Tag Archives: Dylan

photo

I recently attended a conference here in town that’s put on by one of the organizations I’m involved with and was pretty saddened by the list the kids created about what they wanted in the kid’s area. The room used as the kid’s area was completely bare, other than having a sink, and academic institution style chairs and tables. The people providing child care had brought some paper and markers, but other than that there wasn’t really anything for the kids to do.

I’m really glad that there was child care available, it made it possible for me to bring Little Bear to part of the conference. However, I also read the list that the kids created, think about how many people said something like “I didn’t know there was childcare, I would’ve brought my kid” or mentioned a friend who could’ve attended had they known, and I wish more thought and resources were given to supporting children, parents, and care givers in justice movements and communities.

I’d like to think that communities rooted in social movements and collective processes can do a better job supporting parents, but it frequently feels like organizing child care and promoting child care falls on to people involved in parenting and care giving. In the LGBTQ community in particular I think there’s still a perception that people aren’t raising children, or that people who are raising children are selling out/opting out of organizing.

When Little Bear was born I pulled back from almost all of the organizing work that I was doing. Meetings weren’t at convenient times, weren’t baby friendly, or were just too long for someone with an infant. Now that I have a toddler I worry her presence will be perceived as disruptive to the community, and meetings are still frequently too late or too long. So when I want to commit to work on something I need to juggle whether I can bring Little Bear or if my partner can look after her, and if I’m doing the parenting and housework 50-50.  I have no easy answers for how to make this better, I only have my deep commitment to be a good partner, a good father and my desire to organize in my community.

Part of parenting is making sure that your kid doesn’t do something stupid like run into the street, but part of parenting is also teaching your kid about the world and giving them tools to engage in creating a more just society. If we don’t teach our kids about the work while we’re busy organizing where does that leave them? The late great Whitney Houston sang it in The Greatest Love of All, “I believe the children are our future.”

Last month I read the book “Don’t Leave Your Friends Behind” and had to keep myself from jumping up and shouting “yes!” every five minutes. The essays in the book affirmed my existence as a parent and my hope that making social movements inclusive of parents, caregivers and children is possible. Here’s a nice blurb about the book:

“Don’t Leave Your Friends Behind is a collection of concrete tips, suggestions, and narratives on ways that non-parents can support parents, children, and caregivers in their communities, social movements, and collective processes. Don’t Leave Your Friends Behind focuses on issues affecting children and caregivers within the larger framework of social justice, mutual aid, and collective liberation.”

You can check out the Don’t Leave Your Friends Behind blog for more ideas on ways to include kids, parents, and families in communities. Are there any tips or experiences around including parents and kids in your communities that you value?

 

 

On being extra arms

Posted on by
broken clavicle

Dylan’s busted clavicle

As Levi mentioned last week in his post last week, I was recently doored by a car two weeks ago. My clavicle was fractured in several places, and I had surgery last week to put a plate and several screws in to realign the break. Fortunately I didn’t have any other major injuries other than some pretty colorful bruising.

The past two weeks have been a bit of a blur, but I have been reminded of how valuable our friends and family are to the FaB Family. People have stepped up to fill in for my injured arm and then some. My partner’s mom was coincidentally in town when I was hit and she extended her stay by several days to help take care of Little Bear. My mom then came to help and stayed for a few days. She took me to surgery so Rebecca could work. Both of Little Bear’s grandmas handled soothing her if she woke in the night. Our friend Billy set up a schedule of friends dropping off dinner for us for a week, even though I was being Minnesotan and waffling about needing dinner help for the whole week (Billy was right, we totally needed help for the whole week).

fixed clavicle

Dylan’s fixed clavicle

Friends cooked us dinner, helped play with Little Bear, mowed our lawn, and generally offered to do whatever we needed help with and I am so grateful for it. I suppose my general point here is that even if it doesn’t seem like much, keep offering to help out the parents in your community. Be that extra arm or two to put the kid in the high chair, sing a silly song, mow the lawn, read a book, whatever. Even if you frequently get turned down, or if you asked to do something that seems sort of odd, it all helps and will be appreciated even if the parents can’t always thank you fully. We are still tired over here at the FaB house, but doing so much better than if we had needed to cope with my broken clavicle without all the care and help we’ve been given. While I am tired and sore and angry about getting doored, I am also fortunate and grateful to have such a strong network of chosen and biologically family.

