Skip to main content

Of unusual career choices and the parenting dance

Image courtesy: Pixaby.com

I wanted a boy but would've been equally glad to get a girl. Only because it has become a fashion these days to "want" only girls, what with forwarded messages and articles extolling the virtues of having a daughter and how they are better than sons, I never really disclosed my inner feelings. As with most evolving societies, people love to flip to the other extreme to counter old-school thoughts and the gender stereotyping is one such example. This is, of course, my interpretation. I disagree with any extreme and prefer to use instinct, common sense and moderation in everyday life including parenting.

As luck would have it, I got a son. The husband and I have been fair parents till date and have agreed to bring up R without impressing upon him any expectations that should arise solely due to his gender. He's encouraged to cry if his emotions overpower him. He's discouraged from resorting to physical assault as a way of showing disagreement or anger. His rambunctious behaviour is not tolerated simply because "boys will be boys". In short, we strive to bring up a sensitive and empathetic individual rather than just a girl or a boy.

I believe in entrusting age-appropriate daily tasks to R. They could be very simple tasks like keeping his things in their place after he's home from school or cleaning up his room before bed or putting his plate into the sink after food. It's a different story that on most days I feel it's better to get it done myself rather than go on like a broken record. I'm a house proud person and feel that it should not be a gender-specific quality. I strongly think very member in the house must contribute to the housekeeping which otherwise falls squarely on the lady of the house and one person can only do so much. Even if there are maids to help you out, it's a sense of discipline and orderliness that needs to be practiced.

As most often, gender role images are fed into the subconscious without being explicitly taught, I'd ideally like R to see my husband take up more tasks around the house and learn by example. Although I might often pick a battle with my husband for not pitching in as much, I have to give it to him for rising to the occasion whenever I need him around the house. Work and work-pressure are not kind on the salaried class these days and since he's technically the primary earning member (my meager earnings cannot, obviously, count :-p), I do understand his position. On the other hand, he's always been a hands-on father with R which is a huge plus since I'm not the default go-to parent (for most cases).

It's too early in the game to see if our style of parenting will reap the desired results. I do, however, catch a few signs here and there that make me smile in satisfaction. R generally understands his part in the drama of household chores. If I play the card of being overwhelmed with all the cleaning up and ask him to pitch in, he does so willingly. On his own too, he's quick to pick up the cloth to wipe off any mess that he might have created unknowingly. He feels comfortable in the kitchen and gets his own snacks from containers. He doesn't shy away from asking my recipes for his favourite food. He loves watching Food-Food channel as much as he enjoys his star war movies. His eyes do light up at the way the master chefs on these channels seductively put together yummylicious concoctions over beautiful pans and pots.

As with most kids this age, his answers to the question, " what he'd like to become?" changes very often and ranges from wanting to be a magician to a craftsperson to an astronaut. However, one answer seems to be a constant and that is to "be a chef". People seem amused to hear this even as I'm quick to take pride in the fact that he's a free-thinker and does not care for the more popular career choices. Yes, it's rather too early to say, but I'm going to cash in on this phase while it lasts and teach him a few cooking tricks. Whether or not he becomes a chef, he definitely needs to know how to cook, no?

He doesn't know it yet, but I'm rooting for this career choice because secretly I'm looking forward to hanging my boots prematurely and yet have a five-meal course spread out for me ;-)

Comments

  1. It's important to raise kids to be independent, I agree with you. Everything is a life skill these days and I wish people realised that instead of sneering at boys doing girly jobs, with an amused expression. It's going to take time but I hope the next generation will do its best to dispel gender bias by doing exactly what's not expected of them.

    Oh and if he becomes a chef please let me come over and eat. I hate to cook. V cooks brilliant stuff and I'm glad too :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, but tackling gender bias does not mean wanting to be like the opposite gender. It's about appreciating the differences and yet not let that narrow your choices. I cringe at how it's all about celebrating the other extreme.

      I'll be glad to invite you over and eat some food myself. Lucky you, husband cooks!

      Delete
  2. Yes, children must know how to stand on their feet. Nice article.

    ReplyDelete
  3. God knows when such BIAS will stop, it is funny people say different things when in context to other parents kids and their own kids ..


    Bikram's

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. and also these days there is Nothing called Unusual career.. :)

      Delete
    2. That's true, Bikram. Nowadays there are so many avenues opening up that conventional careers are slowly being replaced by fresh and newer ones.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Would love to hear from you :-)
Also, please click the subscribe by Email link below the comment form to get follow-up comments to your inbox..

Popular posts from this blog

Awaiting colours of change

It's the morning rush hour. In between flipping the dosa on the steaming pan, I scurry towards the bathroom door, impatiently asking R to hurry up and finish his bath. I scamper back to the kitchen to finish packing the lunch boxes, feeling the pressure of the husband's temporary absence which would have otherwise let me concentrate on just one part of the early-hour circus at home.

"Amma, I'm done. Please get the towel," screamed R into the empty room. Finally, I mutter and stride back to help him get dressed for school. My hands work quickly in tandem, patting him dry and squeezing the moisturizer into my palms when I notice R's. They have a flaky white colour to them, the one that comes with the skin being in contact with excessive foam and water. I apply a generous dose of the creamy lotion over them as I gently rebuke R for using so much soap.

"But, I want my skin to be light. I like light skin not dark" he quips, in almost a matter-of-fact to…

Caffeinated attraction

Words jostled inside Anusha's head as she snaked her way between the tables to her favourite spot in the cozy cafe. She slid her laptop out, rested the bag beside her on the silver grey cushioned sofa and called for her favourite cappuccino. They made it just the way she preferred: the right amount of milk and coffee, the closest alternative to the filter kaapi her mom made.

Gazing out of the glass window, she sipped her beverage, letting the bitter-sweet taste linger, weighing her thoughts before her fingers could fly on the keyboard to give shape to them. The white fluffs of clouds against the clear blue skies floated gently with the summer breeze and they seemed, to the writer in her, like mischevious sheep that had strayed off the flock.

Oh, well, it's my mind that's straying now. Need to get my act right for my next submission. Anusha willed herself back to the present.

The cafe was Anusha's muse, the mecca she haunted during the weekends for the past three months…

Rotting humanity

Doc, there's an emergency!

The breaking news flashes the brutal carnage. Images and voices float in my mind as I drive in manic speed to the hospital.

Of sirens blazing. Of toys and limbs lying scattered on a carpet of red and brown.

Oxygen! I scream. Pump, harder.

Doc, there's no pulse.

Shoulders slump.

I witness grief fuse into flames that rise up collectively at the mass funeral. The ashes fall lightly on me.

Will the stench of hate ever recede?

*** Written for a prompt at