The Daddy (Dis?) Advantage-- FIRST GUEST POST

Hi Boos!

I'm super excited to have my first guest blogger appear on my site! I'm sworn to secrecacy about who it is (;-) ) but I'm very excited to finally have her on The Pseudo Fab Life.

Maybe, if you leave comments and engage in discussion, she'll magically reveal herself! :-P

Happy reading! I will post for you all soon!

~Steph

*~*~*~*~*~*~

I’m in love. Head over heels, maturely, romantically, starry-eyed in love with a man…

Loved him when he was my “best friend” and fell in love with him when he became “my man”…

BUT… what I DON’T love is the “you’re a big girl, you can do it” credence he seems to have for women. Don’t misunderstand, I am a big girl. And if he weren’t around, I sure would get it done--but he’s here, so, shouldn’t HE do it?

Let me explain.

My dad’s the uber man’s man. Gentle as a feather to “his girls” as he calls my mother, myself and my sisters, but a ruffian of sorts. Married my mom at 24, was a dad of 2 by 26, and was a father of four by the time he was 34. And he took care of his family. My mom didn’t work--she was the nurturer. My dad the anti nurturer--never changed a diaper in his life. He was the provider. Worked all week, and sometimes on the weekend; made sure we never went without what we needed, and most of what we wanted. Put us all in private school on just his salary. I never saw the man take a vacation if he wasn’t taking one of us to a summer program, moving us into college, or taking us to visit one of the places where kids “needed” to go: the Liberty Bell, Amish Country.

Oh, but we went on vacation. Daddy sent us to Puerto Rico, to Haiti, to Florida where we baked on beaches, visited amusement parks, and all that while he worked diligently. Then he would be an hour early to pick us up from the airport and drive us home while we passed out in the back seat. He would be the same hour early to pick us up from our part time jobs because “my girls don’t wait, and my girls don’t take the bus.”

Daddy was up before everyone on Saturdays--on the roof, under the car, behind the lawn mower or under a cabinet-- because he didn’t want the car breaking down while my mom was driving it, or us to be embarrassed when our “little friends” came over.

So what I’m saying is, I wasn’t a Daddy’s girl (My sisters? Yes. Me? No.), but I was loved, provided for, and taken care of by my Daddy.

The love of my life was raised by women--all women--with guest appearances by his Dad. Provided for by women, protected by women, nurtured by strong women. It was women who drove him to and from work, made sure he had what he needed, looked out for him, etc.

So-- the clash.

To him, his women are invincible. He loves me because I’m independent, I’m resourceful, I’m sharp and witty, and I always find a way. I love him because he’s nurturing, he’s loving, he’s non- judgmental, he’s optimistic, and he’s loyal.

BUT whose job is it to mow the lawn?

Me: His of course, I’m a woman, I don’t MOW LAWNS!

Him: If you get around to it first. UUUUUM...

Him: “Baby I took the garbage out yesterday, it’s your turn”

Me: My TURN?!

Him: “Baby, I’m running late.”

Me: “Running late?! You should have been EARLY!!

But then, if I’m taking out the garbage, why are we having the “Baby you don’t cook for me” conversation. Isn’t it one or the other?

What are our roles here? If I think men are the providers, and, in his experience, women are providers, who exactly is mowing the lawn, and who is doing the cooking here? Who is driving who home while the other is passed out in the passenger seat? Are these things we can “take turns” on? If I see men as the providers and women as the nurturers, and he sees women as the provider AND nurturer, then who’s POV will reign in this relationship? And this, in polling my closest friends, is not only our issue. It seems like most of my friends who were raised with their fathers have certain expectations of men that our men, raised by these phenomenal women, are lacking.

In a candid conversation with my boo centered around my disappointment that he hadn’t fixed a door in my apartment that had been off the hinges, he said “you didn’t ask.” Me, appalled by the thought, countered, “Don’t you see it broken just like I see it broken?”, to which he replied, “Yes, but don’t you see it broken just like I see it broken”?

Good point.

So what I’m asking is: are our expectations based on our being “Daddied” actually putting us at a disadvantage, do we, as women, encountering this new man, raised exclusively by women, need to relax our expectations? (SN: My dad was raised by both parents and 3 older brothers).

Granted, I’m not cooking his meals, packing his lunch, or cleaning up after him like my Mom did for my Dad (Hey! I’m busy! I throw his laundry in with mine from time to time!). But, he should still be just like my Daddy right?

RIGHT?!?!