Daddy’s Baggage
After turning 2 years old, my son, Avishai, started demanding that he only wear tractor shirts, and my mind spiralled into darkness.
So writes Jay Deitcher, a social worker and therapist, a declarer of pronouns, and, it seems, someone accustomed to the aforementioned mental spiralling:
I catastrophised worst-case scenarios, imagining a world where he fell for everything stereotypically manly. I envisioned him on a football field, barrelling through mega-muscled opponents. Imagined him waxing a sports car on a warm summer day.
We seem to be in a high rhetorical gear. For a two-year-old’s choice of shirt.
Mr Deitcher – who has, he says, “always judged other guys who seemed boxed in by masculinity” – airs his view of maleness:
Men didn’t hug. Men didn’t say I love you. Men were angry. Aggressive. Inept as parents. I became determined. I was going to create a bond stronger than any parent had ever achieved, but I told myself that to do so I needed to distance myself from anything deemed masculine.
This line of thought goes on for some time.
I grimaced at anyone driving a Ford car, the John Wayne of automobiles. I hated men who wore plaid. Felt ill if someone mentioned a wrench or another tool.
And because things aren’t sufficiently dramatic:
My body spiralled into panic any time I attempted manual labour.
Given these fevered thoughts, all this tool-induced upset, readers may wish to peek at the photographs accompanying the article, and which may bring to mind the words grown adult, albeit ironically. Readers may also wish to ponder the prospects of a father-son relationship premised on a dogmatic, near-hysterical disdain for maleness, for “anything deemed masculine.”
The author says all this despite telling us that he grew up with a father, a role model, who had none of these alleged shortcomings of the standard male humanoid. We’re told that Mr Deitcher senior was affectionate and “was never afraid to blur boundaries,” and “spent nights sitting at the kitchen counter beautifying his nails.” Hardly an obvious example of unfeeling masculine brutishness.
And that’s before we touch on Mr Deitcher’s assumption that tractors – or, rather, shirts with pictures of tractors – could only interest boys and can therefore only signify a damnable state of boyness. A conceit that may amuse the tens of thousands of female farmers in this country alone, and the hundreds of thousands more in Mr Deitcher’s own country, at a time when agriculture classes are often majority-female.
None of which impedes the unfolding drama.
My son was born in Albany, New York, on the bedroom floor of the apartment I shared with my wife. Minutes after his arrival, we took turns cuddling him against our bare chests. While the midwife and her assistant cleaned up, my wife, always one to joke, even soon after giving birth, bragged that she had a connection to our new baby that I could never attain because men couldn’t bond with babies like women could.
It occurs to me that this is not an entirely happy thing for a new mother to tell her husband, the father of their child. Indeed, a thing to brag about. Perhaps it was the stress, or the drugs.
I immediately cut my hours at my social work gig, taking on the role of caregiving full time… I held resentment that so much of society acted as if dads couldn’t care for their kids (therefore putting pressure on women for the brunt of the caregiving).
Women hardest hit, of course.
Mr Deitcher tells us,
All my life, I’ve prided myself on blurring gender lines.
And so, naturally,
When my mom-in-law bought Avishai a coverall with footballs on it, I shoved it into the depths of his closet, never to be found.
It turns out that nothing says blurring gender lines – and being totally cool with whatever your child chooses – like pre-emptively hiding away anything with footballs on it. Mr Deitcher did, however, ensure that his young son had access to dolls:
Once my son could walk, I paraded him through the park while he rolled his baby doll down the sidewalk in its stroller. I felt accomplished because he mirrored being a caretaker.
In the midst of this gender-blurring utopia, however, the nightmare began:
But then came the tractors. It started with YouTube. On days I was especially drained, I’d sit Avishai in front of the TV and click on “Little Baby Bum.” He fell in love with the tractor songs, and I was so worn, I didn’t care. When he asked to watch clips of construction equipment, I mindlessly pressed play. But when he demanded the shirts, I felt like I failed him.
Small child is amused by songs about tractors. Oh no. Total progressive parenting failure.
