Big Birthday Memory #18: Want a Feminist Son? Tips From a Veteran

NOTE: As I approach my 70th birthday, I’ll reprise a milestone post here each day until the end of May. This one appeared on BlogHer on January 19, 2011

Running Boys

“So Dan,” says I, “What would you think if the woman you wanted to marry decided to keep her name?”

“Well mom,” says he, “I don’t think I’d want to marry a woman who didn’t want to keep her name.”

He was around ten then (he’s 30 now), in the car with us, listening to his dad tease me, as he has for years, that he “wouldn’t have let me” have his name if I did want it. Not a serious discussion of male oppression exactly, but humor teaches lessons too.

Someone asked me how we raised feminist sons. I don’t have a checklist. And if I were to respond seriously, I’d start with something really corny: teach them to respect people – all people. The elevator man. The bus driver. Their best friend’s mom. The guy at the candy counter. Their friends. Their parents’ friends. Their baby sitter. They were Manhattan kids, but they were raised to think of the feelings of every person they met. Of course, that meant all women, too. That was an advantage.

Oh, and we respected the two of them right back.

In the families they knew, most of the moms worked as hard as the dads. Since moms at home were an exception, they were used to two-income families. The daughters of these moms, the girls they went to school with, wouldn’t put up with much nonsense, either. That also helped.

We preferred offering choices over fiats. Most boys go through a Playboy phase. Call it curiosity. When the magazines began to stack up behind the old-fashioned radiator in our bathroom, we didn’t seize them. We talked about what it must have been like for the women in the pictures and how their parents might feel. I may have said (of course I said) that it offended me, but if they wanted to keep buying Playboy, they’d have to pay for it from their allowance and keep them all put away. Eventually the fever broke and the magazines disappeared.

I also changed the endings of a lot of stories I read to them when they were really little. No princess was given by her father to the guy who solved the riddle or won the quest in our versions. (I also had to change stories like Mr. Poppers Penguins because of terrible racial stereotypes, by the way) We read Harriet the Spy and Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great as well as Encyclopedia Brown and Superfudge.

Also, back then when it was new, we listened to Free to Be, You and Me until the tape wore out. When we did come across unpleasant images of women on TV or at a movie, we talked about them.Those movie moments were also “teachable moments.” As any parent knows, those scenes can enable a dialogue that might otherwise be impossible, whether it’s about smoking and drugs, bullies, sex, or the partnership between women and men. They’re always popping up; not just in entertainment but also on the street, with family and friends, and in easy conversations. We made the most of those, too.

I’ve sort of written things down here as I thought of them and now as I reread this, I realize how much I’ve focused on image and media. I guess that’s because those sorts of opportunities were overt and therefore highly productive tools.

The modeling that went on at home was also critical of course. We were nowhere near as exemplary as couples are now in their parenting and household equity. It was the 70’s and 80s. Even so, we were very aware of the issues we needed to pass on and both worked to do it. (For a more contemporary look , try The Feminist Breeder, who, in a consciously egalitarian marriage, describes her own thoughts on raising feminist boys. or Penguin Unearthed as she offers her own perspective.)

Our boys, from when they were little, learned to cook, iron (that was our babysitter, not us), do their laundry and clean the kitchen. They made their beds (mostly) and helped out at our parties. Each has always had close friends who were girls, and later, women. They still do.

As I conclude though, I return too to the concept of respect. If you are steeped in a respect for all people – not as a political habit but a deep, personal value, it’s a lot tougher to use your maleness to seize control of a household, a family or a workplace.

Finally, beyond all the values and logistical and modeling issues lies a fundamental fact. A child who is well-loved and respected is far more likely to accept the values we choose to pass on, and that underlies everything else.

YOU ASKED FOR IT: Advice for New Moms

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NOTE: In the early years of BlogHer “virtual baby showers” – posts on a topic new moms might like – were frequent. This, one of the first, sought advice for new moms. In honor of two new grandchildren, here’s what I wrote then, in April of 2007.

