I was getting ready to leave my boyfriend, Will’s, house and head home for the night, when he said, “we were good parents today.” We had spent all afternoon playing with his two little boys, catching them as they jumped into the pool, coaxing them into eating dinner, making them take a bath, reading bedtime stories, and tucking them into bed in the particular way each one likes. When Will and I went downstairs to watch some TV, we marveled that the boys were both still asleep. Usually one of them will come downstairs a few minutes after bedtime, needing just one more hug from both of us. We celebrated this small victory, that we had worn them out with fun.
He said “we.” That was the first time I’d been called a parent. I was surprised by it that night, but he’s right. I’ve been helping parent these two precious boys for a year now. They are blessed with four loving parents. On the days they aren’t with us, they are with their mommy and stepdad. All of us bring different gifts to the table, and all of us are trying our best to raise two healthy, happy kids. I arrived a little late to the party – the boys were three and five years old when I met them – but now that I’m here, I cherish being part of their lives. I love hearing their bedtime prayers, finding out what they most want to thank God for that day. Sometimes they’re thankful for splashing in the pool, other times they thank God for friends, or their dog, or stretchy pants.
I love their honest questions and observations about the world. And I love that they listen when I challenge those observations. It’s astonishing how early kids start learning and observing gender stereotypes. Even though their mommy is a doctor and their daddy is vocal in his admiration for strong women, every now and then I still catch the boys saying, “but girls can’t do that.” I remind them that girls can and girls do. Girls can be doctors, like their mommy. Girls can be pastors or write books, like me. Girls can be lawyers, like their Aunt Ashby. Girls can be teachers and principals, like their Aunt Ginny. And I sometimes have to reinforce the other side of the equation. Yes, pink can be a boy’s favorite color; one of the boys they played with at church last Sunday loves pink and glittery things. Yes, boys can like cartoons about girls like Doc McStuffins, and girls can like cartoons about boys like The Batman.
I’m thankful that the boys have a wonderful father who models nurturing and kindness for them, who doesn’t shame them when they cry, who teaches them by example how to treat women as the equal partners we are. Learning happens in the little moments. When we watched the new Star Wars movie together, Will and I commented to the boys how brave Rey is, how she is more powerful with the Force than anyone. And when the youngest tells me, “You’re really strong, Miss Stacy!” just for getting the milk out of the fridge by myself, I don’t dismiss it. I say, “I am strong. Thank you for being an encourager!” They like giving encouragement. And as a new parent, I’ll take all of it I can get.
Stacy N. Sergent is a graduate of the School of Divinity at Gardner-Webb University. She is a CBF-endorsed chaplain at MUSC Medical Center in Charleston, South Carolina. Her first book is Being Called Chaplain: How I Lost My Name and (Eventually) Found My Faith.