I’m the mother of a little boy. And right now, I’m pregnant with another. Ever since the first day I found out I was having a son, I’ve been asking myself: what kind of man do I want to raise, and what kind of man am I helping to shape?
It’s a question that stays with me daily, and it carries the weight of someone who knows that raising a child is, in many ways, a way of intervening in the world. At its core, my mission may seem simple, but it’s actually quite radical: to raise decent men.
To care. A verb that has, for so long, been almost exclusively assigned to women—to the domestic, the intimate, the invisible—is one of the most important things I want to pass on to my sons. It’s not just about teaching chores, or sharing responsibilities, or preventing harmful behaviors in the future. It’s about something deeper: forming an ethic of care.
I want to raise a boy who takes care of his things with attention, who tends to plants and notices nature, who sees when the dog needs love or the cat needs water. A boy who isn’t afraid to take care of others—of younger children, of his stuffed animals, of his emotions.
I’m not doing this for myself. I’m not raising him this way hoping he’ll repay me when I’m old, or become a helpful adult to please me. I’m doing this for him. So that he becomes that rare kind of man who understands that caring and being cared for go hand in hand. That love without care is just the well-dressed sibling of selfish love. That caring for a home and for people is admirable—but also, simply and fundamental.
I’ve noticed that a boy who tends to plants is rarely a boy who destroys them.
A boy who looks after his grandparents is unlikely to become an adult who ignores the elderly.
A boy who takes care of his belongings is rarely the kind who breaks them in fits of rage.
Feeding the dog. Helping with house chores. Tucking in his stuffed animals before bed. Picking a flower for his grandma. Saving a cookie for his brother. Turning the pages of a book gently, so they don’t tear. Brushing his mother’s hair. Making dinner with his father.
Of course, there are no guarantees. There are days when the mission feels like it’s failed. But it’s along this journey—with all its stumbles and new beginnings—that we keep pointing toward a direction.
And maybe that’s our biggest hope: to show, by example and by listening, that care is not a woman’s job or a lesser task. It’s actually a way of being in the world. A boy raised to care doesn’t seem, to me, like a man likely to harm.
It’s a long road, full of uncertainties. But it’s a beautiful one. And we keep trying.
