One of the biggest things Iāve been trying to instill in Harley is a sense of empowerment. I want her to grow up with a sense of worth and the knowledge that she is strong enough to handle herself and her own needs. I want her to feel strong and brave enough to know that she doesnāt need taken care of. Thatās how my mother raised me. I donāt need coddled. I donāt need pampered. I donāt need taken care of. Iām a strong independent woman. And Iām doing everything I can to help raise Harley with the same mindset.
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But this has proven quite difficult. Not because Harley is stubborn (which she is) and not because I donāt know what Iām doing (which I donāt.) Itās not because her father has raised her to be a princess (which he has.) Itās the rest of the influences in her life.
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You see, Ben and I both work nights. Which has proven to be quite an issue with raising our spawn. Mostly because we really only get to spend about 20 minutes a day with her and then weāre off to work. We see her for a little bit in the morning when we take her to school, and then again for a little bit when we pick her up and take her to her grandparents, where she spend most of her time. With her old fashioned, dramatic, relatively useless grandmother. Now, before I continue, Iām going to point out that I absolutely adore her grandparents. They are both wonderful, beautiful, selfless people who have given up so much for this little girl and I am eternally grateful to them for their sacrifice. But, if Iām being completely honest, they donāt want to raise another child. They want to be grandparents. And, due to work and daddy failing as a father for the first few years, thatās what happened. They made a granddaughter. A spoiled, bratty, ditsy little granddaughter who gets everything she wants with her grandparents. Which, as the mother, is incredibly annoying. But, this was the hand I was given and chose to take, so itās all good.
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And thatās just her grandparents. BM doesnāt help much in this sense, either. This weekend, she insisted Harley take ālady lessonsā where she was to learn how to properly set the table, proper table manners, how to dress, how to speak, all the jazz. And, while I have nothing against Harley learning how to be proper, the part that bothers me is the constant implication of her ābeing able to find a husband.ā I wonāt go into much detail here, because I have no solid evidence that this is what goes on over there. But this is the vibe I get which is enough to irritate me.
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Iāve determined that explaining feminism to a 9 year old is incredibly difficult, partly because she has been raised in an environment where men had certain roles, women had others, and the man was in charge. So, when she told me she felt bad for daddy after Christmas because he had to put all of her toys together, I was a little confused. I asked her why does he have to put them together. I wish I could say I wasnāt expecting her answer.
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āBecause heās the boy and that what boys do. They fix and build things.ā
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Itās a simple answer. And, to most, it sounds about right. But it made me incredibly angry. Not at Harley, but at the fact that somewhere down the line, she was taught that men have that specific role. Then, it got a little worse.
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āJust like how you cook dinner and clean up the kitchen. Thatās what girls do.ā
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Oh, Lord, no.
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I asked where she learned that. Who taught you that, so that I may end them for polluting your mind? While she said no one taught her, I canāt help but think it was a mixture of watching and listening her grandparents and BM.
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I explained to her (as calmly as I could muster) that there is no such thing as certain jobs that men and women do. I told her that daddy puts her toys together because she doesnāt bother to ask me, even though Iām completely capable of doing so. I told her that I cook dinner because, when she is with us, itās usually my turn to cook. Her daddy and I take turns making dinner and cleaning the kitchen because weāre both perfectly capable of feeding our family. I told her that putting those limitations on people because of their gender is wrong and she needs to understand that by saying such things, sheās limiting her own potential to be everything she can be.
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She looked at me like I was crazy. Said yes, mommy. And continued eating her dinner.
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Was that too far? It might have been. Iām not entirely sure. Whatās done is done and I sincerely hope that she took it to heart.
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Like I said, I have no idea what Iām doing here.