I had difficulty understanding my son’s interest in tractors, and at first, I tried to nudge Avishai toward different videos and clothing.
Again, it’s curious how the author’s professed openness – all this free-and-easy blurring of gender lines – seems to require quite a lot of nudging and censorship, and the anxious hiding away of objects deemed too manly. It seems strangely uptight and proscriptive. (At which point, it’s perhaps worth mentioning that readers’ comments are not welcome at the Today site; and Yahoo News, where the item above is also published, is “temporarily suspending article commenting.” This, we’re told, is in order to “create a safe and engaging place for users to connect over interests and passions.” Yes, we will engage and connect by not talking about things.)
And then, just when all seems lost, there occurs a dim, rather belated realisation:
I took on being an at-home father because I wanted to bond with my son, and I realised that meant I needed to let him discover his own interests. He had to define his own identity, not influenced by my own bias of what I deemed to be too masculine.
And,
I started taking joy in his joy. He radiates wearing his shirts emblazoned with diggers and dozers and excavators. At 3 ½ years old, he can name dozens of types of tractors (I always thought there was only one). He makes up quasi-gibberish tractor stories, sings quasi-gibberish tractor songs.
A happy ending, then. We don’t often get those.
Update:
Mr Deitcher is now bragging that “big manly men are being triggered by my essay.”
Oh well. Baby steps.
Update 2:
In the comments, Alan notes,
Funny which articles we’re not supposed to reply to.
It does often seem that people writing on certain topics, and with certain political leanings, are to be spared the indignity of discussion or disagreement. Say, people who use their own small children as a political experiment. Or whose list of things deemed “too masculine” includes:
A shirt with a tractor on it.
A shirt with footballs on it.
Playing football.
Cleaning a car.
Owning a Ford car.
Wearing plaid.
Any reference to wrenches or other tools.
Manual labour.
And so, Mr Deitcher can continue on his way, seemingly untroubled by further reflection, and boasting of people quoting his own “dope lines.”
Update 3:
Lest there be doubt, Mr Deitcher’s personal growth has limits.
We’re told, “The thing that upset people was that I was right about many aspects of masculine culture.” Though, inevitably, the details of this alleged rightness are a little sketchy, indeed entirely absent. Possibly because Mr Deitcher is much too busy applauding himself for exposing “patriarchy” and “hyper-masculinity.” And anyway, people can only have been mocking his assumptions because they are “clearly threatened.”
This being the only conceivable explanation.
Therapist needs therapist shock.
Readers may also wish to ponder the prospects of a father-son relationship premised on a dogmatic, near-hysterical disdain for maleness, for “anything deemed masculine.”
That.
It occurs to me that this is not an entirely happy thing for a new mother to tell her husband, the father of their child. Indeed, a thing to brag about.
And yet women demean men like this all the time, with no sense of self-awareness and no worry of reproach.
Recovering schmuck
He needs to work harder at that.
Ping!
This is parody, right, from the Babylon Bee?
BTW, I never considered myself a feminist nor felt compelled to champion womanhood . . . but people like this made me change my mind: https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-10749507/NPR-blasted-review-controversial-transgender-authors-violent-horror-novel-depicts-JK-Rowling-death.html
I think society should not have blurred lines until we can all color within them.
Ping!
Bless you, madam. Should someone attempt to guess your age, may their estimate be wildly and pleasingly inaccurate.
Readers may also wish to ponder the prospects of a father-son relationship premised on a dogmatic, near-hysterical disdain for maleness, for “anything deemed masculine.”
Impregnating his wife must have been an ordeal.
Why does he dress like Timmy Mallett?
Felt ill if someone mentioned a wrench or another tool.
How do you get through life this way if you see a tool every time you look in a mirror?
Why does he dress like Timmy Mallett?
[ From behind the bar, sounds of muffled snorting. ]
Again, it’s curious how the author’s professed openness – all this free-and-easy blurring of gender lines – seems to require quite a lot of nudging and censorship, and the anxious hiding away of objects deemed too manly. It seems strangely uptight and proscriptive.