Little Bear has definitely noticed that I’m injured. Granted, it’s hard not to with the giant “Ultrasling III” I am wearing. The night I got home from the ER right after getting hit she climbed into my lap and sat quietly without wiggling while I read to her. Let me tell you, having an almost two year old sit still in your lap is pretty miraculous. Now that I’ve had surgery Little Bear keeps pointing to my bandage and saying “Dada owie, ba ba!” Translation: Daddy has an owie and is wearing a bandaid. I went up to sooth her when she woke up in the night and she tapped my bandaid, said “Dada owie,” kissed my other clavicle, and then clapped because she was so pleased with herself. It still took a while to get her to go back to sleep, but at least she was adorable.

Exhaustion Guilt

Posted on by

Today I am exhausted. Little Bear has moved into full on toddler-hood, tantrums and all. She hasn’t been sleeping very well the past two nights. She’s not running a fever or tugging on her ears, just screaming and crying. Both my partner and I are tired and frustrated after several nights of only a few hours of sleep.

Several people I know have been posting that New York Times article “Cheating Ourselves of Sleep” about the long term impacts of insufficient sleep. It just made me mad. Trust me, I know that I am not getting enough sleep and that it is bad for me. I am also frustrated because I think about how people who are more likely to get insufficient sleep are probably working multiple jobs for not enough pay while trying to take care of their families. I’m willing to bet most people with “insufficient sleep” aren’t consistently not getting enough sleep by choice but by circumstance.

I know I tend towards overly mushy posts about how much I love being a dad and how much I love my kid. Today I am giving myself permission to be tired though. It is ok that I am tired and exhausted and maybe can’t give 100% to my job or my kid. It is ok that this morning all I could really do was stare at my partner with glazed eyes and apologize for the shitty sleep we got before I staggered out the door go get croissants from the bakery instead of making breakfast.

Caregiving is hard work. Like so many other parents who want to be more involved in organizing and activism, I am wiped out at the end of the day. When Little Bear goes through one of her bouts of not sleeping well, neither my partner nor I have much time to do anything other than wipe the dinner remains off the table and maybe wash a few dirty dishes. I feel guilty about not getting this blog post up on time, turning down invitations to organizing meetings, not picking up my old volunteer shifts at the shot clinic, still not having gone to a radical families group that has been meeting in my city for over a year, not going to fundraisers and events, and so much of the rest of the activities that made up my life before being a parent. Today I am going to do my best to absolve myself, and let go of that guilt. To use the words of Ethan, my friend and fellow blogger, “let’s take care of ourselves so we can take care of others.”

Unicorn Father’s Day

Posted on by

Facebook says we’ve been friends since September 2009. I think I knew of him way before that, though I’m not quite sure how. He sort of appeared in my queer context like a whispering unicorn; visible, yet a calm and reassuring presence.

Dylan and Little Bear

If it seems like I’m building up to something, you’re right! As we are close to Father’s Day, I’d like to highlight a dad I am particularly fond of; Dylan, fellow blogger!

Dylan and I have been in each other’s lives during some important shifts. I’ve seen him move through the world, steady as a rock, helping to create and support this family he loves. He has done this in the same way that he helps to create and support the queer and trans* community of which he is a member. Never demanding recognition for his activism or his work, he fights tirelessly against a system that does not intend to include us. When there seems to be no space for the “others”, he helps carve out space. He doesn’t leave his friends behind.

