In the past, my wife has frequently accused me of being a sexist. In fact, she has accused me of being a sexist of the worst kind because others see me as a good father, as a genuinely good individual, and no one dares question or challenge me. They, instead, listen to me and sometimes even try to emulate me. Allow me to reveal the reason behind this accusation.
I have two daughters, two intelligent, absolutely beautiful young women who I dote over. One of them is in college right now, and the other still lives at home. In my eyes, they can do no wrong. And I cannot think of anything I would not do to ensure their happiness, to make them smile.
And they both know this and use it to their greatest advantage. They manipulate me unmercifully. Even when I know I am being manipulated, I lack either the power or the will to say no to them.
On the other hand, I have two sons, two intelligent, charming, handsome young men who I love no less, who I wish the same happiness. However, whereas I am a soft touch with my daughters, I have always been hard on my sons, sometimes painfully hard. Nothing they do gets past me, and they must earn everything they receive. After all, I am raising men not boys, right?
Let me tell you this short anecdote so that I might put everything in perspective. It has to have been about ten years ago because my oldest son was still in high school. I got a call from the school informing me of some infraction or another on the part of my son. In anger, I snatched my keys and cell phone from the counter with the intent of going to the school to straighten him out right then and there.
But my wife stood in the doorway blocking my way. She insisted that I sit down and calm down. She insisted that I not go to the school and embarrass him, that I wait for him to come home. And when he did, she insisted that I hug him, tell him I loved him, and sit down and calmly talk to him just as I would one of my daughters. No yelling, no threatening or stalking about.
And I did what she asked of me on that day, and as we moved forward, I tried to discipline my older son her way, but old habits are hard to break. Sometimes out of frustration and impatience I lapsed into yelling screaming tirades. I threatened him, and I stalked about. After all, this is how my dad raised me, and I turned out all right, right? But in the end, he left my house just as I had left my father’s house, angry and bitter.
I now recognize the fallacy of my ways. And I must begrudgingly admit that there might be some grain of truth in her accusations. I am now actively trying to be more equitable in my treatment of my children. I am now actively trying to raise people—not men or women but people, people who think critically, who act not out of fear but out of rational thought, who are independent and confident in themselves and driven from within.
As my youngest son approaches adulthood, I am really putting forth an effort to be less sexist in my treatment of my children. However, I still have a problem saying no to my daughters, and I often defer the decision to my wife. She doesn’t have any problem saying no.
And my wife often points out how much my oldest son is like me. She points out that indeed he is a strong minded young man and has that entrepreneurial spirit; he now owns his own business in Atlanta. She points out that in discussions he frequently mentions books he has read or is reading, and they are all from all my favorite authors: Baldwin, Williams, Ellison, Morrison, and others.
It seems that despite all my mistakes he happened to pick up a lot of my best traits; I can only hope that he also learned to discard all the worst.