That’s me with my older son, Josh, in Muir Woods outside San Francisco — pretty many years ago. I don’t know if you can tell but I’m pregnant with his brother. Happy to join the virtual shower although despite my adoration of and respect for both Liz and Catherine, I’m from the generation that put their babies to sleep on their stomachs and so may sound a little old-fashioned.

1. Don’t do anything that doesn’t feel right no matter whose advice it is.

2. Trust yourself.

3. Remember that everybody makes mistakes and anyway a child is not a product, she is a person. You’ve heard that kids are resilient. They are. Do your best with love and if you don’t dwell on your mistakes neither will they.

4. You can’t turn a child into someone. You can only help them become the best somebody they already are.

5. Don’t be afraid to say no. Parents who don’t set limits and help their kids learn self-discipline are selfish. It’s easier but it’s not right.

6. No experience is wasted on a child. Maybe they’re too young to remember, but if it happened, it had an impact. So share as much of what you love as you can – music, museums, trips to Timbuktu or Target — poetry, cooking, washing the car.

7. No child ever went to college in diapers.

8. Listen to experienced people you respect, preschool teachers, friends, even, God forbid, your mother. Experience really is a great teacher. Then, though, think it through and then do what you think is right.

9. Everything is not equally important. Pick your fights and win them.

10. Leave time to just be. Lessons are great but quiet time is where imagination and a sense of self emerges.

11. LISTEN to your kids. They are smart and interesting and wise and if you respect them you have a far better chance of having them respect you.

12. Did I say trust yourself?

With love, admiration and the joy that comes from knowing all you wonderful, poetic and caring, committed and in one case, very new mothers on the occasion of this lovely virtual baby shower.

On the Arrival of a First Child

Six years ago I wrote this piece to honor the pending birth of a friend’s child. It’s about the first days after the birth of a first child. Right now, each of my sons is expecting a child, so one more time, here’s the memory – with gratitude and love.

The connection of a mother and newborn is so complete that it’s almost
impossible – even with writers as remarkable as this community — to describe.
At least I can’t find words that say what I know this photo says.

This is actually my second son, very soon after he arrived.

He’s almost 33 now and more extraordinary than even I, proud mama, could have imagined
that cold November day in Roosevelt hospital in 1979. He and his brother
both started off with beautiful souls though. They are beautiful still.

When I think of those early days, it isn’t all the getting up at night (although it could be) and it isn’t that I had so much trouble nursing that I needed to supplement (although it could be) and it isn’t the absolutely perfect terror that I might do them harm that accompanied the first days of their lives (although it certainly, indubitably could be.)

You hear a cry and struggle out of bed, grab a robe, go retrieve this new little person from his crib, change him and move with him to the bentwood rocking chair (of course there’s a rocking chair) facing the window. And you hold him in your arms and you feed him.

The dark envelops you, the dim skyline across the river in New Jersey is the only light you have, except for the tiny pinpoints of light on the tug boats and barges as they make their way. And it’s silent. Not a sound. And, with this new life in your arms, you rock gently back and forth. The gift of peace of those nights in the rocker was so intense that as I write this, I can feel it. If I let myself, I could cry.

I remember watching my mother with each infant – can still see her face as she responded to them, thinking to myself then “Oh. This must be the way she was with me. How beautiful. How beautiful.”

And I remember this. My parents came to us very soon after our first son was born, helped put the crib together, celebrated with us. Late one night, as I stood with our baby in my arms, my dad walked into the room. Looking at the two of us, in perfect peace, he said to me “NOW do you understand?” Of course I did.

On the Arrival of a First Child: Thirty-five Years Ago

Two years ago I wrote this piece to honor the pending birth of a friend’s child. It’s about the first days after the birth of a first child. Yesterday marked the 35th anniversary of that birth – so, one more time, here’s the memory – with gratitude and love.

What an emotional shock it has been to write this. I need to start with that; the feelings, years later, are still there.

