How to become a feminist dad: two years later
20 weeks after my child was born, I decided to put on paper some reflections about the journey to become a feminist dad. As father’s day approaches and we live in the midst of covid-19, a worldwide domestic violence pandemic and growing protests for the killing of black Americans by the police in the US (#BlackLivesMatter), I want to share some ideas and reflections after 23 months as a learning dad, as a learning feminist, and the raw, beautiful and breaking experiences of this process.
There is no doubt that the arrival of a child provides men with a unique chance to explore and deconstruct the rigid and harmful ways of being a man and a parent. It is an opportunity for redemption from the patriarchal sins. Today, men have a growing enabling context to embrace fatherhood in holistic ways thanks to feminism. Also, an urgency to step up and challenge violence and sexism unapologetically.
The following ideas are not for everyone. If you are a man looking for a quick fix, a manual or some “how to” suggestions, this will not satisfy you. Becoming a feminist dad is a journey to rebuild the foundational elements of who you are as a person. If you are willing to explore them and act on them, this is for you.
Hearing my patriarchal voice
In the past months I have gained insight and nuance into how drastically life changes when you become a parent. I saw my dad’s flaws and limitations in technicolor. I was angry, I felt hurt and at the same time, a sense of empathy grew on me, like a dandelion in the spring. I was able to see him like a person, not only like a powerful figure in my life. I decided that I was purposefully trying to be a different parent, this, despite how much we truly love each other.
I have tried hard to uproot the traces of the sexist culture I grew up in, in a corner of South America filled with guns, daily violence and fragile appreciation for life. But deep inside, as my child started to emerge in this world, I found myself listening to a hidden voice within me: my patriarchal voice.
When my kid is behaving like a toddler in confinement, I find myself saying aloud the words I heard from my father as I grew up. I hear myself commanding my little, beautiful boy to stay still, stop or pick up something. I hear the inflection of my voice. I hear my dad’s voice with my own voice. It scares the life out of me. It is a reminder of how ingrained traditional ways of raising children for men are and how strongly they come into play. Sometimes, it is not only the voice, it is a rapid movement to take something away or to lose patience quickly.
Being a parent has taught me that patience is like a kettle of water, it can take seconds to go from cold to boiling. When I start feeling the inside of my body boiling, I resist the urge to say a loud “NO” or “stop!”, I resist the urge to take away a water bottle that is dripping or a marker that has no top. One time, I saw how my reaction scared my child. I felt ashamed of myself and I saw in his eyes a memory of my own experience. As I shed some tears, he came to my side and said, “it is ok papa, everything will be okay papa”.
Every day, I acknowledge that this voice resides in my and it is my responsibility to silence it. Pay attention to that voice in your own life with your children, remember that children learn about patriarchy at home and they take that weight with them.
My two-year-old Zen master
For many years, I have dreamed of being in a Buddhist retreat in the Himalayan mountains. To pause the world for some weeks and bring silence and contemplation to my life. Since I became a parent, this desire has intensified. I find myself thinking about this specially at night, while I do dishes. Dishes and cleaning have become my new way to exercise, meditate and have alone time. Now I understand my mom and grandma and many women who refuse to let others into the only spaces where they can be left alone, even if this means doing endless chores. I actually get mad when my partner tries to help me with the dishes.
The idea of time and impermanence have taken life on its own as a parent. Day by day, I witness how words emerge from my child, sometimes as a little drip from the kitchen sink and sometimes as torrential rain. His cute ways of saying basic words evolve fast and his personality becomes more apparent. I find myself mourning daily, as he no longer wants to read the book he loved for weeks or does not ask me to play Moonshadow after dinner. I have learned that each and every moment is precious and if I have to read that book one more time, I do it beacuse tomorrow might be too late.
When my child gets impatience or upset, I ask him to take two deep breaths with me or I say “paciencia hijo, paciencia”, patience my son, patience. Sometimes, I hear him repeat this to himself as he is awaiting to get his hand on a piece of bread or building a tower. Sometimes, I only have to look at him and he would say “paciencia”. One day, I finally got it. I ask my son to take deep breaths and to be patience because this is what I need. He is merely being a mirror to my own limitations and needs.
