I HAVE THE PRIVILEGE OF WATCHING MY DAUGHTERS, ELEANOR, 10, AND ABIGAIL, 8, GROW UP. AT TIMES, I FEEL OUTNUMBERED IN A FAMILY WHERE THE FEMALE-TO-MALE RATIO (COUNTING OUR TWO GUINEA PIGS, S’MORES AND NIBBLES) IS FIVE-TO-ONE. THOUGH MY WIFE, BETH, AND I SHARE PARENTING DUTIES, SOME GIRL-SPECIFIC TASKS ELUDE ME. I ADMIT, MY PONY TAILS ARE ALWAYS LOPSIDED.
Despite this shortcoming, I’m proud I can pack a picnic in minutes, and when I make breakfast, it always ends up having two eyes and a mouth. If I pack the school lunchbox, you know it has a special note, maybe encoded as a secret stretchy rubber band message—write the note on a rulerstretched rubber band, then when it shrinks back to normal size, the note is unreadable unless you know the secret.
As a professor, I have my summers off, and I spend a lot of time with my daughters. I love taking them to concerts and cultural events. Over the years, we’ve gone from walking with one girl in the backpack to being able to ride our own bikes.