Parentheses

A few days ago, in reading the preface to a 1995 book on feminist art criticism, I came across this sentence: "There is still a marked 'difference' in the way that women artists are referred to in general critical reviews." I nodded. Be it 1995 or 2010; the point holds. In fact, the basic validity of the claim is the very reason that the sloganed tee-shirts worn by Zaha Hadid's staff replied at the 2003 opening of her first major public building, the Cincinnati Art Center, worked so well. “Would they call me a diva," read the shirts, "if I were a guy?” No, we admit, they almost surely wouldn't.

But if there are still gendered norms in the realm of contemporary art, how about in the arena of parenthood? Ah, you betchum. Or, at least, so it seems to me as I move about Baltimore with Cleo. A man with a baby is constantly both the object of gendered suppositions and assumptions.

Examples. When I bring Cleo to the Towson library, for instance, for storytime, the kind female librarian kindly tells me that I'll be more comfortable if I adjust the height of the Baby Bjorn in which I carry my daughter. Thanks, ma'am, but no thanks; after 50 hours of wearing the thing, I've actually more or less figured it out. And when I call the doctor to ask for their advice, after finding that Cleo has her first fever, and leave my number, it's perhaps revealing that they then call my wife, rather than me. Oh, you can hear them saying, he's probably at work. Instead of bothering him, let's call the mom. Who happens, unfortunately, to be on this day at work, while I fret over Cleo. Or, finally, have a look at an article called "The Children's Table," in the most recent issue of Urbanite. The writer describes a sing-along at a local bookstore, and evokes "an audience of a dozen antsy toddlers and their attentive moms (plus one doting dad)."

Why the parentheses? Why not simply moms, and a dad (or, better, why not, simply, parents)? Well, you know the answer as well as I do: because of decades of divisions of labor; because of stereotypes driven home in a hundred different ways; because Ward Cleaver was always at the office during the day. And so on. Patterns of parenting have certainly changed in the last decade or two, but being even a part-time dad is still considered, it seems, unusual.

But of course - for let's be honest - that very fact can also prompt some really kind reactions. I doubt, for instance, that the warm looks that greet us as we stroll through the grocery store, for example, are given out to the mothers who are doing every bit as much, or more, parenting as I am. Simply because it's not an entirely common sight, a man with a baby can still evoke a smile, or a generous comment. And while such reactions might ultimately be due to what Bush 43 once called the soft bigotry of low expectations, I eat them up nonetheless.

And so I wonder, prompted by Hadid's rhetorical question: does that make me, in turn, a diva, too?