Friday, May 14, 2010

Statements of the Obvious, parental version, brief

I hate mothers who smoke while pushing their kids in strollers.
I hate parents who smoke in the car with their kids.
(When I was young, my good friend's step-father was an abusive drunk; he did have a bitchin' camaro, however, and would drive us around occasionally in it. Except he was drunk-ish as people frequently were in the 70s, and he smoked, so the combination of the Camaro squealing corners and the trapped smoke gave me a visceral reaction. Too, for the first couple years after they married, my mother smoked and our trips up I-95 in August heat were marked by her smoke blowing back into the car. So: cars, smoke, and me are not good.)

I hate fathers who feel they have to 'man up' their sons before the boys are even in school, since the specter of 'gayness' is implicitly a mark of unmanly failure for these dumb dads.

I hate fathers who are disappointed by having a daughter, since they 'can't play with her' the way they could with a boy (by what? enforcing insecure homophobic machismo on them? Why, yes, actually: several guys have said they fear turning their daughters into lesbians by playing catch with them.)

I hate fathers who keep their daughters at a distance because they cannot separate parental and familial affection with predatory lechery. But if you actually liked your wife as a person, rather than as a fucktool, you might see women as more than just object and/or threat, which would make it easier to love your daughters correctly.

Awful lot of hate for so early on a sunny morning, sure, but it's what the world presented me.
On a better note, hooray for those who valiantly give it their best.

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