Remember that intimate conversation you had with your son? The one where you said, “I love you and I need you to know that no matter how a woman dresses or acts, it is not an invitation to cat call, taunt, harass or assault her”?
Or when you told your son, “A woman’s virginity isn’t a prize and sleeping with a woman doesn’t earn you a point”?
How about the heart-to-heart where you lovingly conferred the legal knowledge that “a woman doesn’t have to be fighting you and you don’t have to be pinning her down for it to be RAPE. Intoxication means she can’t legally consent, NOT that she’s an easy score.”
Or maybe you recall sharing my personal favorite, “Your sexual experiences don’t dictate your worth just like a woman’s sexual experiences don’t dictate hers.”
Last but not least, do you remember calling your son out when you discovered he was using the word “slut” liberally? Or when you overheard him talking about some girl from school as if she were more of a conquest than a person?
I want you to consider these conversations and then ask yourself why you don’t remember them. The likely reason is because you didn’t have them. In fact, most parents haven’t had them."
My dad: Your sister's crazy. Who'd want a $200 purse?
Me: She does.
My dad: What is it with ladies purses, anyway?
Me: (glancing at my purse) What do you mean?
My dad: How did that start--I mean, why do women use them? Doesn't it get tiring carrying a bag around all the time?
Me: (stands up and turns around) See those pockets?
My dad: ... Yes?
Me: What can I fit in them?
My dad: What?
Me: How many things do you think I could fit in my pockets? Honestly. How many things?
My dad: Doesn't look like you could fit much.
Me: A pack of Orbit, some folded bills, and that's about it. That's why we use purses--because we can't carry our shit in our pockets like you do.
My dad: But I can fit my wallet, my keys, and my cigarettes in my pockets!
Me: And your jeans also fit the way they should.
My dad: I'm almost afraid to ask, but what do you mean?
Me: Your jeans are sized by, what, your inseam and waist, right?
My dad: ... Aren't yours?
Me: I'm a size 3.
My dad: 3 what?
Me: No, just a 3. A size 3.
My dad: What does that mean?
Me: I actually have no idea. I'm a size 3 in these jeans. In some other jeans, I'm a 5. I'm a 7 in my favorite pair of shorts.
My dad: Wait, it's not the same?
Me: Nope. A size 3 in one brand's jeans is completely different from a size 3 in another brand.
My dad: That's fucking stupid! How do you shop for them?!
Me: With great difficulty. This is why when you ask me what I did during the week and despite the fact I know you won't care I sometimes tell you I found a pair of jeans. Because finding a pair of jeans that fit and fit well is like finding the Holy Grail with your name encrusted in diamonds on it