I am a dad, a category know for their less than average skillset at parenting. I do not say this to enrage. But parenthood is probably where gender norms are shown in their most raw form. I cannot get pregnant. I cannot breast feed. My child wants their mom when sick. I love that they have someone they love more than me. I love they love. But I strive to become an average parent.
Just as the average person has an above-average number of legs, the average dad is a below-average parent. Let me explain: every household distributes the care work it provides. Every morning, I wake up and get our child ready. For most of her life so far, I had brought them to bed after my wife gave them their last feeding. I have taken an enormous amount of parental leave (I would take more if I could). But I am still my child's second caregiver. My wife will probably be first throughout her life.
Our case is typical. With the exception of single-parent households run by dads, moms do most of the care work. Sure, men might earn more and bring more bread. But it is still not the same. Ultimately, I keep thinking to myself, what the end game should be. In a millenia when gender equality comes about, what would men do? What would I want to do? How can I do it? Equality is clearly not the goal but my child would benefit from the care. In this post, I try to answer these questions for myself.
Pali
For most of my childhood, my dad worked abroad. He would come on Friday afternoon and leave Monday morning. He opened supermarket chains in Central America. It was exciting work. I was/am very proud of him and how he provided for us. Yet, I missed him.
My grandpa, the person I most admired, was always around. He retired before I was born. He lived next door. I had someone who showed me what love could be. But I still missed a dad at home.
At a young age, and for years, I went to therapy after what -- I now know -- was a strong reaction to a broken society. I enjoyed art and dance. I was ridiculed for it, and I could not handle it. One of my earliest memories is of a promise I made to myself. A promise never to kill myself. I remember how I did not want to kill myself as I promised. But just the fact I can remember it so vividly is telling. At 7, I was not far from the abyss.
At the start of high school, My best friend from primary school was gay. Was I gay? How could I know it? Does everyone know? That question haunted me. My fear of being broken broke me. My mom, alone and with the mental load of caring for me, noticed my loneliness. I went to therapy again. It did not help.
Beach house
Eventually, a solution came about. My mom realized that we had a beach house and that we could invite people to hang out. She forced me to invite someone. I did. And inviting the next became easier. This felt good at the time but led me to doubt.
A doubt that grew. At the end of my bachelor's, I cold-emailed many schools for doing my Master's thesis. I ended up going to MIT—a dream I'd dared to dream but frightened me.
All seemed fine for grad school, but no school chose me. My 7-year old feelings of being left behind and my 13-year-old feelings of being queer grew around me. My earlier emails saved me. I wrote to a Prof in Zurich; he had said I could write him for a potential PhD, and he came through.
Emmentaler
Just married, we embarked to Zurich. Where, very fast, it became clear that things were not well. I had to take three exams before becoming a full-doctoral student. I passed the first very well, I had barely studied so I felt confident for the others. The next one, I failed. I had misunderstood the requirements, and prepared the wrong material. That was bad.
My Prof had hired me on a whim. No one cared for me. I was dumped onto a PostDoc to work with, and he knew nothing about me before the day I came. After I failed the exam, I learned how my family's fate hung on the will of one single dude. The professor decided to be the second grader on my second attempt at the exam. I had prepared better. Yet, I had a panic attack mid-exam. The Prof counted the number of yes/no questions asked, and he declared that I should probably know nothing about the topic as I answered 3 of 12 right.
I was asked to excel in the final of the three exams; if not, I would be out. I prepared as much I could. This exam was in quantum mechanics, which I was good at. I got a 5.5 out of 6. My Prof was at a conference, he summoned me to his office at 13:00 the day he arrived. At 11:00 my wife got a job. Two hours later, I got fired.
Cookie
Crumbling shame filled me after this news. My inner critic had the time of his life. How dare I think I could do a PhD in physics at ETH? Who am I to think I could study where Einstein did? I got lucky because of some emails. People make mistakes. They made a mistake when they chose me. I am worthless.
A long depression ensued. I got divorced. My critic's annus mirabilis gain impetude. No longer was I just dumb. I was not worth loving or worth having as a friend. I hated myself. In between, I managed to start as a doctoral student in management. A new bet with which fears and paranoias entered my life.
Third time was not the charm
I remember googling, "How do you know who you are?" Alas, Google just failed. I went to therapy, read philosophy, I and journaled, but eventually, what helped was a conversation with my mom. She had been around for weeks. We sat at Israel's Square in Copenhagen, and I had built the bravery to ask her if she had taken me to therapy because she was ashamed of me.
She was not. I have an amazing mom. She was lonely and young. She had a child in pain, and the solution she had at hand was therapy. She did not understand why the therapist always tried to break me and show me how to cope with failure. But my mom, at least tried to help.
