On One of my "Ol' Blocks"

I'm pretty pleased to be "chipped" from both of my parents. They are among the most generous, caring people I know. I am constantly amazed by their concern for others; their overwhelming generosity to friends, family, and strangers; and their warm, solid hospitality. Heaven knows they aren't perfect, but they are truly, truly among the salt of the earth. What I have to say here could be said about either one of my parents. But, because of the post that inspired me to write and because, well, it's Father's Day, I'm going to write about my dad in particular.

When I read the conversation going on over at Historiann about fathers and the hereditary denigration and exploitation of women, I took a moment to be grateful for my own dad. I didn't want to comment there, not wanting to derail a discussion that I think is very important, but I do want to use this space to be glad for the many men out there, like my dad, who raise their daughters to be strong and courageous and to believe in themselves.

It's not that those men haven't been shaped by sexism nor that they always manage to set aside the learned privileges of masculinity, it's that even in the midst of being imperfect, even if they don't consciously say "I'm going to resist patriarchy," even if they would likely not call themselves "feminist," they do make a conscious decision to value their daughters and raise them up to know they can do and be whatever they like.

My sister and I were told from an early age that we could be whatever we wanted when we grew up. Our parents also made sure that we knew that they loved us. No. matter. what. That's a pretty powerful thing to know.* My dad was as committed to that idea as my mom and while mom and dad had pretty traditional gender roles around the house, they made sure that their daughters knew how to do just about everything. And, come to think of it, since dad was as likely to cook as mom and all of us had cleaning responsibilities, I probably did get a pretty egalitarian sense. In any case household activities, from mowing the lawn to vacuuming, from using the wood saw to making applebutter weren't presented to us in terms of gender. They were things that we learned to do because we were part of the family. I'm sure "Free to Be" didn't hurt too much either. I can still get the proper intonation on the housework poem ("Little boys. Little girls. If you want aalll the daaays of your lives to be suuunny as suuummer weather, be sure, when there's housework to do, that you do it toGETher!").

So, even though I'm halfway across the country from my dad on this particular Father's day, I'm still thinking of him and feeling oh-so-very grateful that he's one of the people who brought me into and up in this world and that he continues to be such an amazing counselor, parent, and friend.

*I used to test this, especially with my mom: "Would you love me even if I killed someone?" "Yes, I would love you even then. I wouldn't understand why you did that, but I would love *you* even so."