In the eyes of my son, I am an icon.
If we consciously think through events, can we remember them better?
Society is uncomfortable with male tears—with males who show their emotions—and boys learn at an early age how it feels not to fit in with society’s expectations.
Doesn’t it stand to reason that boys need just as much nurturing as girls? Doesn’t it stand to reason that you may need the attention, the pouring-in, the listening ear, of your parents just like your sisters?
My wife recently asked me to teach our teenage son that “no means no” when it comes time for sexual activity.
This limitless love and well-honed intention could not have prepared us for a disaster as profound as chronic illness.
Every time I read the words “rape culture,” I feel the distinct weight of being a mother to two young boys.
To the children, gender seemed like a social construct of the grown-up world, rooted in arbitrary semantics, and did not dictate social mores.
This moment, when he is small and sweet and loves his mama more than anyone else, is but a flash.
Raising my son has been a gift in ways I never expected.