Tag Archives: Best Friend

Raising a not-rapist

This post is dedicated to Ruth Moss, who put up two posts both of which prompted and contributed to this one.

In her most recent (because, of course, I never quite managed to finish my response to the older), she poses the question:

…surely in that Glorious Utopian Future gender won’t matter at all anyway? Why would I treat my kid any differently than a girl if he turns out to be making the journey along the “path to manhood“?

And the answer is, of course, that men rape (among other things; in this post I will primarily be focusing on rape, although this argument is equally applicable to the fact that men beat, murder, attack, and abuse).

Not all men, of course, or most men, not even only men; but, in overwhelming majority, rapists are men, and far too large a minority of men prove they are capable of rape.

As Ruth put it so well in the older post, the only way to stop rape is: “Men refusing to rape. That will stop rape.”

I have a son. He is a boy, who will grow in to a man.* He will have the potential to rape. The only way to be sure he does not become a rapist is to make sure he learns not to rape.

That is the difference between raising boys and raising girls: we need to raise both of them free of gender stereotypes and arbitrary gender roles, but to ignore their sex and the roles their gender will push them toward in society is as ridiculous a proposition as raising children “colorblind” in regards to race: all it does is reify the dominant paradigm, prop up racism and sexism and the entire kyriarchy, because we cannot fight what we do not acknowledge exists. In this case, that is the truth that some boy children will grow up to be rapists.

This is something a lot of parents don’t want to think about — I know I would really rather not. This is my perfect little baby we’re talking about! And he is; he is beautiful, and sweet, and loving, and empathetic, and caring, and absolutely perfect.

Of course, every baby is perfect. And yet, some men are rapists. Somehow, perfect babies grow up in to men who rape. It would be so easy, so reassuring, to hide behind the lie that it couldn’t happen to my baby, that I don’t have to think about that, that that only happens to those other people and their defective children. But that line of thinking is just another tool of the patriarchy, trying to defend itself; if it can just make us blind enough, we’ll do all the defending it needs for it.

No, the only way to make sure that my boy does not become a rapist is to teach him not to rape. And that starts now.

Ruth also asks:

…I do think we have influence. Or at least, I hope we do. Because I don’t want my kid to grow into One of Those Men. So where to start?

It starts with teaching him that no means no, and that only yes means yes. It means that even though his best friend is almost a year older than he is (just-3, to his over-2), and taller, and larger, and more energetic, and arguably more aggressive — even though she is all that, he is male, and she is not, and while I don’t encourage her to walk all over him either, I do insist that he really listen to her noes, or make sure he gets yeses, when he wants to hug and kiss and touch and play with her.

It starts with teaching him that I have boundaries and limits and needs, too; this is a tough one, because I also believe that the more a child’s needs are unconditionally met now, in infancy and toddlerhood and childhood, the better off they are for a lifetime. I encounter this conflict primarily when he needs to nurse (often it is a true need, whether for nutrition or liquid or comfort or sleep) and my body is feeling touched out. I’m not sure where the best balance is between these two needs, but I know we will both be better off for trying to find it together, rather than subsuming myself entirely to his demands.

And yes, as Ruth points out, it also starts with teaching him that his own feelings matter, that his own noes are respected, that those who are bigger and stronger do not get what they want through force and committing violence upon those who are smaller and weaker. Remember, the patriarchy creates rapists by raping them; it creates soldiers who can look at a person and see only a soulless enemy by first dehumanizing them; it creates bullies by bullying them when they are younger. The most revolutionary thing when raising a boy, then, is to protect and respect his humanity; not place his right to personal agency on a pedestal, or place him at the center of the universe, as the patriarchy does, but to ground him in soul-full humanity, help him grow up centered in his own being, capable of saying “namaste” to others because the divine is still in him to honor the divine in others.

In short, and coming back down from my culturally-appropriating neo-Pagan high, raising not-rapists means raising our boys womanist/feminist, protecting them to the best of our power from the damage the patriarchy would do to them.

I’m not saying I know exactly how to do all this. I don’t know exactly how to balance his needs for me and my need for me, or wanting to encourage him to be friendly with wanting to ensure he gets permission from others first, or his need to be fully human with recognizing the ways in which male privilege structures only him-as-male as fully a person. And I’m sure there are more aspects of this endeavor that I haven’t figured out yet. But I do think these are good places to start.

*Probably. The odds are certainly enough slanted to him being a cissexed male that I must, in this post and in parenting him, take certain actions based on that assumption.

Unemployment and parenting: a semi-schmaltzy self-indulgent pep talk (plus, cute kid pic!)

In many ways, unemployment is great for our family. The Man is around throughout the day, which is our ideal. We all sleep in and wake up together, and he gets to experience the joys of first hugs and kisses of the day. He gets up and showers with the Boychick in the morning, and we’re both around to tag-team on rough days. There’s a pace to the day that isn’t there when he’s working, based on our own rhythms and desires and goals rather than having to follow an externally-imposed schedule. Under other circumstances, this would be the ideal life, and regardless of circumstances, we’re going to embrace and enjoy every moment of it we can.

