As of December 28th I have become the proud mom to a mind bogglingly awesome 5-year-old. One of the things I’ve noticed lately is that it’s easier to discuss difficult topics with her. I listen to a lot of CBC (Canada’s public radio) and as a result I find myself often trying to answer the question, “What are they talking about?” Sometimes it’s easier than others.
Recently various CBC shows and news reports have lead to discussions about gender stereotypes. I believe it started when she heard me muttering expletives under my breath at a show dedicated to the “hardwired” differences between how men and women shop. Not having been exposed to much TV or mass media Mae had so far been blissfully unaware of prevailing attitudes about boys and girls. So when she asked me why I changed the station I decided to buckle down and explain it before she got it from somewhere else.
The conversation went something like this:
Me: Well some people think that men and women or girls and boys are different from each other, like they like different things and they’re good at different things but that’s just silly because boys can like anything and girls can like anything.
Mae: That is silly.
Me: For example, some people think that only boys like to build with blocks.
Mae: (jaw drops) But I like to build with blocks, that’s just silly.
Me: I know, and some people think that boys don’t like to do crafts!
Mae: Whaaat?! That’s silly, everyone likes crafts.
And so on and so on.
Well now Mae is fascinated. She keeps asking to talk about “the man woman thing” and is constantly amazed by how silly it is that people think they know about a person just because of their gender.
More recently there has been a high profile trial of a father who, along with his son and his wife, was just convicted of deliberately murdering his daughters and his first wife for bringing dishonour to the family. After watching me turn down the volume or change the channel a dozen times Mae started asking why, so once again I sat down to have a talk with her. I told her that some men think that they should be able to control the women and girls in their life and that in this case a father did a very bad thing and killed his wife and daughters because they wouldn’t do what he wanted. I told her that a long time ago there were a lot of things that women weren’t allowed to do, like vote or go to medical school and that in some places this was still true. She listened and responded with the usual incredulity and with every word I said felt like I was being punched in the gut. I don’t want her know about violence against women, I don’t want to bring this darkness into her world. But I also know that these are realities that she’s going to have understand and that part of my job is to prepare her for the scary stuff before she gets blindsided by it. So when she asks me a question I try to find the best way to answer her honestly in a setting where we have the time to sit together and really talk. And if it gets too intense or confusing for her she just says, “let’s talk about feathers.” Why feathers you ask? Because they’re light of course.
Dan talks to DJ around 10:20
So what about you, how do you broach the tough stuff with your kids?
Reflections on parenting through the eyes of a coach.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
A father is as a father does
A couple of weeks ago I was in a local bake shop when a man in his sixties came in to buy cupcakes to take home to his wife and daughters. I stood there watching him carefully select flavours with each person in mind and I found myself envisioning the return of this father bearing sweet treats for his daughters and the tears started to push at the back of my eyes. This happens every once in a while. Some witnessed father-daughter moment brings my grief over losing my own father into sharp relief and leaves me fighting to maintain my composure. For a long time I’ve felt two distinct kinds of grief: the loss of my father and the loss of a father. I find myself crying, not because he is not in my life but because I don’t know what having a dad feels like.
Recently I’ve started to question this. What defines a father? What makes that relationship unique? And what is it that I think I’m missing? Would I feel this way if I’d had two moms and no dad? In asking these questions I’ve realized that this thing over which I feel so much loss is based on some conventional North American image of “father” that I’ve been fed through thousands of hours of television and films. I have no way of knowing to what extent my father would have even fit within those parameters. So what is it that I think I’m missing? Do I think that there is some innate need for this very specific notion of fathering? No. My mother is nothing like the conventional image of “mother”, does that mean that I don’t know what it feels like to have a mother? No, it means that I have no idea what it feels like to have that kind of mother, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So many of our sorrows are based on the meanings we attach to things. I find that in the absence of my own father – or any sense of having truly known him – I have constructed meaning around some abstract concept of father and attached undue meaning to it. It is no different from the sorrow I felt at not having a constant and cohesive “gang” a la Saved By the Bell throughout high school. As a child and a preteen I developed a particular vision of what adolescence was meant to look like, when mine came nowhere near it I felt duped and miserable. There were a lot of real struggles in my high school years, but not having Tootie, Blair and the gang to hang out with was not one of them.
