Fathers and Sons 

Joshua Doležal 

When my wife and I scheduled an ultrasound during her third pregnancy, I expected another girl. The odds were pretty much fifty-fifty, but after watching the coin fall the other way two times previously, I had come to think of myself—and with some relief—as a father to daughters. One does not expect to be struck down on the road to Thebes by one’s daughter, for instance. But it might also have been that the cultural narratives available to me translated more readily into mentoring girls and young women who might imagine every avenue open to them. Masculinity had become a dark energy to guard against, the systemic foil to every plot in the Rebel Girls podcast series my daughters loved. In fact, I had been redefining my own understanding of manhood for many years and wasn’t sure I had firm enough footing on that ground to point a boy in the right direction. Perhaps that was why my first thought, when the nurse drew an arrow to a short appendage on the screen, was Oh, no, the poor girl has only half an arm. When the knowledge that we’d be having a boy hardened into certainty, I felt a curious swirl of elation and panic.