Punch Like a Girl

Booming sounds rumbled across our condo when I clapped my hands, both wearing boxing mitts. It was a call to arms for my daughter Lilo to put on her gloves. She looked tired from school, but she needed to train. I wanted her to train.

“Mamba mentality,” I said in an attempt to enliven her. 

“Mambacita,” she feigned enthusiasm in her voice. Thereupon she bargained, “Just 30 minutes, Daddy?” 

I replied with a smile. 

Her punches were crisp and accurate, her counters exploding upon impact on the mitts. I was pleased with her progress. 

“Can I have snacks now, Daddy?” she asked after a roundhouse almost flung the mitt off my right hand. A bowl of granola and fruits was waiting for her. It was almost dark when we finished. We worked out for over an hour.  

My daughter frequently joins karate competitions. With every blow that hits her, I grimace in pain, helpless but for the perfunctory words of encouragement I holler at my baby girl, who probably does not hear me as she fends off wave upon wave of kicks delivered with concussive intent. 

I have been advised, mostly unsolicited, to not immerse my daughter in karate. Best that she sticks to ice skating and the violin, they counseled, two disciplines she had become proficient in before the pandemic.

I initially wondered if they questioned my daughter’s ability to excel in a physically demanding sport like karate. Part of me wanted to believe they simply did not want Lilo getting hurt. But deep down, I knew what they meant. They said it without any attempt at subtlety. “Because Lilo is a girl.”

How do I teach Lilo that her place is not at the backseat nor the passenger’s seat, that she can be in the driver’s seat if she so chooses? 

Unlearning Sexism

Fatherhood has taken me on a journey of personal discovery and self-flagellation. The lessons have not been kind, forcing me to confront ugly truths about the world and about myself. That I had to become a father to admit to myself the peccancy of my thoughts, words, actions and inaction speaks of how deeply-entrenched the biases I have had to unlearn.

I spent my childhood in a military camp where my friends and I grew up with the expectation to be tough. Fistfights were a weekly occurrence in our neighborhood, and whenever I lost a fight, also a weekly occurrence, I had to suck it up and not go home in tears. Crying was unforgivable because “only girls cry.”

Boys are manly. Unyielding, hardened, brawny.

Girls are mahinhin. Meek, maternal, brainy. 

Boys take the lead. Girls follow. 

I worked my way from the province to a two-decade corporate career in Manila as an executive for top multinationals. These companies herald themselves as champions of gender equality, trumpeting this in their employee manuals, mission statements and recruitment videos. 

I once attended a meeting where members of senior management remarked that we should not hire female applicants for field sales functions because “Hindi pambabae ang trabaho ng sales.” The head of Human Resources concurred.

I kept quiet when I heard this. I kept quiet because I agreed.

Many times I have had to listen to conversations among my friends reminiscent of a scene from the movie Notting Hill when Julia Roberts’ character walked up to a group of guys who were talking about her like she was a piece of meat. A case of art imitating an incident common in daily life. In real, daily life, men get away with it.

Not once did I call my friends out. I did not want to be branded a prude nor that guy who proselytizes when the barkada was just being playful. Besides, my friends already have a default answer to exculpate themselves for this pissing contest from which the crassest is hailed as the alpha.   

“I don’t discriminate against women. I have a mother, a wife, a daughter, and female friends.”

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Navigating Fatherhood 

It scares me now to think that my complicity might create cracks in the righteous mirage I have conjured through which my own prejudices could seep and cloud the nascent worldview that is taking shape in Lilo’s still impressionable mind and value system.

I remind my daughter to always know her worth, yet I enable masculinity that objectifies women. This kind of masculinity, hiding in plain sight in polite society, unravels in deliberate, hushed tones that are almost subliminal. It then slowly builds up to a crescendo of boisterous laughter, all at the expense of women who are not allowed in these private spaces—in group chats, at the poker table, in the conference room, at the sports club—uninvited because respectable gentlemen do not wish to disrespect them. Not blatantly and not to their faces, anyway. Private spaces where men throw out the window any concept of de rigueur. Places and spaces I inhabit.

My wife Paola and I have introduced strong women figures to Lilo. She looks up to NASA research mathematician Katherine Johnson, pioneering aviator Amelia Earhart, Filipina karate world champion Junna Tsukii, Billie Eilish, Senator Risa Hontiveros and Nobel Prize winners Malala Yousafzai and Maria Ressa. I tell Lilo that, as proven by her idols, there are no boundaries to her dreams and ambitions. Experience has shown me that a ceiling does exist, and my silence and acquiescence have contributed to breach-proofing the glass. 

How do I teach Lilo that her place is not at the backseat nor the passenger’s seat, that she can be in the driver’s seat if she so chooses? What kind of relationship should I nurture with Paola to show our daughter how a man must treat his wife as a partner and a co-equal member of the family? How much do I push my daughter to stretch herself beyond her limits so that she would have a drive so tenacious that she could outwork boys?

On most days, I find myself overparenting, which just might be the playbook for suppressing Lilo’s voice and deterring her from being critical. This is how women, throughout the course of history, have been subjugated—by not being allowed to think for themselves and being forced to do as they are told... by men. 

I have been a dad for 12 years but I still have not figured out the ideal landing spot between speaking to my daughter like I know everything and listening more because I have much to learn from her. I know I will have to let my daughter fight her own battles. I just want to make sure she packs a punch because in the free-for-all of life, she might need to fight harder than the sons of my friends.