When I was about 15, my dad decided I needed to learn how to cook all of his recipes. He had been the primary cook in the household since I was a toddler, when my mom got a job that kept her out of the house more. My dad had also been the person who did laundry and housekeeping for most of my life. My mom worked longer hours and made more money, so that’s just how it worked out.
At any rate, my dad was the primary cook. And while he did his best, his food was not exactly fine dining. On this particular occasion, we were having pork chops for dinner. Now, my dad’s pork chops had the texture of shoe leather and were not even seasoned with salt. I hated them. And so, when he came to get me to show me how they were made, I declined. “I don’t like pork chops,” I said. “I’ll never make them.” He replied, “But what if your future husband likes them?”. “Then he can make them himself,” I responded. My dad sighed and shook his head. “We raised you so wrong,” he mumbled as he walked back to the kitchen.
In some ways, he may be right. I was raised in a household where the person who was home more, did the chores. Was the labor split equitably? No, but my mom had been the primary homemaker when my brother was younger. So, in a way, it sort of evened out. My father was the one who walked me to school and picked me up from daycare. He dressed me in the morning and made sure my hair was brushed. He taught me how to tie my shoes and iron a shirt. All things that are traditionally considered a woman’s role.
Now, I won’t say he was always as warm and fuzzy as he could have been. I sprained my ankle as an adult and spent a few days at his house so that I wouldn’t have to traverse two flights of stairs at mine. He was a doting parent, no doubt. But when he would wrap my ankle in the ace bandage, he was a little rougher than was comfortable. I remember one night when he dropped my foot from about eighteen inches above the pillow upon which it eventually landed. I was not amused, though I said nothing.
But he was constantly showing me women who made history, who broke the traditional norms. We still joke about a picture book I had as a small child about Elizabeth Blackwell, the first female doctor in America. At Disney, after coming out of the Hall of Presidents, I wanted to buy a book with a short biography of each president and he only allowed it if I also got a book about extraordinary American women. He paid for both books. Amelia Earhart, Eleanor Roosevelt, Helen Keller – all women whose stories he introduced me to. Now, was this all a little whitewashed, yes. But, at least he was trying!
He and I were recently talking about some money he wanted to put into a trust for my niece and nephew’s college fund. During the discussion, he mentioned that if I were to have kids that this money would also go to them. I told him he didn’t have to worry about that. I wasn’t having kids. He very seriously informed me that there were technologies now that I could have a baby on my own. My dear, sweet father was not only accepting of artificial insemination, but was practically encouraging it. Now, as it happens, I have zero desire to have a child of my own, no matter what the means of impregnation. But it was somehow very touching that he would have supported me had I chosen to go that route.
My Boomer father, who would have been nearly full grown before women’s rights were really even talked about, has been the greatest advocate for my success of anyone in my life. From before I was born, there was no limit for my potential in his eyes. When choosing my name, my mom wanted a Katie, she didn’t care what my full name was. She suggested Kaitlyn, but my dad responded that “No CEO is going to be named Kaitlyn”. So, I became Kathryn instead. In 1988, my father had no problem believing that a woman could be a CEO. And he raised me to believe that anything was possible.
For that, I am eternally grateful. He set the bar so incredibly high for what I expect from men. No toxic masculinity in our household. Anything a man could do, a woman could. And vise versa. I sincerely hope we can get to a place where more men are like my dad. The world would be better for it.
Stay safe!
KT Byrde Writes 