历史频道> 环球风云> 蓝宝石高手心水论坛



  My daughter sprouted from my head like Athena and Zeus. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it, especially since my decision to become a single mother was a cerebral affair. I’d combed through every theory of sociologists who try to argue that the problems of black single mothers can be fixed only by marriage. I countered each one with logic, optimism and nerve inherited from role models who walked this path before me.

  Now I know the question I ignored when I tried to tack “by choice” onto single mother as if the pattern were one-size-fits-all-races: Just who was supposed to take this baby on daddy-daughter date night? I was reminded of my blind spot by an insurance commercial, which has over 15 million views online. In the ad, a man straightens his tie, puts on a suit jacket, leaves his house, then turns right back around to ring the doorbell. An adorable little girl opens the door, takes a quick glance at the camera and says, “Hi, Dad!”

  He was getting dressed up to take a 3-year old on a “date” on their back deck.

  This isn’t just happening in commercials. Schools have joined in the promotion of the Electra complex too, hosting “daddy-daughter dances” and encouraging moms like me to call in favors from male relatives who don’t mind swaying to John Mayer and Luther Vandross. One hundred and forty-eight thousand Instagram posts include the hashtag #daddydaughterdate.

  How could I have missed this milestone of compulsory heterosexuality? Who would teach my daughter whatever girls with fathers learned on these dates and dances, like how to wait for doors to be opened or hold a fork like an unmistakable catch?

  I repeated the “why not me?” challenge of her divine conception and commenced to plan the worst date of my life. I adopted the gendered script with gusto. I opened all the doors. I paid for all of the food. My 7-year-old date ignored me for the whole dinner because the host sat us in a makeshift kids’ section near the bar television. My date told me this couldn’t be a date because we were both girls. I’m queer. I pointed out that ours “obvi” wasn’t a romantic date because, hello, I’m her mother.

  “Then why call it a date?” she asked.

  Good question. Tom Burns of the Good Men Project wrote in 2017, “I think the almost-exclusive use of the word ‘date’ to describe daddy-daughter interactions just promotes this sick romanticization of our relationship that’s detrimental to both of us.”

  I agree, but the thing that’s detrimental to my daughter and me is something very different. Nothing about our life is ever romanticized. What hurts us, instead, is the social and emotional toll of scholars and pundits suggesting, as they have for generations, that our very family unit — a black mother, a black daughter and no one to ring the doorbell with a suit jacket on — is a liability and the cause of any difficulties we may experience. In the face of this misguided moralizing, I sometimes find myself hypermotivated to give her everything children with “normal” two-parent families have, including braces and a mortgaged home and a dinner date to a place where the staff treats kids like royalty.

  The waiters flirted with my date and ignored me. One said her French fries looked good. They looked like Burger King fries at 300 percent inflation. The other said her bread looked delicious, but I had the same bread and it just looked like dry bread, like the stuff Moses’ people complained about until God smote them like a mad dad in a normal family movie. She asked for meatballs without noodles. That didn’t even make any sense. When her dinner came back looking just like meatballs without noodles, she told the waiter, “This isn’t what I expected.” She ordered another entree that she also didn’t eat. I paid for it, but I already said that.

  In the real world, paying for food is paying for company. My date rejected this lesson, refusing to answer questions about her interests, her five-year plan or any of the other things I asked as if on a first date with a woman wearing a single stud earring. She wanted to be left alone while she stared at the TV above my head. I forgot I was being the man and whined, “I’m sitting right in front of you.”

  I don’t know why (or if) normal dads like this. They might be trying to show their daughters what a real date ought to feel like, but from the daughter’s perspective, it must feel like practice for tolerating anybody’s company as long as they foot the bill. Not that daughters don’t love their normal dads. It’s just what the hell do they have in common and how do they fill the time? Maybe dating dads are working round the clock to afford the products advertised in the commercials they mimic. Maybe they have things to talk about on these daddy-daughter dates because they barely know each other.

  Aaron Dickson, the real-life dad featured in the daddy-daughter date insurance ad, told ABC he hoped the experience would show his daughter how she should be treated by a man. But I think what my companion learned was just a list of things forbidden on date night: electronics, dancing at the table, and yelling “Cheesecake!” in a monster voice before every bite. If this was practice, she will probably never date again, since what good is a date if you can’t choose who or what you want to be?

  Choice seems to be the lesson of the daddy-daughter date. The heterosexual married father is a presumed love expert who made it from a first date to a daughter date. Who better to teach a young girl how to get chosen; who better to model whom to choose? Neither lesson can really be taught. So I’m just glad my daughter chose me. I imagine she watched me from some in-between place, saw me failing at courtship rituals and decided that if she didn’t come to me before I mastered romance, she might not get here at all.

  She’s here now, and she teaches me that kinship is a series of choices — noodles and “normal” are optional.

  Asha French is a doctoral candidate at Emory University.

  The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.