This realization only reinforces my decision to limit Mae’s exposure to TV. I know first hand how deeply a child can internalize these normalized representations of life – and how it hurts when you feel your own life doesn’t measure up.
On the weekend I was visiting my parents and my step-father and I got into one of our predictable fights. They always start in more or less the same way and they always take the same trajectory. It’s a repeating pattern that we both recognize and yet can’t seem to cut out. In the aftermath of this particular spat – as I was crying to my mother – I had an epiphany, I shook my head and I said to her, “And I say I don’t know what it’s like to have a father.”
So maybe my relationship with him doesn’t look like any father-daughter relationship I’ve seen, but it’s not because he’s not my dad, it’s because he’s not like anyone else I’ve ever known. Rest assured, if he were my bio-dad I would still have no idea what it’s like to have a sit-com dad, Cliff Huxtable he is not. What I do know is that he loves me deeply and cares deeply about my happiness and well-being. I know that we’ve been having what feels like the same fight for the last twenty years and yet we somehow can’t seem to stop. I know that if I go into his office to ask a question about the weather I could easily wind up in there for two hours talking about everything from politics to depression to my daughters latest chuckle inducing antics. I know that I can always depend on him and that he truly respects and loves me for who I am. As far as I can tell, that’s all anyone can ask of a parent, sweater vests be damned.
Recently I’ve started to question this. What defines a father? What makes that relationship unique? And what is it that I think I’m missing? Would I feel this way if I’d had two moms and no dad? In asking these questions I’ve realized that this thing over which I feel so much loss is based on some conventional North American image of “father” that I’ve been fed through thousands of hours of television and films. I have no way of knowing to what extent my father would have even fit within those parameters. So what is it that I think I’m missing? Do I think that there is some innate need for this very specific notion of fathering? No. My mother is nothing like the conventional image of “mother”, does that mean that I don’t know what it feels like to have a mother? No, it means that I have no idea what it feels like to have that kind of mother, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
So many of our sorrows are based on the meanings we attach to things. I find that in the absence of my own father – or any sense of having truly known him – I have constructed meaning around some abstract concept of father and attached undue meaning to it. It is no different from the sorrow I felt at not having a constant and cohesive “gang” a la Saved By the Bell throughout high school. As a child and a preteen I developed a particular vision of what adolescence was meant to look like, when mine came nowhere near it I felt duped and miserable. There were a lot of real struggles in my high school years, but not having Tootie, Blair and the gang to hang out with was not one of them.
This realization only reinforces my decision to limit Mae’s exposure to TV. I know first hand how deeply a child can internalize these normalized representations of life – and how it hurts when you feel your own life doesn’t measure up.
On the weekend I was visiting my parents and my step-father and I got into one of our predictable fights. They always start in more or less the same way and they always take the same trajectory. It’s a repeating pattern that we both recognize and yet can’t seem to cut out. In the aftermath of this particular spat – as I was crying to my mother – I had an epiphany, I shook my head and I said to her, “And I say I don’t know what it’s like to have a father.”
So maybe my relationship with him doesn’t look like any father-daughter relationship I’ve seen, but it’s not because he’s not my dad, it’s because he’s not like anyone else I’ve ever known. Rest assured, if he were my bio-dad I would still have no idea what it’s like to have a sit-com dad, Cliff Huxtable he is not. What I do know is that he loves me deeply and cares deeply about my happiness and well-being. I know that we’ve been having what feels like the same fight for the last twenty years and yet we somehow can’t seem to stop. I know that if I go into his office to ask a question about the weather I could easily wind up in there for two hours talking about everything from politics to depression to my daughters latest chuckle inducing antics. I know that I can always depend on him and that he truly respects and loves me for who I am. As far as I can tell, that’s all anyone can ask of a parent, sweater vests be damned.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Lost: thousands of brain cells - last seen about 11 years ago
For those of you still interested in my blog I’m sorry that I’ve been a very bad blogger for the past several months. I’m trying to get back on it but I can’t make any promises since I’ve had to cut down to only two days of childcare a week. I long for September when she starts grade one and I get five blessed days a week to work for free. That being said, it will be sad when she doesn’t get to spend all this time with her beloved babysitter every week.
