I wish I could have met Eva Cassidy. I can’t; she died a while ago, but I think her story has much to say to a culture whose buzzword these days is “empowerment.” In the fallout of another halftime show bonanza (it isn’t the first, it won’t be the last), debate rages as to whether two voluptuous women of Latin heritage turned family-friendly entertainment into softcore pornography or whether their command of the stage and demand for your attention “empowered” women. If I may tip my hand, I fall in the more conservative camp. I found the first 20 seconds raw and uncomfortable enough that our family simply shut the TV off for the next 20 minutes (Hey, no one held a gun to my head and demanded I watch! You could have done the same thing too). It was uncomfortable for various reasons which I don’t care to articulate more than this: I don’t want to give to another woman the kind of attention that belongs exclusively to my ...