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  蓝宝石高手心水论坛【离】【开】【了】【小】【商】【铺】【之】【后】,【张】【文】【浩】【就】【接】【到】【了】【夏】【沫】【打】【来】【的】【电】【话】。 “【文】【浩】,【你】【下】【午】【帮】【我】【区】【机】【场】【接】【下】【我】【姑】【姑】【一】【家】,【广】【场】【这】【边】【太】【忙】【了】,【我】【实】【在】【抽】【不】【开】【身】。”【夏】【沫】【的】【声】【音】【很】【自】【然】,【似】【乎】【已】【经】【完】【全】【忘】【却】【了】【昨】【天】【晚】【上】【发】【生】【的】【事】【情】。 “【家】【里】【的】【那】【个】【女】【人】【是】【谁】?”【张】【文】【浩】【开】【门】【见】【山】【的】【问】【道】。 【夏】【沫】【迟】【疑】【了】【片】【刻】,【深】【呼】【了】【一】【口】【气】【之】【后】【说】【道】:

  【和】【一】【个】【老】【作】【者】【聊】【天】【才】【知】【道】,【在】【起】【点】,【双】【开】【和】【断】【更】【一】【样】,【都】【是】【会】【上】【编】【辑】【黑】【名】【单】【的】,【如】【果】【我】【继】【续】【保】【持】【新】【旧】【书】【双】【开】【的】【态】【度】【的】【话】,【那】【么】【新】【书】【就】【别】【想】【要】【推】【荐】【了】…… 【无】【奈】【之】【下】,【为】【了】【养】【育】【新】【书】,【旧】【书】【只】【能】【宣】【布】【完】【本】。 【完】【本】【也】【是】【没】【办】【法】【的】【事】【情】,【毕】【竟】【这】【本】【书】【读】【者】【都】【在】【看】【盗】【版】,【一】【个】【月】【的】【收】【入】【连】100【块】【钱】【都】【不】【到】,【只】【能】【靠】【全】【勤】【奖】

  【若】【是】【如】【此】,【拿】【叮】【当】【威】【胁】【高】【维】【生】【物】【的】【成】【功】【率】【就】【更】【低】【了】。 【当】【然】,【这】【也】【有】【可】【能】【是】【叮】【当】【为】【了】【自】【保】【而】【故】【意】【示】【弱】,【好】【让】【各】【方】【势】【力】【把】【对】【他】【的】【关】【注】【度】【转】【移】【到】【处】【理】【内】【外】【部】【矛】【盾】【上】。 【玻】【尔】【森】【和】【铃】【铛】【都】【想】【到】【了】【这】【一】【点】,【所】【以】【也】【没】【有】【十】【成】【地】【相】【信】【他】【的】【话】,【但】【至】【少】【玻】【尔】【森】【不】【再】【表】【现】【出】【那】【么】【直】【白】【的】【意】【图】【了】。 【小】【六】【突】【然】【开】【口】【道】:“【华】【孚】【身】【上】【有】

  【终】【于】,【考】【试】【的】【第】【三】【天】,【最】【后】【一】【天】。 【不】【管】【有】【多】【不】【愿】【意】【考】【试】,【莱】【尔】【也】【必】【须】【参】【加】。 【魔】【咒】【课】,【贝】【克】【利】…… “【你】【们】【要】【写】【卷】【子】,【写】【完】【的】【人】【到】【另】【一】【个】【屋】【子】【考】【核】。”【监】【考】【的】【普】【克】【奇】【尖】【声】【说】【道】。【可】【惜】【不】【是】【石】【刺】,【是】【一】【个】【完】【全】【陌】【生】【的】【普】【克】【奇】。 【拿】【到】【卷】【子】,【果】【不】【其】【然】,【满】【满】【一】【张】。【考】【核】【最】【大】【时】【间】【是】【四】【十】【分】【钟】。【莱】【尔】【抄】【起】【羽】【毛】【笔】,

  【打】【开】【空】【间】【格】【局】【重】【新】【再】【塑】,【产】【生】【平】【衡】【之】【美】,【甫】【入】【空】【间】,【餐】【橱】【柜】【与】【客】【厅】【机】【柜】【界】【定】【出】【玄】【关】【存】【在】,【地】【上】【半】【抛】【面】【砖】【粗】【糙】【纹】【理】【转】【换】【入】【室】,【悄】【悄】【调】【合】【着】【地】【坪】【风】【格】【一】【致】【性】,【客】【厅】【低】【反】【射】【度】【消】【弭】【了】【视】【觉】【锐】【利】。【电】【视】【墙】【面】【低】【调】【大】【器】,【双】【面】【柜】【满】【收】【纳】,【天】【花】【变】【化】【出】【块】【状】【分】【割】,【两】【面】【向】【线】【条】【内】【敛】,【搭】【配】【上】【重】【新】【整】【理】【后】【的】【厨】【房】,【净】【白】【中】【形】【塑】【场】【域】【特】【色】。蓝宝石高手心水论坛【四】【年】【后】 “【赵】【姐】,【这】【是】【你】【要】【的】【报】【纸】。”【一】【位】【十】【多】【岁】【姑】【娘】,【捧】【着】【一】【堆】【报】【纸】【放】【在】【桌】【上】,【擦】【了】【擦】【额】【头】【的】【汗】【珠】,【赵】【于】【心】【倒】【了】【一】【杯】【水】【递】【给】【她】“【辛】【苦】【了】,【喝】【点】【水】。” 【姑】【娘】【一】【口】【将】【杯】【子】【的】【水】【喝】【了】【干】【净】,【抬】【手】【擦】【了】【擦】【嘴】【巴】,“【不】【辛】【苦】,【那】【赵】【姐】【我】【走】【了】【啦】,” “【等】【下】。”【赵】【于】【心】【抱】【着】【一】【个】【小】【箱】【子】,【递】【给】【小】【姑】【娘】:“【这】【里】【面】【是】【一】【些】【吃】