What an emotional shock it has been to write this. I need to start with that; the feelings, years later, are still there. Since this baby shower is for one of my favorite bloggers, and
friends, I’m grateful to be part of it. Our task is to share those lovely early
moments with our brand new children. That’s why I’ve added this – which
may be the most perfect photo I own because it says just what we all know.
The connection of a mother and newborn is so complete that it’s almost
impossible – even with writers as remarkable as this community — to describe.
At least I can’t find words that say what I know this photo says.

This is actually my second son, very soon after he arrived.
He’s 28 now and more extraordinary than even I, proud mama, could have imagined
that cold November day in Roosevelt hospital in 1979. He and his brother
both started off with beautiful souls though. They are beautiful still.

When I think of those early days, it isn’t all the getting up at
night (although it could be) and it isn’t that I had so much trouble nursing
that I needed to supplement (although it could be) and it isn’t the absolutely
perfect terror that I might do them harm that accompanied the first days of
their lives (although it certainly, indubitably could be.)

Nope. Here’s what I remember, and what I wish for the two
of you and all you other moms and moms-in-waiting: it’s a cold winter
night, maybe after about a week as the new parent of son number 1. It’s
dark, but out the window you can see the boats going up and down the Hudson
River (even though our windows leak so there’s ice on our windows, on the
inside.) You hear a cry and struggle out of bed, grab a robe, go retrieve
this new little person from his crib, change him and move with him to the
bentwood rocking chair (of course there’s a rocking chair) facing the window.
And you hold him in your arms and you feed him. The dark envelops you,
the dim skyline across the river in New Jersey is the only light you have,
except for the tiny pinpoints of light on the tug boats and barges as they make
their way. And it’s silent. Not a sound. And, with this new
life in your arms, you rock gently back and forth. The gift of peace of
those nights in the rocker was so intense that as I write this, I can feel it.
If I let myself, I could cry.

I remember watching my mother with each infant – can still see
her face as she responded to them, thinking to myself then “Oh.
This must be the way she was with me. How beautiful. How
beautiful.”

And I remember this. My parents came to us very soon after
our first son was born, helped put the crib together, celebrated with us.
Late one night, as I stood with our baby in my arms, my dad walked into the
room. Looking at the two of us, in perfect peace, he said to me “NOW
do you understand?” Of course I did.

When Kids Grow Up: Their Landmark Birthdays and Mom’s Heart

My baby turned 30 on Saturday. He’s a remarkable man and has been independent and away from home (across the country, actually) for a long time. But he’s still my only youngest child.

It was a landmark for him, and he had a great day, I think, while I spent much of that day in a state of astonishing gratitude.

That face would be enough, right? The amazing thing is that for every smile, grin, laugh, great story, amazing artwork, funny home-made Halloween costume (How many second-graders dress up as Agent Cooper from Twin Peaks, after all?) there are a hundred more. He’s a wealth of wonders.

I have so many friends who are close to his age, or younger, and I’ve often tried to describe what it feels like to see a beloved boy grow into a fine, honorable, creative, funny, loving and talented man. But they’re worrying about preschool and OT and nannies and play dates and work-life balance and it sounds so far away – probably frighteningly so.

So, as I have so often before, I’m telling you instead.
There are few honors more moving than noting a day like this with joy. Look at this photo – a moment of pure eloquence as a young man toasts his big brother at his wedding. You can see how much they like each other; that’s a gift too.

I could tell many stories about the little boy up there and the man, too, but they are his stories to tell. I’m here, rather, to tell you, and myself, one more time, about my own sense of the pure honor of being a parent and riding along as our kids find their way. Through good times and bad, success and … not so much …. their presence is a blessing.

So. Here I am, in adequately trying to tell people — who already know the wonders of parenthood — about someone they’ve never met. Because, as he enters his 31st year, I’m just so glad I know him.

Happy birthday Dan.

Happy Mother’s Day

It being Friday afternoon and almost Shabbat, I'm leaving a brief Mother's Day greeting now. First, to say thank you to my kids for letting me be their mom and being such wonderful sons. Then to my husband for being my partner in crime.

But I also need to talk about my own mother, whose standards were high, whose generosity to others was boundless and who had a huge influence on so many. She was an art teacher – elementary school – and not a kid in our community would have been inside a museum if my mom hadn't taken them. Since she grew up in the Depression and World War II, she was very much part of the Greatest Generation – in every way.