So why have I been MIA? I’ve been taking a break from work for the last months or so. Before that I was starting to unravel a little, all of those old demons cropping up and whispering in my ear again. It’s incredibly humbling for me to realize just how messed up my brain chemistry is. I increased my dose – back to pre-weaning levels – and took some time to focus on my kid and Holiday preparations. Now, a month later, I feel like myself again. Things have shifted back into perspective and I feel like maybe I can focus on work again.
As I think about my work and what I want to accomplish I sometimes feel like the ideas and inspiration are tumbling down on my like a waterfall but all I have is a teacup to catch them and make them happen. I now have two 6 hour days a week in which to work on writing my booklet/paper/whatever-the-hell-I-decide-it-is-when-it’s-done, develop a presentation based on said thingamabob, create a group coaching program, find a way to fill that program, keep up with both of my blogs, keep up with Twitter, possibly create and promote an online hub for queer and gender neutral parenting…..zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Sorry, did I pass out on the keyboard there?
Also, if anyone has found my mental focus, please give it back. I think I may have left it in on the second floor of the University Centre in Guelph in 2001.
So why have I been MIA? I’ve been taking a break from work for the last months or so. Before that I was starting to unravel a little, all of those old demons cropping up and whispering in my ear again. It’s incredibly humbling for me to realize just how messed up my brain chemistry is. I increased my dose – back to pre-weaning levels – and took some time to focus on my kid and Holiday preparations. Now, a month later, I feel like myself again. Things have shifted back into perspective and I feel like maybe I can focus on work again.
As I think about my work and what I want to accomplish I sometimes feel like the ideas and inspiration are tumbling down on my like a waterfall but all I have is a teacup to catch them and make them happen. I now have two 6 hour days a week in which to work on writing my booklet/paper/whatever-the-hell-I-decide-it-is-when-it’s-done, develop a presentation based on said thingamabob, create a group coaching program, find a way to fill that program, keep up with both of my blogs, keep up with Twitter, possibly create and promote an online hub for queer and gender neutral parenting…..zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Sorry, did I pass out on the keyboard there?
Also, if anyone has found my mental focus, please give it back. I think I may have left it in on the second floor of the University Centre in Guelph in 2001.
 |
| And this is how I spent my holidays |
Thursday, December 15, 2011
How Jack Black (almost) ruined my kid’s birthday
Mae loves the Muppets. I have the Muppets CD and one season of the show on DVD so she knows a bunch of the songs but mostly she loves them because of their Bohemian Rhapsody video on Youtube. Animal, of course, is her favourite. So it was a no-brainer that we would take her to the new Muppet Movie. The plan was that we would take her on her birthday, which is smack between Christmas and New Years, and thus a pain in the ass to make special. But then last weekend she went to a schoolmate’s birthday party at the Cineplex. The movie was going to be Happy Feet 2 and I had no desire to endure it so I decided it was Howard’s turn to take her to the party while I stayed home and cleaned house for the next day’s family dinner.
At about 3:30 I got a call from Howard, “The theatre changed the movie and now their going to see the Muppet Movie. If I leave right now I can come and get you since I know you want to see it.” Obviously I dropped everything and waited eagerly by the door to get whisked to the theatre to enjoy this gem with my family and a bunch of six-year-olds, if you think I’m being sarcastic you grossly underestimate my love of all things Henson.
Before you take your small child to this movie, especially if yours is sensitive like mine, remember that this is not targeted specifically at kids and so the trailers are slightly terrifying – also, they’re very very loud. Mae spent the coming attractions with her hands clamped over her earmuffs and her face buried in my arm. Suffice it to say that by the time the movie started she was already off to a bad start.