I’ve learned a lot from being in community with Dylan, but the most important thing is that I’ve learned to push back against even myself. The kyriarchy has this way of twisting things up in our brains. We’re born to believe in this myth of male superiority; that white, male bodies allow a particular ease through life. Dylan could move through the world a lot more easily than he does. Instead, he continuously questions and rejects the idea that he should allow his privilege to benefit him. While his child was born and grew into toddlerhood (eep! so fast!), he was a stay-at-home dad, part time worker, and part time student. He wrote about the complexities when out in public with his child in When is a Dad Like a Unicorn?

That men aren’t as perceived as competent at care-taking is just another facet of the gendered division of labor enforced by heteronormative, patriarchal norms. It’s a little exaggerated, but sometimes it seems that society sees me as above and beyond incredible for meeting my child’s basic needs, or so clueless that I should hand over my kid to someone else who hasn’t been wiping her ass for 14 months. I do want to be a fabulous dad, but not because there’s a low social hurdle.

So this is a shout out to Dylan. Rarely recognized (publicly), but always appreciated. Thanks for continuously teaching me all the ways that we can be great dads and better activists.

Ready for what’s next

Posted on by

On Sunday, Little Bear officially become an 18 month old. On Monday I graduated from the Humphrey School of Public Affairs. My parents and my sister came from out of town over the weekend, it was great to celebrate with my partner, at least part of my family of origin, and of course Little Bear. I am grateful that my partner and I decided to have a kid when I was in grad school, and that we were able to be flexible enough each semester to figure out schedules for both of us to balance working and caring for Little Bear. While I am quite proud of the work that I’ve done in school, and think it was worth the time and investment to slog through the hoop jumping and hierarchy of higher education, becoming a dad has been the best part of the past two years.

Yeah, I learned some fancy math and statistical analysis techniques, did a lot of homework, and learned how to create and evaluate policies along with a whole slew of other things. But I’ve also grown into both actually feeling like a dad, and like I often even know what I am doing. When Little Bear was born I was thrilled and excited. I wasn’t scared, but I was certainly a little anxious about screwing up. While I technically became a dad, I didn’t start feeling confident as a dad until later. I know I felt fiercely protective of this little being from the moment I scooped her out of water she was born in, even if I didn’t know much beyond getting sustenance in one end and keeping the other as clean as possible.

I recently have had some really great conversations about parenting with new dads, soon to be dads, and fellow toddler-dads. These conversations have been full of excitement, fears, and deep reflection on what being a dad means to us. So much of the cultural narrative about fathers and infants is the bumbling dad who means well but is clueless until the kid is potty-trained. This isn’t the kind of dad any of the people I’ve talked with want to be, which makes me hopeful that there’s a shift in how we view parents and caretakers.

I can’t say exactly when it happened, but somehow I’ve turned into someone who is confident in his parenting skills and has fully integrated “dad” into my identity. Heck, I even do the tuneless half-singing half-humming thing my dad does when I’m washing dishes. This is not to say that I have everything figured out, or that I am not going to screw up multiple times in the future. Right now my partner and I are trying to figure out how to get better at having time together, even when we are tired and our brains are fried. I am also trying to figure out how to be patient with the toddler temper tantrums over nothing.

I know parents so frequently get told “oh just wait for [insert your favorite awful age here]” but I’m excited. I know we will have tantrums and arguments and Little Bear isn’t going to do exactly what we want because she is her own person. Living into who she is means she’s not always going to listen to us. I can only hope I remember that as she continues to grow up. I am a dad, I am a parent, I am ready for whatever is next.

Lit Review: Click, Clack, Moo: Cows that Type

Posted on by

Image

I am entering the headlong rush towards the end of the very last semester of my grad program, so in lieu of a more thoughtful post today I want to share a little bit about one of our favorite books over at the FaB house. 

