Raising Feminists

Yesterday, my 11-year-old gave his dad a rousing lecture on equality.

Evan: Dad, I know you are the man of the house, but mom is the woman of the house and she gets as much say in things as you do. Just because you are a man, doesn't mean you get to decide everything.

Dad: Yes, Evan, I understand that.

Evan: No, Dad, I don't think you understand. Why is it when you want to do something or get something, you just do it. But when mom wants to do something or get something, she asks you first. She shouldn't have to ask your permission. She should get to do whatever she wants.

Dad: That isn't true Evan. Your mom does and gets lots of things and does not ask my permission.

Evan: Dad. Come on. Do you really think I believe that. I've seen it Dad. She asks you but you do stuff all the time. You bought the flat-screen TV while she was gone and it costed a lot and you didn't ask. But I know she would've asked you. So why is that? Why is that? I don't understand.

What in the hell has brought this on? All the talks we have had about gender, sex, and sexuality; all the talks about feminist history and equality; all the discussions about "boys can wear pink underwear with flowers too;" My GOD. They have paid off. What an great partner he will make. I am so proud.

Dad: (pause). That's different Evan. A TV is not a living thing.

Evan: So if we want to have a living thing, we have to ask permission?

Me: Ferns are living things.

Note: My husband has ferns all over the house and is fully aware of my utter hatred for them. I feel like I am living in a damn nursing home. The one that appeared in our bedroom two months ago is massive. It sheds all over the carpet and has infested our room with these annoying little bugs -- like fruit flies- but I don't know... they must be fern flies. They fly in my face all the time. I hate the goddamn ferns. No one asked me about the ferns.

Dad: Fine. (frustrated sigh) Do you want me to get rid of the ferns?

Me: Actually...

Evan: So, if mom wants a dog, we should get a dog. Because mom wants one and she is the woman of the house.

Huh. This sermon is about a dog. Well, feminist thinking has to start somewhere.

Damn it. Just swatted another goddam fern fly.