What I had neglected to tell Mae was that Muppet movies are not just a long version of the show. She was not expecting real people and she was not expecting any long form narrative structure. I spent the first thirty minutes of the film repeatedly answering the question “Is this really the muppet movie??” One time even when Kermit was staring her in the face.
Around the thirty-minute mark we reached Jack Black’s cameo [spoiler alert]. Having weathered a rather large explosion set by Gonzo (“mommy why did they blow that up?”) Mae was keeping the faith that this was, in fact, the Muppet movie when Jack Black cold cocked Jason Segal. This was immediately followed by a wail of terror and sorrow and sobbing demands of “I want to gooooo!” Not watching TV, Mae has had very little exposure to violence. What little she has seen has involved puppets and cartoons. This sudden act of violence of one real person against another was terrifying and incredibly upsetting for her. I spent the next half hour consoling her in the lobby of the theatre.
As I sat there rocking her and watching her tear damp face paint smear all over my chest I looked at Howard and said, “Well thank God we didn’t do this on her birthday!”
And this is why I don’t understand why sex is censored so much more heavily than violence. A sex scene I can explain to my kid. It might be uncomfortable but it is a natural and healthy part of human existence. But this? How do I explain to my kid that sometimes it’s funny when people hurt each other? Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally going to go see it on my own but I truly wish someone would explain to me why we seem to be so much more comfortable exposing our kids to violence than to sex. To the people at the movie theatre I ask, what on Earth makes you think that the Muppet Movie is a logical substitution for a bunch of five and six-year-olds expecting to see a cartoon about dancing penguins?
In the mean-time what the hell are we going to do on her birthday now?
At about 3:30 I got a call from Howard, “The theatre changed the movie and now their going to see the Muppet Movie. If I leave right now I can come and get you since I know you want to see it.” Obviously I dropped everything and waited eagerly by the door to get whisked to the theatre to enjoy this gem with my family and a bunch of six-year-olds, if you think I’m being sarcastic you grossly underestimate my love of all things Henson.
Before you take your small child to this movie, especially if yours is sensitive like mine, remember that this is not targeted specifically at kids and so the trailers are slightly terrifying – also, they’re very very loud. Mae spent the coming attractions with her hands clamped over her earmuffs and her face buried in my arm. Suffice it to say that by the time the movie started she was already off to a bad start.
What I had neglected to tell Mae was that Muppet movies are not just a long version of the show. She was not expecting real people and she was not expecting any long form narrative structure. I spent the first thirty minutes of the film repeatedly answering the question “Is this really the muppet movie??” One time even when Kermit was staring her in the face.
Around the thirty-minute mark we reached Jack Black’s cameo [spoiler alert]. Having weathered a rather large explosion set by Gonzo (“mommy why did they blow that up?”) Mae was keeping the faith that this was, in fact, the Muppet movie when Jack Black cold cocked Jason Segal. This was immediately followed by a wail of terror and sorrow and sobbing demands of “I want to gooooo!” Not watching TV, Mae has had very little exposure to violence. What little she has seen has involved puppets and cartoons. This sudden act of violence of one real person against another was terrifying and incredibly upsetting for her. I spent the next half hour consoling her in the lobby of the theatre.
As I sat there rocking her and watching her tear damp face paint smear all over my chest I looked at Howard and said, “Well thank God we didn’t do this on her birthday!”
And this is why I don’t understand why sex is censored so much more heavily than violence. A sex scene I can explain to my kid. It might be uncomfortable but it is a natural and healthy part of human existence. But this? How do I explain to my kid that sometimes it’s funny when people hurt each other? Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally going to go see it on my own but I truly wish someone would explain to me why we seem to be so much more comfortable exposing our kids to violence than to sex. To the people at the movie theatre I ask, what on Earth makes you think that the Muppet Movie is a logical substitution for a bunch of five and six-year-olds expecting to see a cartoon about dancing penguins?
In the mean-time what the hell are we going to do on her birthday now?
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