Lessons in Funny Feminism from My Father

Continuing with my tradition of writing about my family members on Mother’s Day and my brother’s birthday, I want to take some time to talk about my father.  When I look at the ways both men and women are negatively affected by sexism and gender-based expectations, I feel luckier than ever to have grown up with a father like mine.

My dad is a man who would never use the term “babysitting” to describe spending time with his own children.  Even if I couldn’t put this feeling into words when I was growing up, I knew that my dad read stories with me (usually pages from the Calvin and Hobbes comics, or the Ramona Quimby books) because he enjoyed it and relished our father-daughter bonding.  I see the same affection when he takes one brother swimming at the YMCA every weekend, and helps my youngest brother train for sports or coaches his soccer team.  He spends quality time with each one of his children and gives us all the same attention, even with one of them out of the house.  I’ll email him chapters from my yet-to-be-published novel knowing that he’ll read them and give constructive feedback as soon as he has time for it.

Looking back, I also see how it helped me to have a father who embraced stereotypically feminine roles around the house.  More often than not, it was my dad, not my mom, who picked me up from after school programs and Girl Scout camping trips because my mom was usually working shifts at the hospital.  My dad also does the lion’s share of the cooking in the house, whipping up delicious Italian meals or getting culinary ideas from Mark Bittman and Michael Pollan, and sometimes making four versions of the same dinner: the gluten-free dish for the first brother, the sauceless meat-free dish for the second brother, the non-spicy pepper-free variation for my mom, and the original for himself and me (the least picky eaters of the family).  Then we sit down to eat, because you’ll never catch our family sitting in front of the TV, using our phones, or even reading during dinner.  Family dinner time is sacred to my father.  If only four of us are home because I live in a different city now, or three because my mom is working, or two because my youngest brother is involved in a band rehearsal, we still have dinner as a family no matter what.

Now that I am an adult, I also fully appreciate how much my dad openly loves my mother.  Hear him talk about her, and it seems as though no other woman ever existed – which isn’t to say that she doesn’t have flaws, or that he doesn’t notice those flaws, but I know he wouldn’t change anything about her.  I’ve forgotten how many times we’ve had conversations where one of us brings up my mom and he compliments one of her qualities, then she steps into the room and asks what we were talking about, and he makes a harmless joke at her expense.  She pretends to be flustered and rolls her eyes, and my dad winks at me.  I have come to associate teasing and playful ribbing as one of the best expressions of love thanks to their relationship.

Today is Father’s Day.  At my family’s house, this day is often looked on as an afterthought, or known as the day following my brother’s birthday.  Sometimes we joke that “no one cares about Father’s Day” in our house.  But my dad takes it all in good fun and cooks a wonderful meal for his son.  He jokes about feeling neglected, but when I see the fond look in his eye as he watches my brother inhale another dinner, I know he wouldn’t have it any other way.