Of course, in many other ways, unemployment is not-so-great for us. The stress of the job loss and the job hunt make The Man short-tempered, and since raising a two-year-old is challenging at the best of times, much of his frustration gets vented at the Boychick. This in turn triggers me, remembering a father who yelled too much and with too little reason, and I become short tempered with him. The Boychick, emotional weather vane that he is, picks up all our stress and the change in schedules and is even more challenging than usual. And overlaying (underlying?) even the most joyful moments is the fear: fear that this is permanent, fear that he won’t get a new job, fear that our time in sub/urban self-sufficiency is over, fear that we won’t be able to provide even the simple life we wanted for our child.

But ideal or not-so-great, it is what it is. Different facets of ourselves shine — or not — under different circumstances, but all are there at all times; the unemployment is only a mirror, reflecting what has always been there: Anger under stress. Fear projecting. Joyful togetherness. Grace-full pace. I love some of what I see, and loathe some of it, just as I love and loathe myself, just as I will be loved and loathed by the Boychick in turns as he grows.

It’s easy and dangerous to get into the nauseating, schmaltzy, victim-blaming, positive-thinking trap, where all we allow ourselves to see is the good, the perfect job is around the corner, and unicorns poop rainbow skittles. But it’s also easy and dangerous (possibly easier and even more dangerous for me) to get into the ugly, dark, self-blaming, negative-thinking trap, where all we allow ourselves to see is the bad, he’ll never get a job, and all flowers are just thorny weeds. The truth, the sane path, lies in between. The truth is there is good and bad in unemployment; the truth is we’ll be ok, one way or another. The truth is, the good and the bad are both always there, and it’s up to us to choose to embrace it all, or not; to live in the moment, or live in our own fantasy (or nightmare).

I promised a cute kid pic, didn’t I? Here: I could choose to only remember that he was the Cranky Screaming Toddler of Doom the day this was taken; or, I could choose to forget that he was ever anything other than the heart-meltingly adorable angel he is in the photo. Instead, I choose to remember that my Cranky Screaming Toddler of Doom is a heart-meltingly adorable kiddo, and I can love him all the better for seeing all of him:

(I promise I’ll get back to hard-punching feminist vitriol again soon, and hope you’ll forgive my self-indulgent introspection in the meantime. Cross your fingers The Man gets employed again soon, so I can spend less time crafting cover letters and playing by the patriarchy’s rules, and more time deconstructing those rules and cornering the kyriarchy. Else you’ll be reading more angst and pep-talks, and none of us want that.)

Toddler friendships (or, bath and cheese-eating pictures!)

I have a very dear friend, who happens to have a child about 10 months older than the Boychick. To our relief (for we would get together regularly for our own sanity anyway), they are as close as toddlers can get to Best Friends. They light up when they see each other (if it is almost always followed by screams of possessiveness), they push each other in carts, they walk around holding hands, they play at crawling together, they feed each other food they “cook” in their kitchens, they even on occasion hug, or kiss each other’s boo-boos better. They sometimes bathe together, pouring water over each other and splashing and laughing hysterically. It melts our hearts.

They also, of course, yell at and hit each other, and scream whenever the other gets something the first doesn’t, and snatch things from each other, and insist on always doing what the other is even if only one can at a time, and generally give us a big ol’ headache. But hey, they’re toddlers.

The only “unusual” part of all this is that the Best Friend is (as far as one can tell before puberty) of the female persuasion.

You would not believe (or perhaps that should be “I in my optimism can hardly believe”) the amount of labeling this gets them from the generally-sexist general population. If they are not siblings (“sisters”, usually, because the Boychick does not wear clothing with trucks and “Mommy’s little monster” plastered all over it, and therefore must be female), then they are “boyfriend and girlfriend”: they “flirt”; they “smooch”; he is “a little ladykiller” (can there be a more misogynistic phrase?), she “quite the catch”. Because, of course, a boy and a girl, no matter how young, cannot be pals, or buddies, or just plain friends. Theirs must be a romantic relationship, if not a sibling one, for there cannot be any other roles for a male and a female of the same age.

This attitude, of course, makes my head explode. They don’t know what romance is. They barely yet know what “boy” and “girl” are (he less than she, it seems so far). All they know is they like each other, like to spend time together, like to play with each other — and occasionally despise the other with an agony representable only by supersonic screams of rage (if you’ve ever had a toddler, you know of what I speak).

But even if they knew. Even if they were teens, and had the potential to be romantically interesting in anything, and definitely were aware of the physical differences between the sexes, so what? Must every non-gay male and female be a romantic possibility? Can there be no relating to a person without evaluation of their sexual potential? Must every one of the Boychick’s future female acquaintances be labeled by idiotic onlookers as a “maybe girlfriend”? My blood pressure skyrockets at the vision.

Before you accuse me of getting worked up over nothing, this is not just innocent fun that adults have with the relationship between their children, with no harm to the little ones. The assigning of toddler friendships with the “romantic” or “boyfriend/girlfriend” label is nothing more or less than a part of the ploy of the patriarchy to make women sexual objects and men sexual predators. If one is programmed to look at someone of the “opposite” gender and think “sex”, even if in just some small part of one’s mind, regardless of whether one is actually attracted to the other, then one cannot relate to the other as a person. And the patriarchy would surely fall apart if we all did that.