That.
Poster boy for the “weak men make hard times” part of the cycle.
And the vanity. Has there ever been a time in history when weak men paraded their weakness so proudly?
Mr Deitcher is not qualified to breed.
Having been fucked around by my bank yet again (the last time lasted 8 weeks and cost a certain leading UK bank money) I have now been able to contribute a few copperd from my Tibetan begging bowl.
coppers, dammit, coppers.
I have now been able to contribute a few coppers from my Tibetan begging bowl.
Bless you. May your enemies know nights of loud, relentless snoring.
My body spiralled into panic any time I attempted manual labour.
He’s a real catch.
Given that Mr Deitcher was brought up by an effeminate dad, and grew up to be such a weak, hysterical emotionally dysfunctional adult, it’s kind of ironic he’d list parental ineptitude as a feature of manly fathers
Has there ever been a time in history when weak men paraded their weakness so proudly?
Incompetence and neuroticism are odd ways to signal status, and yet here we are.
Looking over his other Deep Thoughts™ for some reason the term “minestrone hoagy” comes to mind.
Jay Deitcher, a social worker and therapist, a declarer of pronouns, and, it seems, someone accustomed to the aforementioned mental spiralling
Funny, isn’t it, how so many therapists and social workers are themselves more than a little dysfunctional.
As always with these kinds of articles, hard to separate the genuine cluelessness, the feigned cluelessness, the blatant cluelessness. “We took turns cuddling him against our bare chests”, and no editor or commenter is going to say the obvious thing – good for you, but there are still physical differences between men and women affecting the bonding with a baby. A feminist father writes an article, the kind of article that’s common among feminist mothers, about coming to terms with the icky boyishness of their male children, and nobody is going to say the obvious thing – were you not a boy yourself, or did you not know any boys when you were growing up?
But some of the genuine cluelessness comes from low birth rates, so that new parents are dealing with babies for the first time in their lives, with no experience looking after younger siblings and so on. This is especially the case for men who have to be cautious about establishing rapports with children. The guy’s great grandmother would have said the kid’s going through a normal phase, it’s no reflection on me as a mother, and I have enough on my plate with the other kids that I can’t make a drama out of it. Perspective, long-term focus, modesty of aims, respect for the autonomy of the child, all built into the system. Instead, new parents these days have to relearn obvious things, and are evidently so shocked about it that they write to the newspapers about it.
so many therapists and social workers are themselves more than a little dysfunctional
Takes one to know one?
“My body spiralled into panic any time I attempted manual labour.
So basically a completely useless git.
Has there ever been a time in history when weak men paraded their weakness so proudly?
That.
Doesn’t Mr Deitcher realise that, if he’s so keen to be a truly great dad, one starting point might be to try being just a tiny bit less self-involved?
[ Points to Heresy Room. ]
might be to try being just a tiny bit less self-involved?
Or, putting it another way – not so far up his own fundament.
Mr Deitcher is now bragging that “big manly men are being triggered by my essay.”
Says the man triggered by a baby’s coverall with footballs on it.
Should someone attempt to guess your age, may their estimate be wildly and pleasingly inaccurate.
I wish. 🙂
I wish. 🙂
It can happen, as I discovered recently, when a niece’s new husband assumed I was a good decade younger than I am. He’s now, obviously, my favourite nephew.
Not that I’m bragging, you understand.
[ Licks own eyebrows. ]
Good grief this guy writes like those hysterical, overwrought females from Scary Mommy and Everyday Feminism. Weak men making hard times indeed!
Oh, and Mother’s Day gifts procured via the Amazon.us button – I’m early for once, and hopefully you get a tip from the process.
Oh, and Mother’s Day gifts procured via the Amazon.us button – I’m early for once, and hopefully you get a tip from the process.
I do. And bless you, madam. May you finally get a chance to use that witty come-back.
Investment opportunity detected: Smelling salts for the Progressive Male
My wife’s favorite vehicle is our F150 4×4.
Smelling salts for Mister Deichter!