She treated everyone like someone worth meeting, and listening to, and people knew it. All my friends wrote to me when she died with some personal remembrance. I lost her when both boys were in college, and I remember thinking so many times how much I would have loved to be able to ask her about having adult kids. How was she able to stay out of the middle of our lives when she had such a strong opinion about how we should be living them? Why did she let me hang around with the high school bad boys – even let them sleep in our basement when they were fighting with their parents, without worrying what influence they might have had over us? How did she feel as we got married? Was she as nervous as I am now?

I do know though that, whatever her answers would be, and despite some daughterly issues, her faith in us, her encouragement, her belief that we needed careers and missions of our own all empowered us to become the women we are. She was very private and there are many things I wish I knew, and others I wish I could have told her, but they were not the center of things – just things.

She was a great mom. I miss her. And I'm so grateful that I do.

SHOWER THEM WITH LOVE – FOR KRISTEN, AND ALL OF US

What an emotional shock it has been to write this. I need to start with that; the feelings, years later, are still there.

Since this baby shower is for one of my favorite bloggers, and friends, the inimitable creator of Motherhood Uncensored, our own Kristen, (and her friend Rebecca, of Girl’s Gone Child,) and since it’s organized by four amazing bloggers in their own right, I’m grateful to be part of it. Our task is to share those lovely early moments with our brand new children. That’s why I’ve added this – which may be the most perfect photo I own because it says just what we all know. The connection of a mother and newborn is so complete that it’s almost impossible – even with writers as remarkable as this community — to describe. At least I can’t find words that say what I know this photo says.

This is actually my second son, very soon after he arrived. He’s 28 now and more extraordinary than even I, proud mama, could have imagined that cold November day in Roosevelt hospital in 1979. He and his brother both started off with beautiful souls though. They are beautiful still.

Nope. Here’s what I remember, and what I wish for the two of you and all you other moms and moms-in-waiting: it’s a cold winter night, maybe after about a week as the new parent of son number 1. It’s dark, but out the window you can see the boats going up and down the Hudson River (even though our windows leak so there’s ice on our windows, on the inside.) You hear a cry and struggle out of bed, grab a robe, go retrieve this new little person from his crib, change him and move with him to the bentwood rocking chair (of course there’s a rocking chair) facing the window. And you hold him in your arms and you feed him. The dark envelops you, the dim skyline across the river in New Jersey is the only light you have, except for the tiny pinpoints of light on the tug boats and barges as they make their way. And it’s silent. Not a sound. And, with this new life in your arms, you rock gently back and forth. The gift of peace of those nights in the rocker was so intense that as I write this, I can feel it. If I let myself, I could cry.

I remember watching my mother with each infant – can still see her face as she responded to them, thinking to myself then "Oh. This must be the way she was with me. How beautiful. How beautiful."

E3, FABLE II AND BEING THE PROUD MOM

I’ve written often about the ways life changes as your kids grow up and become adults. We are blessed that both of ours have brought us so much joy. This public accomplishment is really just icing on the cake; moment by moment is where the real wonder comes. Even so, how could I not post it here?

The man on the right is my older son Josh. Speaking at E3! (The annual video game trade show in LA) On G4 TV. About Fable II, a game he has been working on for a very long time. How cool is that?

SO LONG TIM. ALL THE NICE THINGS WE’VE BEEN SAYING ABOUT YOU WERE TRUE – AND IT’S NOT FAIR – NOT AT ALL

I worked at NBC News, at the TODAY SHOW for nine years, and for much of that time, I was lucky enough to work with Tim Russert. The picture on the left was one of the few I could find that showed that great, mischievous expression that meant we were going to have fun so even if it’s not a DC kind of photo, it’s the one I like best.

I first met Tim when he still worked with Mario Cuomo., on the Democratic Convention floor in 1984 when Cuomo electrified the crowd and I chased Tim, whom I’d never met, half way out to the parking lot to get a promise that the Governor would be on the show the next day. He was psyched, hyped and way too busy but he was also adorable and very sweet as we worked to get things organized.

