Jack Wilson

I am an expert on bright, beautiful, talented women. I married one and we produced three.

I share the sentiment of whoever first said, “Women can never be equal to men; they will always be superior."

Which is not to deny that a modicum of chauvinism lurks in the substrata of my psyche. My memory is vivid for the attack of visceral disbelief that hit me when, as a young butter-bar lieutenant, I first saw a pregnant master sergeant.

This past week I was graced with the company of two of our nation’s classiest world-class females.

Years ago I shared a few days with the now renowned and revered Archbishop Desmond Tutu and his wife, Leah, and last week shared a few minutes with their daughter, who was a guest speaker at our local Colorado State University.

Nontombi Naomi Tutu grew up in what would be considered a life of privilege had she been born somewhere else. The daughter of a highly educated, widely accomplished mother and a world-changing Nobel Laureate father, her great handicap was being female and black in apartheid South Africa.

Articulate, gentle-voiced, an inner radiance enhancing her flesh tones, she spoke of the desperately urgent need to defend and promote human rights worldwide. Not many speakers can be simultaneously enlightening, emotionally moving, entertaining, and profound. Blending her passion for human dignity with humor and personal stories, she was riveting in style and substance.

Reflecting on that evening makes me wish the scientists working on cloning would speed things up and move Naomi to the head of the list.

Three days later I attended the annual big bash of the county Republican Party and remembered why such events are not among my favorite social occasions. Noisy, hip deep in hype, listening to a string of speakers brag on themselves, declaring with precognitive presumption that he/she will be the next or continuing holder of the elected office to which they aspire. Strident self-promotion has become de rigueur in American politics.

I was really there to hear, talk with, and perhaps get another hug from the featured speaker of the evening, who did a number on me a couple of years ago and I have been smitten ever since.

Dana Perino was thrust onto the center stage of American political and civic life when she became Press Secretary in the George W. Bush White House in 2007. The job required her to perform frequently before millions of watchers an unrehearsable performance requiring her to be highly intelligent, poised, nimble witted, unflappable, impervious to gratuitous rudeness, un-intimidated by powerful, prestigious, pushy people, having an encyclopedic knowledge of national and world affairs, able to communicate complicated concepts succinctly and accurately, Olympic-level physical stamina, transparent integrity, and absolute loyalty to her country and her boss. Even her political adversaries say she possesses those qualities in spades.

A warm, unaffected, perpetually pleasant persona in an exceptionally attractive physical package, in our conversation she referred to herself as “an ordinary person working an extraordinary job.”

Ordinary?

Well, yes. Ordinary doesn’t mean inferior; its Latin meaning is "belonging to the established order of things." Made of elements minted from the stuff of creation and sharing the essence of the Creator, to be ordinary is to be fully human, ergo a creature of limitless inherent value. Only the ordinary are capable of doing extraordinary things.

When speaking of them “woman” is a noun, not an adjective. “Woman” is their essence, not a talent to be evaluated for its rarity in producing superlative achievements. Naomi and Dana are not extraordinary “for women;” they are extraordinary human beings who happen to be women.

I can never convey to the females in my family the depth of pride and gratitude they engender in me as ordinary/extraordinary humans. “Woman” is a word about their glorious humanness, and their immeasurable worth.

Jack Wilson is an Episcopal priest who may be reached at jacksacolumn@jwco.us.