  “【嫂】【子】,【我】【说】【了】【只】【是】【兼】【职】【嘛】,【又】【不】【是】【正】【式】【进】【入】【他】【们】【公】【司】。”【被】【叶】【丽】【一】【再】【不】【留】【情】【面】【地】【打】【击】,【何】【况】【这】【几】【句】【话】【正】【好】【戳】【到】【了】【她】【刚】【刚】【经】【历】【的】【伤】【处】,【成】【甜】【甜】【终】【于】【有】【些】【不】【耐】【烦】【了】:“【你】【别】【总】【以】【为】【我】【什】【么】【也】【干】【不】【好】,【其】【实】【我】【也】【有】【很】【多】【优】【点】【的】【啊】。” “【呵】【呵】,【是】【啊】,【咱】【家】【甜】【甜】【能】【干】【着】【呢】。”【奶】【奶】【心】【疼】【孙】【女】,【打】【着】【圆】【场】【笑】【道】:“【甜】【甜】【说】【了】【是】

  【明】【世】【隐】【本】【来】【是】【无】【精】【打】【采】,【心】【里】【闷】【闷】【不】【乐】【骑】【着】【快】【马】,【忽】【然】【听】【见】【身】【后】【哒】【哒】【的】【马】【蹄】【声】,【一】【直】【紧】【跟】【着】【他】【不】【断】。【他】【有】【些】【好】【奇】,【这】【是】【谁】【跟】【在】【他】【的】【身】【后】?【明】【世】【隐】【扭】【头】【一】【看】,【发】【现】【追】【来】【的】【人】【是】***,【他】【细】【长】【的】【眼】【眸】【霎】【时】【亮】【了】【亮】。 【他】【赶】【紧】【猛】【地】【抬】【手】【一】【勒】【疆】【绳】,【他】【胯】【下】【的】【马】【儿】【正】【撒】【开】【蹄】【子】,【风】【驰】【电】【掣】【的】【跑】【的】【正】【欢】。【明】【世】【隐】【这】【猛】【地】【一】【勒】,【那】

  【此】【时】【整】【个】【会】【议】【室】【气】【氛】【一】【片】【凝】【重】,【所】【有】【人】【都】【在】【等】【着】【王】【宇】【的】【表】【态】,【但】【是】【王】【宇】【自】【己】【却】【好】【像】【局】【外】【人】【一】【般】,【目】【光】【一】【直】【盯】【着】【门】【口】【处】,【直】【到】【宇】【智】【波】【富】【岳】【忍】【无】【可】【忍】【的】【用】【力】【敲】【了】【敲】【桌】【子】,【王】【宇】【这】【才】【恋】【恋】【不】【舍】【的】【收】【回】【了】【目】【光】,【耸】【了】【耸】【肩】【无】【奈】【的】【说】【道】: “【那】【个】【我】【觉】【得】【突】【然】【提】【议】【让】【我】【成】【为】【下】【一】【届】【火】【影】【有】【些】【太】【仓】【促】【了】,【毕】【竟】【我】【还】【没】【有】

  “【是】【啊】,”【萧】【芷】【没】【有】【等】【着】【萧】【芃】【说】【话】,【直】【接】【打】【断】【了】【两】【人】【之】【间】【的】【拌】【嘴】:“【自】【家】【姊】【妹】【哪】【有】【那】【么】【多】【的】【矛】【盾】,【你】【们】【两】【个】【哪】【天】【不】【拌】【两】【句】【嘴】?【乖】【乖】【的】【都】【坐】【上】【去】,【没】【的】【让】【母】【亲】【和】【婶】【母】【等】【着】【我】【们】。” 【萧】【芷】【一】【贯】【的】【轻】【声】【细】【语】,【萧】【芨】【更】【小】【一】【点】【儿】,【也】【比】【萧】【芃】【更】【加】【活】【泼】,【听】【了】【萧】【芷】【说】【的】【话】【吐】【吐】【舌】【头】:“【我】【听】【阿】【姊】【的】。【阿】【姊】【要】【先】【上】【车】。” 【萧】【芃】


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