David Minerva Clover
Bio
David Minerva Clover Articles
We’re trying to raise him with a lot of options and very few assumptions, but I won’t be mad at you if you call my kid “handsome little boy” or something. It’s fine. People have a hard time talking about babies without gendered labels. Even I have a hard time with it, and I’ve put a kind of ridiculous amount of energy into analyzing this stuff.
However, I do have one favor to ask. Please, for the love of everything that is good in this world, stop calling him “little man.”
Read...To knowingly include stories with deeply problematic themes strikes me as just adding fuel to the fire.
Read...My kid, who turned three the day after Mary the duckling died, wasn’t old enough to get any of it. Yet talking to toddlers about death is part of life.
Read...Despite our relative insulation from homophobia, my wife and I are not unaware of the situation. There are plenty of people in this country who don’t believe that we have the right to exist, to be married, or to raise a child together.
Read...Back when we decided to have a baby together, we had a plan. She was never, ever going to have to work full-time. She was going to work part-time, and I was going to work part-time, selling dog food at that cute little store I used to work at. We would have one day off a week in common, and we would be broke, but we would get by. We would be tired, but we would be happy.
Read...The whole concept of salaries for stay-at-home moms reveals both the classism in parenting culture and what we really think about poor people.
Read...Here’s the thing though, hating romantic comedies, and avoiding them when I could, didn’t stop me from absorbing their all consuming messages about love, sex, and romance.
Read...None of us follows any one parenting philosophy to a T; we’re all making split-second decisions about what is and isn’t dangerous.
Read...I am at the bar, working on a piece about kids’ books, while my wife stays home to mind the baby. The lady next to me strikes up a conversation about this and that. Then she notices that I’m still casually clutching a copy of Guess How Much I Love You?
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