Smelling salts for the Progressive Male
Yet still not quite as highly strung as the Progressive Female.
Mr. Deitcher is a father now, so it’s time for him to stop dressing like an early 1990s rapper (even DJ Jazzy Jazz doesn’t dress like that now). And he should try wearing his hats straight – it’s a lot more comfortable.
David… surely that article is satire.
It must be tough being triggered by tools when you are yourself a tool.
I never had a problem admitting that my wife could bond with the kids in ways I could not. After all, she carried them and nursed them. When she is sitting talking with my now-grown girls (or when they were young), I give/gave them space because that is a good thing. But there are also times when the kids call for me and that is good too.
The idea that all masculinity is toxic is such a sick myth. See what your wife/GF does when you walk by a homeless guy, a barking dog, or a dangerous looking situation–she makes sure that you are between her and the danger. Studies of hunter cultures have shown that when men come home from a successful hunt, not only is their testosterone elevated, but their nurturing hormones are also elevated, and they in fact take actions to provide resources for people more. A manly man protects people, rescues people, goes to someone’s home who can’t do things and fixes stuff for them, helps people move furniture. During the Houston hurricane a few years ago, manly men with beards in fishing boats came by the hundreds to rescue people–without being asked, without pay. There were no soy-bois doing rescues. None.
I also have news for mr Deitcher, women do not prefer a weak effeminate man. When a man gets his tools out and fixes something or paints a bedroom, it is a big turn-on for the wife. Ask around. If his social work job was just a “gig” that is also not a good sign for his marriage.
Felt ill if someone mentioned a wrench or another tool.
Poser or mentalist?
Poser or mentalist?
If someone feels compelled to pretend to be neurotic – say, the kind of person who spirals into darkness at the thought of a shirt with a tractor on it, and who is made ill by even the mention of tools – then the difference seems quite slim.
David… surely that article is satire.
Alas, it isn’t; …she and her female friends had branded me as asexual. I shrugged it off, somewhat honored that I transcended sex. .
Unfortunately, it doesn’t get better; Cardi B Got Me Through My Son’s Circumcision.
…so it’s time for him to stop dressing like an early 1990s rapper…
Done!
My wife’s favorite vehicle is our F150 4×4.
Amen, sister! I love my F150 STX with both my X chromosomes. And I am lucky enough to have use of an old F150 4×4 for my field work, too.
Seriously, these overwrought soyboys and screeching feminist harridans need to stem that emotional diarrhea before the rest of the world drowns in it. Ugh.
my wife, always one to joke, even soon after giving birth, bragged that she had a connection to our new baby that I could never attain because men couldn’t bond with babies like women could.
That’s rather harsh for a joke.
My body spiralled into panic any time I attempted manual labour.
Oh…
I immediately cut my hours at my social work gig, taking on the role of caregiving full time…
It is amazing how much effort he won’t put into self-development or providing for his family. I feel sad for the kids and what seems likely to happen to his parents’ relationship.
Impregnating his wife must have been an ordeal.
Given the manual labor comment, it was probably just an emotional ordeal.
I envisioned him on a football field, barrelling through mega-muscled opponents. Imagined him waxing a sports car on a warm summer day.
“I imagined my son living a good life and becoming the sort of man that shows how little of a man I really am, and I shat the bed.”
Given the manual labor comment, it was probably just an emotional ordeal.
You would be correct.
I think his problem makes sense: he is so unable to act manly that even a child’s shirt with dozers reminds him of his wimpiness, and thus the panic. Or he could, you know, watch youtube vids of how to use tools…hahaha of course not. Or he could just…not care about being inadequate, just get along with what he can do. nah
You would be correct.
[ Peers over spectacles. ]
I don’t think he’s quite grasping what it is he’s telling us.
Also:
Deitcher leaning into the tractor life.
That is a skidsteer, you fucking heathen.
And it’s not moving an inch with a kid on your lap.
I think society should not have blurred lines until we can all color within them.
Oh my goodness, that is a keeper quote worthy of a counted-cross sampler … or laser cut out plaque, depending on one’s hobby of choice.