 

“Click, Clack, Moo: Cows that Type” was a present from our friend Sumner who has an excellent blog about activism, queer issues, and gender over at Queering the Line. In “Click, Clack, Moo” the cows and hens are recast as agricultural laborers seeking to negotiate for better conditions. The cows, knowing the value of their labor, have found an old typewriter and request Farmer Brown provide them with electric blankets to keep warm in the cold barn at night. They form a coalition with the hens who are also cold. When Farmer Brown refuses to provide electric blankets, they strike. As the strike continues, eventually the cows propose to exchange their typewriter for electric blankets. Duck, the neutral party, functions as the go between during this deliberation. In the end, the cows and hens get their electric blankets. Instead of returning the typewriter, the ducks have taken it and have written a note requesting a diving board for their rather boring pond. 

We’ve been reading the book to Little Bear since she was little. It has become a big favorite. Little Bear is fond of rushing over to the shelf and pulling the book off while emphatically saying “moo. moo.” We’ve been using baby sign, so she enjoys pointing out the chickens and the sheep and the ducks. As Little Bear gets older I am hoping to have deeper conversations about why it’s important that the cows and hens have banded together, talking more about strikes and the importance of labor laws, but until then I’ll keep her giggling with my humorously realistic (if I do say so myself) “click clack moo, click clack moo, clickity clack moo!”

Image
Little Bear at six months browsing the kid bookshelf in our living room

Lately I have been thinking a lot about the books we have available for Little Bear. I love reading, and even as a child reading was part of the way I made sense of the world. I really resonate with Hermione from the Harry Potter books in that my first response in the face of a problem is to check the library. While I recognize that Little Bear is probably not going to have the same relationship to books that I have, I want her to have access to books that help her make sense of the world. As a parent and a book-lover, I want to be able to have ways of introducing age-appropriate discussions about difference, inequalities, and justice.

I was doing a little research about children’s books and race, and found some really disturbing statistics over at the Cooperative Children’s Book Center about books by and about people of color. For example, in 2012 there are approximately 5,000 new children’s books published. However, only 119 were about African-Americans and only 68 were written by African-Americans. There were only 6 books about Native Americans and 22 by Native Americans. There were only 76 books about Asian Pacific Americans, and 83 books by Asian Pacific Americans. Only 59 books were by Latinos and 54 books were about Latinos. To be clear, I am not saying I think all children’s book authors who are people of color should only write or illustrate books about people of color, nor am I saying that white people absolutely shouldn’t write books about people of color. To be honest, I am still wrestling with notions of authority and authenticity when thinking about who should or shouldn’t be telling stories about marginalized communities. However, on the whole I try to operate on the basis that people in marginalized communities know their struggles, joys, lives better than someone not in that community.

So why is this important? Why are kid’s book in particular important? In Don’t Tell The Grown-ups: The Subversive Power of Children’s Literature Allison Lurie writes that

The great subversive works of children’s literature suggest that there are other views of human life besides those of the shopping mall and the corporation. They mock current assumptions and express the imaginative, unconventional, noncommercial view of the world in its simplest and purest form. They appeal to the imaginative, questioning, rebellious child within all of us, renew our instinctive energy, and act as a force for change. This is why such literature is worthy of our attention and will endure long after more conventional tales have been forgotten. 

The stories we tell are powerful. Stories help shape our sense of the world, of what is right and wrong. Children’s books have explicit and implicit messages about race, gender, class, ability, power, and culture. Being able to share books that explore these issues is important to me as a parent. My partner and I have tried to provide Little Bear with books by and about a lot of different types of people and families. As we saw above with books by and about people of color most books are still by and about white people. I am willing to bet all the coffee in my cupboard that a similar trend emerges for ability, sexual orientation, class and gender identity.

In a pretty quick search for children’s literature by and about people of color, I found a few decent lists and essays at the Cooperative Children’s Book Center and a list at my local public library website.  Where have you found good lists of books by and about people of color? How about books about sexual orientation and gender identity? Books about ability? Am I over-emphasizing the importance of children’s books? Whether you are a parent or not, what are your thoughts about finding a variety of books for the kids in your life?

