In a vibrant studio, a 5-year-old named Mia exclaims, “I want to be a nerd!” This term has transformed over time, now symbolizing intelligence and trendiness. With her sister, Ava, they watch “Big Hero 6,” captivated especially by the scenes where Hiro designs superhero costumes.
“I want to be someone who builds things,” declares Ava, who is 7.
“You mean you want to be an engineer,” I respond.
“YES, AN ENGINEER!” she enthusiastically affirms, repeating it for days. I beam with pride as the Barbies remain untouched. She even opts out of buying a back-to-school dress because it might hinder her speed when running. High-five for that!
I feel like I’m doing everything right. I embody the ideal mother.
At my sister’s house, I overhear Mia telling her cousin that colors are for everyone, regardless of gender. I can’t help but share my pride with friends: “Look at my girls!”
However, the Universe has a way of humbling pride. My 7-year-old has transitioned into a Minecraft enthusiast, constructing elaborate castles and roller coasters, even battling zombies. “There’s so much killing here,” my husband points out, to which I counter, “You wouldn’t be concerned if she were a boy.” We reach a stalemate.
She shouts at her tablet, “Die, zombies!” Trying to suppress my cringe, I remind myself that I shouldn’t judge her interests, but the words coming from her sweet mouth feel so traditionally masculine. This internal conflict battles my feminist ideals.
One day, she growls, “Run away like the little girl that you are!” Startled, I inquire, “Where did you hear that?”
“Camp,” she shrugs, where girl power phrases mean nothing to 12-year-old boys.
“Do you think little girls run away?” I ask, pushing back. She rolls her eyes, “Mom, it’s just an expression.”
My confidence wanes; I realize I’m fighting a cultural tide that suggests girls are inferior. The echo of my parenting doubts reverberates loudly.
Yet, I persist. “Don’t you think boys also run when scared? And that girls can be brave?” I press, but she ignores me.
Later, we watch “The Sandlot,” a childhood favorite of mine. A scene I once found innocuous now stings: “You play ball like a girl!” It’s met with gasps from the audience, branding it as the ultimate insult.
I hold my breath and glance at my daughters. Ava smirks at Mia, “Whatever. We’re better than those guys, right?”
“Right!” Mia replies, fists clenched, looking fierce.
It’s a small victory, a cha-cha of empowerment amidst the confusion of growing up.
In summary, raising feminist children is fraught with challenges as societal norms often clash with our aspirations for them. Yet, as parents, we must navigate these waters, instilling values of strength and resilience while also recognizing the cultural influences at play.
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Keyphrase: Raising a Feminist Child
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