When people ask if I would’ve liked a son I say I’ve got no idea because I didn’t get one and who am I to argue with reality?
My reality is, however: a little brother born a day before my first birthday, a god-son, two step-sons, five nephews, the sons of countless cousins, all the boys I taught in primary schools and the ones I see come into the world as a birth doula (like this one).
Raising awakened boys is our responsibility but we stuff it up daily. I know too many grown men hurting others because they’re in pain themselves.
So maybe don’t tell them they’re naughty.
Don’t tell them to sit still and be quiet and punish them when they can’t do it.
Don’t tell them they have ADHD.
Don’t medicate them for nothing then tell them not to take drugs.
Don’t teach them hitting will solve anything.
Don’t tell them to stop acting like a girl.
Don’t smack them and tell them not to hit anyone else. Fucken confusing.
Don’t let them play those video games and then ask why when they grow up depressed zombies.
Don’t shame, blame, label them.
Don’t make excuses for them when they’re out of line, mistreating girls, breaking the law.
Don’t tell them not to cry. Don’t tell them not to cry. Don’t tell them not to cry.
Talk to them. Hug and hold and kiss them. You won’t make them soft or weak. Never give up on them.
Even when they’re huge and hairy.