I don’t plan on having kids but I often imagine what I would be like if I were a mother. I imagine all the things I would have to teach my kids to put them on the path of being a good person. Then I imagine how they still may not turn out as I hoped. I imagine all the great things they will do, all the challenges they will face and what the world might be like when they are in it. When I was a kid I would say that I would rather have a son than a daughter. Read more on College Candy…
Here is a collection of memories from my childhood.
I am in kindergarten, it is story time, I am wearing a turtleneck that itches at my neck and I am not feeling well. I throw up on the rug, in front of everyone, sobbing hysterically, and my father leaves the campus where he’s teaching to come pick me up, taking me straight to class with him because it was easier than taking me to the babysitter. I fall asleep in the corner of his classroom to the sound of his voice lecturing disenchanted freshmen about the Yangtze river.
My sister and I spend a hazy, humid summer in Taiwan with our mother, running amok in the streets, eating food at the night market and listening to my mother’s sisters babble over our heads in Chinese. My uncle takes me for a ride on his scooter and I wear no helmet as we careen around the corners and dart in and out of traffic near my ah-ma’s apartment. My mother brings me to the salon to get a perm, and I return to the United States nut-brown and curly haired. When I run to my father at the airport, he holds me at arm’s length. “Who is this?!” he jokes. “You’re not my daughter!”
Countless nights, my father falls asleep in the living room with the television on, our dog Maggie curled up on the floor near the couch. I remove his glasses and wake him up, telling him to go to bed.
My parents divorced when I was very young. The courts granted my father primary custody of my sister and myself because they ruled that my mother’s new relationship with my stepfather was her priority. I have no memory of a family other than the tiny unit that existed — myself, my sister and my father.
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This 4-year-old girl has one of the best Ghostbusters costumes we’ve ever seen (including a handmade proton pack), but it’s her fierce expression and confident stance that really makes it work. Watch out, evil spirits and sentient marshmallow men! [Imgur]
Yesterday, we heard from real dads about teaching their daughters that they are smart and beautiful. Today, real dads tell us how they teach their daughters that girls can do anything boys can do.
For advice, I turned to Tony, the father of three girls under the age of nine; Adam, the father of two daughters under the age of four; Jim, the father of a nine-year-old girl; Joe (AKA Frisky commenter _JSW_), the father of two girls under the age of twelve; and Jesse, the father of three girls under eight. Over the next several days, I’ll be sharing with you some of their fab (and adorable) advice.
How a dad can teach his daughter that “girls rule!” after the jump: Keep reading »
You may have noticed here at The Frisky we pull a lot of stuff out of our ass. 5 Things You Can Lie To Your Therapist About! 7 Ways To Wear Roadkill This Season! 13 Ways To Orgasm Using Pinterest! But a serious subject calls for Serious Journalism. And for some Serious Journalism this Father’s Day, I lazily emailed all the men I know who have young daughters and asked them for advice on raising healthy, happy girls as a modern-day dad.
For this first installment of Dads Raising Daughters, I turned to Tony, the father of three girls under the age of nine; Adam, the father of two daughters under the age of four; Jim, the father of a nine-year-old girl; Joe (AKA Frisky commenter _JSW_), the father of two girls under the age of twelve; and Jesse, the father of three girls under eight. Over the next several days, I’ll be sharing with you some of their fab (and adorable) advice.
First up, how to teach your girl she is smart and beautiful. Keep reading »
“I was always daddy’s little girl. We did everything together. He was my hero. My father was always there with a hug for me; when I was little, he let me climb all over him like he was a jungle gym.
And then my body changed. I developed early; I had boobs by 11. And all of a sudden, my Dad stopped hugging me or touching me. He went overnight from being my best friend to being remote and critical.”
I read that in a student’s journal earlier this semester (quoted with permission). I’ve read and heard similar things countless times over the course of nearly 20 years teaching gender studies and doing youth ministry. Ask any family therapist who works with teen girls, and they’ll report the same thing I’ve heard: story after story of fathers withdrawing physical affection as soon as their daughters hit puberty. Keep reading »