Four months ago, he broke two bones while dancing. It is as scary as it sounds but it is far more common than I thought. Actually, it is called toddler fracture. He spent six weeks with a cast (aka the magic boot), unable to walk, stand or run. For the past year, I have been dealing with a knee injury and there has not been one day that I have not asked myself “why is this happening to me”. Some weeks ago, we were playing in the living room and I mentioned his magic boot. He looked at me and for the first time he said, “me sad magic boot… magic boot all gone” and then he kept playing. I learned that day how much of my problem has not been my knee pain but my attachment to the pain.
When did I lose the ability to let go and move on?
I no longer dream of being in the mountains of Nepal. I have been living with my Zen master for the past two years. I have been cultivating slowly an ability to pay attention and be present. I fail constantly. Yet, at the same time, I can feel how my willingness pays off. The arrogant way of thinking that fathers teach boys how to be men is being replaced by the lessons I receive from this small being who teaches me without words the art of living.
I know he will grow up and will eventually lose some of these beautiful gifts. My role as a parent is to pay attention closely, so I can give them back to him just as he is giving them to me.
The urgency of care
Parenthood is something you do not something you are. For men, the bar on care work and housework is so low that when men do anything that deviate and decide to do a house chore outside the realm of “men”, society rushes to grants them more benefits, praise and recognition that they don’t deserve, that we don’t deserve. This is called the #PedestalEffect. Don’t get on that soapbox, it is not yours to stand on.
If you want to be a feminist dad, don’t expect to be given special treatment because you take parental leave, stay at home because a child is sick or say no to a promotion that takes you further from your children. You are not doing anyone a favor, you are doing what most women are expected to do, in addition to making money, be fit, and save the world. You can’t have it all and even better, you will start finding out the futility of a life where you are absent from your child’s life. There is nowhere you are indispensable but at home.
Care work is very hard. You can be great at running schedules, models and rolling out projects, but as a man, the hardest part is to gain ground into the emotional and mental labor that caring requires. It is to sit with the idea that you will never have enough time to do all the things that it takes to care for you, your partner, your family, your parents and your friends. But every day, you find joy doing it. It is to know that care is not a task, it is a practice and everyday you practice. And you make lots of mistakes and each mistake carries consequences.
I still remember the first time I forgot a small part of the bottle in a trip. I was with my three months old ready to feed him as soon as nap was over. My partner was taking time to hike in the nearby mountains. I prepped the milk, and as I prepped the bottles, I found myself in the middle of Vermont without a vent insert. That meant the difference between happy baby and half and hour of crying. I also remember the day I came up with a puppet show to calm a restless baby when my partner and I were sleep deprived and tired in a plane. Forty-five minutes of adventures of a panda bear were an absolute success and the look in the eyes of my partner as we hit the tarmac were priceless.
Women are not naturally more fit to nurture and care, this puts care in the category of feminine and reinforces limiting experiences of care. It is a cop out and a way in which patriarchy grants men a free ride in life. If you want to change as a person and as a parent, care work and housework are the way to transform your life. Also, to be a fully functioning adult.
As many of you, I am also at home. It has been almost three months. The growing levels of violence against women by men during this pandemic are dire. I strongly believe that the other end of domestic and gender-based violence is not only the absence of violence but the presence of care. Learning how to take care of yourself and put words into your emotions and taking care of your children with a strong foundation on emotional labor. Violence is the strongest show of weakness and vulnerability is what makes you boundless as a parent.
The road to become a feminist dad is not easy or clear. Sometimes, there is no road, you are making it as you go. I have found in my partner, my mother, my grandmother and many of the wonderful women in my life, the best examples to follow in this process. I could never thank them enough for the gift they have given me as I find my own way to be the best parent I can. I hope these words encourage you to find yours too.