I’ve never been a boy mom and I’ve never been a girl mom. When I had my son, I was just trying to do everything, be everywhere, join every activity, capture every moment, embrace every milestone, still be a wife, have a career and a social life. You know, all the things we have to do but can never realistically do. And then before I knew it, I was pregnant again with my daughter. I had one of each and life made sense. My kids are close enough in age that as one stage ends, the next one begins and for the most part, they’ve experienced everything together.
Now, Jackson is a boy’s boy. Rough and tumble, arm in a cast by 13 months old, ball was his first word…boy. Kennedy Rose is a girl’s girl. Dramatic, frilly and pink, always has an answer for you…girl. But their ages and stages type stuff has always matched up. They’ve learned about the world together, so far. I’m grateful they are close. He likes her company more than she likes his, but they do love, and even like each other. They fight, as brothers and sisters are expected, but they look out for one another. If I have one at the store, they’ll pick out the other’s favorite snack. Get this for Jackson, mom, he likes these. If he comes down before she wakes up, he’ll ask for her before asking anything else. Where’s Kennedy, mom?
I grew up with a sister, 3 and a half years younger. We got along and we didn’t. We battled each other and battled for each other. Acutally, we still do both. And my mother can still be heard from a short distance, ‘Amanda, be nice to your sister. When I’m dead, she’s all you’ll have.’ She’s said this my whole life long. We protect each other. We bring each other up, knock each other down. Take care of each other and keep each other in check. Sisters. Even when they’re very different, and we are, there’s similarities in being sisters that are undeniable. That’s what I’ve always known.
But the brother-sister dynamic. That’s new for me. There are stark differences in being the mom of a boy vs. a girl. Your son, for example, gives you a high five like he’s trying to break your wrist and at least three fingers. Your daughter answers a question. A simple question, as if she’s trying to negotiate her way out of a hostage situation with all the lawyers in the whole world behind her.
For me, the trouble comes when it’s time to teach them their roles in society. It’s vitally important that we are raising our boys into men. That we are raising protectors. But it’s equally vital that we are teaching our daughters that they don’t need protecting or saving from men. How do I make that make sense? I can’t even make sense of it. You’ll remember back to me arguing with the umpire, specifically at Jackson’s last tournament. Really any game or tournament, you can find me arguing with an umpire, which, ultimately is going to be a man. I am not afraid to argue with men. I’m not afraid to argue with anyone, so you know that when my son’s head coach turned to quiet me down after Jackson got hurt, it didn’t go over well. He wanted to calm me down so that we didn’t have a bigger ordeal than I was already making over my son getting knocked down at home plate. I mean, you know how these little league things can go. Parents get thrown out, it’s a whole scene, and we don’t need that. So, the head coach turns and put his hand up at me. Symbolically, telling me to sit down and be quiet, while he says it’s ok, mom, I got him, he’s ok. He was comforting my son and making sure he was ok. But mama bear comes out and that doesn’t matter. All sense of reason goes out the window. I think I told you that the incident turned into me now arguing with my husband, with other families on the bench, with my parents, with my sister, with everyone and anyone. I was in a mood for the rest of the night. I was done. I was mad at my husband, and we argued all night. And do you believe that I had the audacity to say to him, well that coach put his hands up at me and you didn’t do anything?
Bitch.
You know damn well that if he would’ve stepped in and said don’t talk to my wife like that, or anything to that affect, you would’ve whipped your body around and said STFU! I don’t need you to protect me! But here you are, at 2 o’clock in the morning, mad at him because he didn’t “protect you.” Yes, I’m a hypocrite and my husband is a saint. Blah, blah, not the point.
The point is how do we teach this to our daughters? How do we teach this to our sons? Son, you have to protect her even when she doesn’t want you to. Daughter, you have to let him protect you even when you don’t want him to. Son, you have to carry the heavy things. You have to provide for your home and your family. You have to mind your mother and you have to help your father do the hard and dirty jobs around the house that mommy and your sister don’t want to do. But son, you can’t ever treat them like they’re less than you because you carry the heavy things, or because you’re the provider and protector. And daughter, you have to be confident and capable enough to live your life without any man. You do not need protecting. But, if you do decide to share your life with someone, it better be with the man who will, no matter what, no matter how much you protest, provide for you and protect you. The ideas contradict each other. We don’t need protecting, but dammit, protect us!
I have such an internal struggle between teaching Kennedy that she’s a strong, smart, capable girl who will turn into a strong, smart, capable woman, and she doesn’t need a man. But I also model a healthy, happy marriage, where my husband and I work as a team. And although I have a very independent ‘I’ll do it myself, get the fuck out of my way’ attitude, I still completely expect him to protect and provide and take care of me and the kids. I want my son to learn those traits from his father, and I want him to know that he has to be a good man, strong and capable to care for his little sister and later his girlfriends and wives. It doesn’t make any sense. It seems impossible.
We have to raise a daughter who knows she could take on the world if she needed to, but to also know the value of having strong men in her life so she wouldn’t need to fight the world alone. And we have to raise a strong, solid and resilient son, who will allow the women in his life room to grow in their own strength, but always be ready to defend her to ends of the earth. Two really big statements, with a lot of impact and expectations, for them and for us. And yet, we’re out here just doing it. We’re raising capable women and capable men. Modeling the behaviors and the marriage dynamic and the gender roles to create the next generation of women who will pick up the entire dresser by herself and move it to the other side of the room. She’ll do that because she asked her husband to do it five minutes ago and he said he’ll get it in a minute. So, she’ll just get it her fucking self. We’re raising the daughter who is independent, but also completely sassy as hell about it. We’re raising our boys into men. Men who will encourage her to finish her education and pursue her dream, while he works overtime so they can take that extra vacation. This world needs that. Maybe not those specifics, but you get my point. Or you don’t but you’ve read this far already, so just stay with me.
I’ll end with this. The last time the four us us we’re driving on the highway, traffic stopped pretty suddenly. My husband had to hit the breaks. As he did, his arm shot out towards me, doing that arm-seatbelt thing we all do. In the same moment I was turning back reaching towards the kids. Guess what I saw? Jackson was reaching his arm across his little sister, and she was yelling, ‘I’m fine!’ So, when push comes to shove, I think we’re doing pretty good. My hope is that you raise your kids into protectors. The world is ugly and scary. They need to know who will protect them and need to know how to protect themselves.
Call your mom, say your prayers, thank a cop. XO
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