of my family meant reprogram ing my husband and molding, in a very real way, my son's attitude toward women. I was determined that he would one day be a good husband and father in ways that men of my generation often weren't. I was determined that he would learn how to cook, do household chores and be understanding about women's menstrual cycles. ""No matter what you hear,'' I told him. ""PMS is a very real thing. It is not a term made up by women just to get back at men.''

Being the boss of a corporation, on the other hand, was more of a title than a role. Having a woman president made good business sense because it opened the door to minority contracts. When it came down to it, my husband really ran the business. Frankly, I didn't mind. I was busy doing the books, waiting tables, running the household and caring for a chronically ill child.

The business went bust (leading you to think, perhaps, that if I really were in charge it wouldn't have?) and my two youngest daughters were born while I was in my thirties. I was a stay-at-home mom then, who learned very quickly that announcing that fact at parties or gatherings was an abrupt conversation ender. At times I felt slighted, but soon learned to use it as an exit strategy. There's nothing worse than having to listen to a bunch of self-important bores bragging about themselves.

I was determined to mold my daughters in a very real way. To be individuals in their own right. To get in the game rather than cheer for the boys on the side-lines. To learn to mow the lawn and understand that their menstrual cycles were not part of God's revenge on women. ""If you want to believe that then it's really Adam's fault,'' I told them. ""If he had bothered to fix his own dinner then child birth would be a breeze and no one would have been banished from the garden.'' Even so, I wanted them to know how to take care of themselves - cook, do household chores and understand that being a mother was the same as being a co-creator which puts you right up there with the one we refer to as ""Him.''

I was in my early forties when I re-entered the work force. Now I was a wife, mother and a writer which meant that boorish people were more than happy, even eager, to talk to me. I became the star of my own ""Incredible Working Mother'' show and learned the most important skill you can master is how to juggle.

I also watched as others moved past me ""up'' the ladder. My work was good, I knew - worthy of promotion. Was it, I wondered, because I was a woman working in a man's world? Was it because my creedo was ""family first?''

At times I have felt slighted, but not so much any more. I have come to realize that being a real feminist comes down to following your own values - even when they clash with the ""company man'' creedo.

Being a feminist means following your own heart - of knowing when to sacrifice and when not to. Being a feminist means being comfortable in your own skin.

Let those who will, move up the ladder to a place that has created a generation of absentee fathers who have missed way too much.

I'd rather juggle.