One Son One Daughter: When I Realized I Was Raising Them Differently (And What I’m Changing)
It’s 8:17 a.m. on a Saturday, I’m standing at the kitchen counter, my 10-year-old son Jax’s math worksheet spread next to my 12-year-old daughter Lila’s scout sleepover duffel. I’d just pulled a bag of apples out of the crisper, cut Jax’s into eight even, seedless slices, and slid it across the counter to him. Then I grabbed another apple, wiped it on my jeans, and set it down next to Lila’s duffel. “Cut your own if you want it sliced,” I said, without looking up. She paused mid-roll of her sleeping bag and said, “Why do you always cut Jax’s apple but never mine?”
I froze, plastic knife in hand. I’d spent years bragging to my sister that I didn’t do gendered parenting. No pink frills forced on Lila, no ban on stuffed animals for Jax. Both got to pick their own extracurriculars, both split the same set of weekly chores, both got the same amount of screen time and the same allowance for the same work. I thought I was doing everything evenly. But in that second, I couldn’t come up with an answer.
I started scrolling back through the last month of little moments, all the ones I’d never noticed. Two weeks prior, Jax fell off his bike on the way to the bus stop, scraped his knee raw. I ran three blocks to get to him, hugged him while he cried, cleaned the wound myself, and walked him into school to make sure he was okay. A week after that, Lila fell off her bike on the same stretch of sidewalk, scraped her knee even worse, and I was carrying groceries in from the car. I just yelled from the driveway, “You okay? Grab a bandage from the bathroom cabinet!” I never even walked over to check.
Last month, both forgot their lunches on the counter. I drove Jax’s lunch up to his classroom, gave him a kiss on the forehead and told him to have a good day. I texted Lila to stop by the front office and pick hers up, and went back to unloading the dishwasher. When Jax struggles with a math problem, I lean over his shoulder and walk him through every step before he’s even asked for help. When Lila struggles with pre-algebra, I tell her to check her notes first and come get me if she’s still stuck after that.
All these little differences added up, and I’d never seen them. I started to figure out where they came from. I’d heard my whole life that girls mature faster than boys, that boys need more extra support when they’re young, that girls are better at handling things on their own. I never believed that, not consciously, but it seeped in anyway, into all these tiny, everyday choices. It wasn’t that I loved one more than the other, it was that I was assuming their capabilities based on their gender, not who they actually were.
I didn’t make a big family announcement or rearrange our whole routine. I just started making small, easy changes, the kind that don’t require extra time or awkward talks. The first thing I did was start a two-second pause before I respond to any request or do anything for one of them. I just stop, ask myself one question: Would I do this if it were my other kid? If the answer is no, I stop and rethink. Last week, Jax asked me to tie his soccer cleats before practice. He’s been able to tie his own shoes since he was 7, and I almost did it without thinking. I paused, remembered the apple, and said, “Show me how you tie it, I bet you’ve gotten faster since last time.” He did it perfectly fine; he just was used to me doing it for him.
The second change I made is that if I’ve been assuming my daughter doesn’t want help, I bring it up casually when we’re already doing something low-key, not when it’s just the two of us staring at each other for a big serious talk. I usually do it while we’re folding laundry or driving to practice, when there’s no pressure to respond. After the apple incident, I noticed Lila hadn’t hung out with her best friend Mia in two weeks, and I’d just assumed she’d tell me if she was upset. One night while we were folding socks, I said, “I noticed you haven’t seen Mia in a minute. Want to vent about whatever happened if you need to?” She ended up sitting on the floor and crying for 20 minutes about a fight they’d had, and I had no idea she’d been holding it in because I’d just assumed she’d handle it alone.
The third thing is I just ask what they want, instead of assuming based on any unspoken stereotype. When we were planning our summer camping trip a couple weeks ago, I almost automatically asked Jax if he wanted to invite a friend, and assumed Lila would want to just go with family, like I’d heard girls prefer. I caught myself, and asked both of them. Lila said she wanted to bring her cousin, and Jax said he just wanted to hang out with us. I would’ve gotten it completely wrong if I’d gone with my first instinct.
I still mess up. Last week I cut Jax’s orange before dinner without even thinking, and last month I caught myself praising Lila for being “so mature” for handling a fight with a friend, while I praised Jax for just “trying his best” when he handled the exact same situation the same way. I don’t think I’ll ever stop catching these little hidden biases, because they’re everywhere, in every comment from relatives and every kids’ show we watch. But the two-second pause works more often than not, and it’s easier than I thought to shift. Last weekend Lila asked me to cut her apple into slices, and I did, no questions. Jax asked to pack his own bag for his next cub scout trip, and I stepped back and let him. It’s not a perfect system, and it’s still a work in progress, but it’s better than it was.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » One Son One Daughter: When I Realized I Was Raising Them Differently (And What I’m Changing)