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My father was all about gender equality. He raised two daughters with my mother and believed that women had just as much right to well-paying careers, and the choice about whether to marry and have children. He did have unspoken expectations that we would do both. My sister, Jan and I blossomed under that paradigm, doing work that we loved, marrying and then becoming mothers.
We, in turn, taught our children that anything men could do (the standard to which we were compared back in the 60’s and 70’s when we were growing up), women could do. My son played with toys that would be considered both male- and female-oriented.
For our son, cooking with his father became one of his passions. I called it their male bonding ritual. We did our best to steer him clear of war toys—no guns in our home, toy or real—and yet, like many boys, any projectile object such as a stick became a pseudo-weapon. He also enjoyed video games and parlayed his interest into a career as he now manages a busy video game store.
Growing up we wore our share of frilly dresses and black patent leather shoes, but we also were encouraged to dig in the dirt, get muddy, ramble around the neighborhood on our bikes, climb trees and monkey bars, clean the garage, learn to change the oil in and tires on our cars, and box . . . yes, you read it correctly.
My father had been a Golden Gloves boxer in the Navy, still jumped rope that had weighted handles on them, ran daily and lifted weights. His job as a milkman had him hauling heavy crates and jumping down from a large truck. On occasion when Jan and I would have squabbles, he would get out the gloves and lace them on us, giving us mouth guards and headpieces and tell us to go at it.
We would take half-assed swings and swats at each other and bang our oversized gloves into each other’s. I say now that it is a good thing I was a pacifist even back then, since I could have developed a mean right hook. Although my father wasn’t a warmonger, and not violent, he had certain ideas about the value of fighting. He would often say, “Your life is in the hands of any fool who makes you lose your temper.”
He had the kind of jobs in which he would certainly come in contact with people who would push his buttons mightily; as a milkman who delivered to stores and an inner-city bus driver in Philadelphia (SEPTA). I’m sure he got called his share of nasty names by irate passengers and store owners. Somehow, he managed to hold it together in those circumstances. Perhaps it was because he valued his source of livelihood and had a family to support.
When I was in my sophomore year of college, I came home to visit. The young neighbor from across the street walked over to talk to my dad about a disturbing event that happened at school. Another kid had called him a name but didn’t lay a hand on him. He asked my father’s advice. My dad countered with “What did your parents tell you to do?” Paul answered: “My mom said to walk away, and my dad said to hit him, so he wouldn’t bother me.”
My father agreed with his father. I was astounded that he would encourage someone else’s child to hit when it wasn’t in self-defense. I told him that and then stormed out of the house in tears. I also quoted Gandhi when I said, “An eye-for-eye and tooth-for-tooth would lead to a world of the blind and toothless.” Maybe an over-reaction, but I was really feeling triggered.
After cooling off, I came back and talked it out with him. He told me something that I had heard many times: “There’s a different code of ethics for men.” He went on to explain his belief that if men don’t defend their honor, then they will continue to be bullied. In many ways, it made me glad to know that I wasn’t expected to put up my dukes, if someone hurled an invective at me, even though he had trained me to do it if need be. He wanted me to be able to talk out differences with others with whom there was disagreement. As a therapist who works with folks in conflict, I have gotten adept at doing so and teaching them those diplomatic skills.
I’m sure that some of it came from his street education as a Jewish kid growing up in an era of anti-Semitism and not wanting to be seen as a pushover or weak. I wondered what it was like having to adhere to gender norms so as not to be bullied and the toll it takes on one’s psyche’. Soo much less pressure being a cis-gender female who (at least in my case) had the freedom to stand my ground without knocking someone to the ground. I hope I never adopt that code of ethics.
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Photo credit: Pixabay