Being a male stay at home parent is an interesting experience. In many ways I think it's easier on Dads than Moms, especially in my liberal Takoma Park town. The standards for men are way lower than for women; if I show up with the kid basically dressed and some sort of food to eat, people think I'm really cool for being with the kids; an identical performance by a woman is utterly unnoticed. And as a person that's always thought society needed a bit of changing, I get a small jolt of happiness that "I am changing society" every time I walk down the street with my kids. And yet there's enough stay at home dads around here that the moms are not stand-offish to me; even at yoga toddler classes, I'm not usually the only adult male.
But it's dangerous ground to walk on. It's already been several years since I've noticed that in a mixed gender party, I often end up talking to women about parenting/householdy things rather than yakking about the football scores or job travails with the men. And recently something happened that in retrospect chilled me.
I go to my meditation group on Wednesday nights (when there's not some school meeting that I am supposed to be at. Sometimes, when I'm not too tired and need a break, I go to a movie afterwards. So there I was at the multiplex, looking at all of the choices. And I went to see The Jane Austen Bookclub. Not a science fiction movie about the coming socialist utopia. Not a movie with dragons or car chases or Jackie Chan. Not a movie about a dad holding a hospital hostage with his guns until they treated his kids. But a movie about a bunch of women using books to analyze their relationships. Arg! (Even worse, it was a funny and enjoyable movie.)
For a change of pace, I hear on Wednesday nights there is a group of dads that plays basketball at Piney Branch.
But, still, I understand that The Jane Austen Bookclub could be good.
;->
Ack. Love hurts.