Sometimes the best lessons are from ordinary life. Last night, as on many other evenings, I found myself called upon to give a dramatic reading of Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs and Ham to my six-year-old daughter.  We sat, as we have many evenings before, cozily snuggling and enjoying the calculated silliness of Dr. Seuss’s verse — half nonsense, half sly reading primer.  As I read, I also thought of the many diaries that have appeared here in the past two weeks or so.  I’ve had many reactions to them, but the one it seemed most worth sharing, as best I can, is my reaction as a father of two young girls, ages eight and six.  The upwelling of emotion I felt, thinking of my daughter and her big sister, and the world whose dangers I hope they need to learn about only gradually, seemed worth writing down.
If you forced me to put a word to the feeling that came over me, I’d say I felt protective, but that isn’t exactly right.  Protective of their innocence?  In a way, yes.  These precious days of Dr. Seuss are few, and there’s regret enough in realizing that they will pass, and our girls will progress on to other things, many of which are a lot less charming.  But they must grow up, and they’ll eventually lose their childish innocence.  So what I want to protect is their childhood as a basis for strength and happiness in adulthood.  What wouldn’t I be willing to do if it would enable them to blossom in their own time into the type of women — well, the type of woman their mother is: intelligent, strong, balanced, and very human, but with reserves that come from God-knows-where?  So it isn’t exactly innocence that’s at stake, but innocence-for-now.  Eight- and six-year-olds should be worrying about imaginary monsters under the bed.  Too many have to worry about real-life monsters that live under the same roof.

But there’s much more at stake than childhood.  We all have to adapt to our own particular circumstances.  At our house, it’s Ms. GR, the two GR daughters, and I.  I joke that I’m a FOG – father of girls – and having just girls has both advantages and disadvantages.  It means that there’s no danger I’ll slip into treating girls and boys differently, but it also means that I have no opportunity to treat them the same.  It also means that everything I do — how I act, how I talk, how I treat them, and how I treat Ms GR — contributes doubly to their mental map of just what a man is.  It’s a big deal, and here’s an example of why:  As I have read these diaries, they have reinforced in my mind one of the key messages I want to give our daughters as they grow into women.  Particularly in the world of dating, sex (oh, God), and relationships, I want to be able to insist on one thing — that they refuse to become involved with anyone that doesn’t treat them, Ms GR, and me with respect.  Well, that insistence doesn’t mean anything unless I treat them and Ms GR with respect every day.

The hardest part may be realizing that there’s only so much we can do.  But what we do does matter.  Simple, everyday things like having dinner together matter.  Simple, everyday things like caring about their homework, hopefully without being too overbearing, matter.  Playing catch, admiring their creativity, showing up for stuff at their school.  We can’t do it all, and it’s a constant juggle of compromises.  Well, they have to learn that, too.  But if we rear them in a world where they know, without thinking about it, that we’re there and paying attention, then hopefully they’ll know where to turn when bad stuff happens.  I only hope it’s never too bad.

Our daughters take karate, because they love it.  The like the sense of mastery, they love the progression from one belt to the next, they like learning new moves.  What I like about it for them is that it gives them a sense of confidence and mastery, a sense of strength, of what they can do with their bodies (watch your six-year-old rip off 25 push-ups and you’ll know what I mean), and in their class, a sense that some of the best students are girls, and some boys.  They’re also good at it, which is a huge help, since there will inevitably be some things at which they aren’t so good.  It improves the chances that they’ll never believe that when they try something at which they aren’t so strong, “girls aren’t good at that.”  I hope they never have to use their skills to protect themselves physically, but the confidence that they can will always stand them in good stead.  

And then there’s chess.  Oh, my, chess.  Our six-year-old doesn’t seem to be getting it so much (she’s stronger at karate), but our eight-year-old is maybe six months away from beginning to beat me regularly.  She’s developed a strong, aggressive style of play, and once she learns a little better defense, she’ll be very tough.  Girls aren’t supposed to be good chess players?  Wrong again.

Our family looks pretty traditional — mom, dad, two kids.  I’m glad for that myself, because it’s an environment that works well for me, and supports my desire to do the best for my daughters.  But that’s just me.  It isn’t remotely what determines success.  Good parents come in all shapes and sizes and types of homes, and so do bad ones.  The most remarkable parents I know succeed in spite of a partner — usually an ex-partner — that’s an actively negative influence.  I don’t know how they do it.  You have my undying admiration.

As I reflect on the string of recent diaries, I realize that lasting good comes from a steady accretion of small, positive influences, but lasting harm can happen in a moment.  There’s no 100% protection from that lasting harm.  There’s only fortification against it, teaching about how to make it less likely, and solace and healing when it does happen.  I hope we’re up to all of it.