She did more, though. She reminded me that even if all my prior life was a farce. My life right now, my friends, and my job in management were all due to who I was. This information came coupled with a feeling of hitting rock bottom,
Rock bottom is always deemed as a bad place. But for someone who had been for years habituated to the feeling of free fall, having a floor to my self-worth was everything. My 13-year old's fears were over. #thanksmom
The Vid
Then came COVID. My partner lived abroad. I was brown. I could not visit her. In a time when people could hide with their loved ones, I was alone. It was six weeks, but it took six hours for my self-worth to collapse. I got depressed. I was finishing my PhD. I destroyed my relationship with my advisors. It wasn't good. I see now. I wish for an escape. I was so scared. I could not handle it.
I was told I could not work in academia in Switzerland anymore. I needed to renew my visa three times in three months. The country wanted me out. I got married in Germany again. But racism prevented me from getting a family reunification visa. I was unemployed as I defended my dissertation. Unemployed as I applied for faculty positions. I was sinking.
Wife
In contrast to before, my wife kept me afloat. We could apply for visas. They took time but eventually, we could be together. We needed to count the days I visited her. I did not want to overstay my time and be deported. While unemployed, I needed to be quarantined in Zurich. I needed to apply for my online interviews in the city, which was so hurtful.
I found a job—friends were even there—a better job than I had dared to dream of. Within a week, the HR head solved my migration problems. Magically, the German also stepped up and gave me my visa. It was so strange to stop being afraid.
Shame
But something was wrong. I could not have faith. Everything kept crashing all the time. So I went to therapy again. We focused on the problems that brought me to therapy when I was 7. It was tough. Why did I get so much shame from liking art and dance? Why did I get so sad after it ended?
What I uncovered was very dark. I have always wanted to live abroad but never really knew why. Costa Rica is a very nice country. Few people emigrate. But I knew a child I would live abroad. Turns out that talking to my dad was all I needed this time around. I uncovered a very dark story, but one that repeats itself every day.
I was a boy who loved things people did not allow me to love. A boy who found joy where I should not. I was also a smart boy. I learned I should not like these things. I learned that my liking them was bad. That I was bad. I built a way to shame myself. A tool to pressure me to excel in what was ok to care for. I studied, I nerded out, and I pushed myself into becoming everyone's favorite mask of bland. I hurt, and my critic loved shaming me for this. After talking with my dad, I learned how Costa Rica hurt me growing up. I allowed myself to be placed in a box by its patriarchy and religion.
little enemy
Learning how this shame came about empowered me. I know I have been a feminist most of my life, at different levels of hypocrisy. But I have always loved the women in my life more than the men. The way they are treated has always enraged me.
So, learning that it was "the patriarchy" that broke when I was seven and once again when I thought I was gay at 13 felt delicious to me. The shift from being me who is bad to society being fucked up gave a tremendous change to my psyche. I am not alone on this. Patriarchy is the culprit of the most harmful things that happened in history.
Two weeks
I do not know why. But my inner critic had indoctrinated me into believing that I was not going to be able to have a child. Something deep inside me was sure that my sperm in me would not allow me to have a child. My mind was blown when after two weeks of trying, the first evidence of my child existence came to our lives.
The cathedral to shame I had built collapsed. Not only could I be a dad, I was going to be. But, how could this be? Was I not broken? And if that is not the case, how can I prepare for the bundle of possibilities growing inside my wife?
Being in therapy helped. But ultimately, it came down to becoming a parent myself that some semblance of wisdom came about. As Abraham Verghese wrote: We don't have children to fulfill our dreams. Children allow us to let go of the dreams we were never meant to fulfill. When our child was born, I could feel a reshuffling happening inside me.
Dad
A constant idea remains in my head—one I do not dare share. This idea tells me that I want to become the person I wish my child would have children with—someone involved, someone dependable, someone whose love and attention are unquestionable, someone who is always there and can be trusted.
Feminism has come a long way in the past century. But we are centuries away from equality. The person I wish my child has children with is someone who will push toward equality. Ultimately, the quantity of care adds up to a lifetime of self-worth.
Trauma
If there is anything I wish to inherit from my child, it is a breakage with our multigenerational trauma. They are enough as they are. They are curious, strong, open, and loving. And they have people to protect them from a world who wants them to perform.
My dad worked a lot to cut the trauma he inherited. I am forever grateful for this. My mom helped me work through my trauma. Conversations with them healed me. But I am highly hurt. I grew up believing in the God of Abraham. I will grow old trying to unlearn said trauma.
CODA
This post became a historiography of myself. I meant to talk about how few dads perform the same care work as moms, but I digressed. I am highly grateful to both my dad and mom. But the time away from my dad did have a toll. I felt strange growing up and lacking a father figure in a machista society was very hard. I grew insecure and ashamed of myself, and this shame has haunted me all my life.
This shame, though, is not my dad's doing. Society hurt me. I received care, but ultimately, the problem was too big for a member of that society to repair. It required my migration away from the nation that hurt me to understand that. There was a reason why I wanted to live abroad. There is a reason I do not want to raise my family there. My values clash with Costa Rican values, and when push comes to shove, I am too strong to acquiesce. I will break things and then accept my daughter's children inheriting that trauma.
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