CCBC Multicultural Children’s Literature Page

CCBC’s 50 multicultural books every kid should know

Hennepin County Library Birth to Six book list on Helping Kids Relate

 

Family Surprises

Posted on by

This past weekend we drove down to Madison to go to my grandpa’s 84th birthday party. We left Saturday afternoon as soon as I was done with class, picked up my sister, and arrived after 8pm. Frankly, I was surprised my grandparents were still up. We stayed up and visited a little bit, letting Little Bear run around before bed. She hasn’t spent much time in that house, just an hour here or there when we are driving to Milwaukee, so there was a lot to inspect before bed.

The next morning we spent visiting with my grandparents and watching Little Bear. She climbed up and down the stairs, pulled cards and games out of drawers, carried my grandma’s stuffed bears around, ate snacks, and was adorable. In the afternoon, my parents, three of my mom’s six siblings and their spouses, and a handful of cousins came over. We did what do best. We ate, took photos, and sat around talking. Everyone oooh’ed and ahhh’ed appropriately over Little Bear. We talked about the most recent great-grandchild born a few weeks ago, and the 11th great-grandchild due in the fall. We talked about the weather, we talked about old family stories.

Before we left Monday morning, Little Bear sat on my grandma’s lap totally relaxed listening to her tell stories and sing a finger counting song she sang to me when I was little. She giggled and let my Grandpa dance her around the kitchen on the tops of his feet.

In the car on the way home I was struck by how easily my family has welcomed Little Bear into their midst. Relationships with my family weren’t exactly rough but they also weren’t exactly smooth over the course of my multiple comings-out. I was worried that my family wouldn’t reallly know how to relate to Little Bear, but I’ve been happily suprised at every turn. She has been welcomed whole-heartedly into the big mess of people that is my family of origin in such an unquestioned manner that amazes me.

Families of origin are certainly messy, complex, and painful. But occasionally they can also be beautiful and easy. Here’s to my family, in all their imperfection.

When is a Dad Like a Unicorn?

Posted on by

20130126-141148.jpgA few months ago I took Little Bear in for her 9 month check-in by myself. Previously, Little Bear’s mama and I had taken her in to her doctor appointments together. The nurse doing Little Bear’s basic measurements commented that it’s rare to see a dad bringing a kid in alone. A check out person at the store started a conversation with me while Little Bear and I were grocery shopping, and upon finding out that I am a part stay at home dad, part student, part worker, exclaimed that I am making such a sacrifice for my family. Apparently it’s just marvelous that I am willing to stay home and willing to not work full time. We’re at a restaurant and Little Bear needs a new diaper, as babies do, while we were walking back to the restroom a woman leans over and tells me it’s so unique to see a father taking such interest in parenting.

These incidents are only a handful in the strange phenomena I sometimes notice when I’m out with Little Bear. I get smiles and greetings, and people (frequently people I perceive to be women) strike up conversation with me. Overall, the impression I’ve gotten is that a dad with a baby is sometimes as magical as a unicorn. I shouldn’t be surprised. As a transmasculine person, I have certainly already experienced the benefits in male privilege in places where previously I was read as female. Being a white guy with a cute baby just rakes in heteronormative bonus points.

I have to tell you, sometimes these experiences make me feel like I’m Super Dad. All the social rewards, even if they are just in the forms of smiles and short comments, sometimes go to my head. “I am amazing,” I think, “it is so impressive that I am such a great father!”

However, the fact that I am a dad taking care of his kid shouldn’t make me special. Being a dad shouldn’t mean that it’s above and beyond for me to change my kid’s diaper. It shouldn’t be unusual that I take her to a pediatrician appointment. I shouldn’t be getting extra rewards when I am doing what moms are socially expected to do.

