My daughter does not have to be the one to help around the house. You can direct the same request to my son sitting right beside me. The rampant patriarchy that is so entrenched in our community needs to stop.
Our own internalized misogyny, regurgitated on the new feminists of the world needs to cease. The talk I had with my daughter, on the drive home, after a pit stop for some Starbucks, probably sounded like the teachers do in Charlie Brown, an endless drone, just because I stay at home, the work I do is not “women’s work”. You do not have to be trapped by the same small minded beliefs that chain the owner of a thriving pediatric practice to separating helping dad hammer nails to boy’s work and washing dishes to girl’s work.
I was ashamed, for the doctor, and flabbergasted. I wish I had been able to break out of my stunned stupor to correct the her right then. Right there, where and when it mattered. So that same idiotic vomit wouldn’t work its way into my daughter’s psyche.