So when he came to NBC and went to work on getting the Vatican to let us come and do a week of shows in Rome, including time with the Pope, I watched Tim play it out. He worked with Cardinal Kroll in Philadelphia and with one of his colleagues who worked in the Vatican and somehow we got our on-the-air mass with Pope John Paul II and a Philadelphia Catholic school boys choir sang on the TODAY SHOW. Who but Tim would have made that happen?

There’s not much I can say that hasn’t been said; I couldn’t write sooner because my kids were visiting for the weekend and I wasn’t being very bloggy. But as the news broke, my younger son called from the airport. He was really sad. I’d forgotten how lovely Tim was to Dan, who was around 6 when they met. Treated him like a cool guy, gave him an NBC baseball cap that I think he still has, teased him guy to guy. When I went over to deliver our bassinet after Luke arrived Dan came along and this new daddy still had time for a bit of a conversation with a six year old. AND to show us a tape of Willard Scott announcing Luke’s birth on the show.

All week people have been talking about Tim’s love of politics. That was true; and he mined every subtle message and decision for meaning and impact. But he had another quality that was even more valuable in a journalist: a contagious enthusiasm for living that made each story part of a grand adventure. He brought everyone in his orbit along with him — sharing energy and laughter, competition that was fierce but never mean and a real belief in both the fun and the importance of journalism in a democracy.

I moved to LA and we mostly lost touch – although he did send a Meet the Press baseball cap in response to a note I sent him. It made me feel remembered – as it was meant to. It was the kind of gesture that’s been in the stories people have been telling all week — it’s just that this one’s mine. And since I’m not one of the rock stars who have been telling these stories all week, just someone he worked with, I’m hoping it will demonstrate the genuine niceness of this guy. Really.

There’s a wake tomorrow and I’m going to try to go. I’m betting that there will be a mob scene there but I’d just like to show respect for a moment or two. I’ve seen so many of us writing about this very sad thing; I’ll say a bit of a goodbye for all of us.

A BIT OF BABY SHOWER WISDOM FOR MOTHERS OF TWO

Well here they are. My two boys some years ago, on a boat someplace in Germany. This photo is probably 20 years old; it’s from one of many wonderful trips covering territory all the way from Israel to Hawaii. Each was an adventure, enriched by the presence of these two little (and later bigger) boys, as were all our days. Most visitors to the baby shower know that I’m the sentimental one – not able ever to be as arch and irreverent as many of my sister bloggers. SO CONSUMER ALERT — this is mostly a riff on the treat it is to watch your two kids grow, change, interact, fight, become real friends, care for one another and grow up to travel together and meet up to go to concerts.

When I was pregnant with my second son, I was afraid that I could never love another child. The delight we felt with our first son was so complete that I wasn’t sure whether there was room in my heart for another. That summer, as we awaited his brother’s arrival, I insisted that our son, my husband and I – go to the beach to have a last vacation with "just the three of us." It was going to be tough to get used to dividing my time so I wanted one more golden moment with just one.

It was the year The Muppet Movie came out, and I remember sitting on the little deck outside the beach cabin we’d rented, my son in my lap, playing The Rainbow Song on the boom box we’d brought with us, just about overcome with emotion. Listen to it – if it doesn’t get to you I don’t know what will.

"Some day we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreams and me." So sentimental but absolutely perfect for my pregnant, hormonal self.

And then he arrived – this little, amazing, intense infant, and as soon as I saw him I knew all the worry was for nothing. Of course you can’t love an abstraction as much as a little blond sweetie who loves Kermit and Ernie and Bert — and you. Once that abstraction arrives though, he’s as real and exciting and mysterious and loving as his big brother. As each of their personalities emerged so did their differences, but each revealed a piece of them. Each individual talent and temperment and allergy and grace reminded us of the unique treasure that each of them was to us. So here are 10.5 thoughts on the question at hand – moving from one child to two:

Continue reading A BIT OF BABY SHOWER WISDOM FOR MOTHERS OF TWO