I rarely get critiqued on my parenting by strangers, but I know that this also sometimes happens to masculine-presenting parents and caretakers. When it happens, it feels like a slap in the face. Surprisingly enough, I probably do know the best ways to soothe my kid when she’s crying. That men aren’t as perceived as competent at care-taking is just another facet of the gendered division of labor enforced by heteronormative, patriarchal norms. It’s a little exaggerated, but sometimes it seems that society sees me as above and beyond incredible for meeting my child’s basic needs, or so clueless that I should hand over my kid to someone else who hasn’t been wiping her ass for 14 months. I do want to be a fabulous dad, but not because there’s a low social hurdle.

In the meantime, Little Bear and I are going to keep taking walks, going to the store, visiting the library, and living our life. We’re going to try to not let compliments go to my head. What about you?If you are a parent or a caretaker, how have you noticed gender affecting how you are perceived in public when you are with kids? If you’re not a parent or caretaker, have you noticed any differences in how folks of different genders with kids are treated?

The Best Laid Schemes of Mice and Men

Posted on by

I am one of those people who likes to have a plan. Doesn’t matter if it’s school, work, vacations, midweek, weekend, I function better when I roughly know what I will be doing in a day and when it’s going to happen. I’ve even been known to calculate queer standard time into my plans when planning with others. My tendency to start talking about “the plan” for the weekend before coffee, let alone breakfast, has irked my partner on more than one occasion. Plans help me feel calm and prepared for whatever it is I need to get done, whether it is laundry, cleaning, schoolwork, or socializing. Without them, I tend to get anxious and generally unpleasant.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, being a parent has completely altered my ability to make plans and stick to them. My almost 13 month old kid, Little Bear, was born when I was three-quarters of the way done with my first semester of grad school. It was the most exquisitely beautiful hurricane of joy and stress. I went from having scheduled time for homework, being with my partner, work, transit, exercise, class, relaxing, and cooking, to pretty much everything being up in the air. I had an economics test five days after she was born that I somehow managed to pass and vaguely remember drifting off into daydreams of how perfect her fingers and ears were.

As Little Bear got older, my partner and I settled in a new sort-of routine of parenting. I still was trying to plan my time like I did pre-kid, and that did not go well. I would anticipate being able to work on assignments at home or plan on getting certain amounts of sleep at certain times, and have immobilizing anxiety when life didn’t unfold exactly as I had expected. I started adjusting, stretching, bending. For example, if she wasn’t sleeping when she was 2 months old while I needed to be doing homework I would wear her and stroll around the house reading my statistics text aloud. Which, by the way, is a surefire way to make both you and your kid want to nap.

Frankly, I am still figuring out how to be a parent and a student and a partner and an employee and myself all at the same time. We are fortunate to live in a community where our family has many people that love us, help us out of tight spots with child care, and manage to not roll their eyes when I start talking about the minutiae of having a baby. Even so, I get stressed. I get anxious about time, and money, and when am I ever going to be able to finish projects. I obsess over the remaining balance on the hospital bills from when she was born. I worry about when is the right time and how will I talk to Little Bear about being trans. I spent time late at night recently worrying about how to talk about race and white privilege. I worry about how to talk about our family in a way that doesn’t center my trans identity as it’s queer locus, that both her mama and I aren’t straight even though that’s how we are perceived by the majority of the world. I want nothing more than a clear idea of how life is going to work itself out.

And then Little Bear does something heart melting and perfect like toddling over to me whenever I come home with her arms raised to be picked up and hugged. She “sings” and bounces in time to Whitney Houston while I’m cleaning lunch debris off the walls. She drags her well-loved copy of “Brown Bear” over and climbs into my lap so I can read to her. Or she giggles hysterically while I tickle her, then signs for more as soon as I stop.

As I am finishing up the last few assignments and getting ready to start my last semester of grad school, I’ve taken to reminding myself that in the long run doesn’t matter what the plan is for tomorrow, or next week, or next month. I will get my assignments and work done. Her mama and I will figure out how to talk about our family and ourselves in a way that is genuine. We will even figure out a way to talk about America’s genocidal colonialism. For right now the plan is trying not to worry or plan too much. The plan is to be here in the moment in all it’s messy, loosely scheduled, unplanned glory.