ABSTRACT
My dad was different. Sure, he and I played catch and wrestled, watchedsports and enjoyed Star Wars together. But he also talked about feelings, cooked dinner regularly, and encouraged me to play with dolls and action figures alike. He didn’t even flinch when my mom began painting my toenails pink. Although I wouldn’t realize it until later, my father was the first profeminist man to touch my life. Growing up, I knew him as a man uncomfortable with manhood. I saw him openly struggle with his own entrenched sexist and homophobic socialization. I watched him try to break down rigid gender roles, with mixed success, in his relationship with my mother. And in the process, I learned a lot about patriarchy and heterosexism, not the least of which is their frustrating resilience.
