“아빠, are you a feminist?” 

“No, why would I be a feminist? I don’t believe in that.”

This was the start of one of the hardest but very liberating conversations I had with my father after dinner one night. 

I will preface this post by saying I love my dad, I think he’s the best. These conversations are particularly hard for me because my dad and I argue in the same manner so without my sister or mom there to proctor the debate, we could both end up in passionate tears and fury when in reality we are arguing for the same thing.

What can I say? I got it from my daddy. 

When I was growing up, sports were huge in our family. My uncle loves soccer and fitted me in  Manchester United jerseys every growth spurt, making me the coolest 5 year old during Sports Day at school. Some of my fondest memories from middle school, amid my pubescent angst, was watching the Denver Broncos with my dad Sunday nights with hot dogs and queso ready on the table (yes, that is the extent of his cooking skills). 

I dabbled in ballet, golf, soccer, basketball, volleyball, and I swam for a really big portion of my life until high school. Being active was a part of my lifestyle, going to practice was a norm, and my dad watching my games and annoyingly telling me to kick faster during swim meets was something I was all too familiar with. 

I knew my dad loved sports, so why would his daughter not like them too? Why is it that whenever a male classmate would come into class on Monday and talk to his friends about the Broncos game, I was never invited into the conversation? Or when I did say something, they ask me if I actually watched the whole game or just watched the highlights? Or when I wore an Clevland Indians hat to church one week, I was asked “Do you even know what team that is? You probably only know the Dodgers, huh?” And that when I gave the right answer, he was shocked and wildly impressed …all because I knew the name of the team. 

I wanted to tell this guy, I bought this hat with my dad earlier that day and told me all about the players on this team because somehow he predicted that some guy would question me about this, but wanted me to give an answer confidently. My dad taught me because he knew some little punk kid was going to doubt his daughter’s knowledge about an article of clothing. 

Why is it that when I told people I wanted to be in the military, they looked at me with wide eyes and ask me why or how I got the motivation to do that, but when my male friend says the same thing, they pat him on the back and affirm him that it is a career path that fits him? Why is it that when I raise my hand in class I wait for my professor to call on 5 other students before he calls on me even though I’ve had my hand up the longest? And of course cuts me off anyway. Why is it that when I tell people I don’t want to have kids, they dismiss me and tell me I will regret it later in life or that I am too young to know? Why is it that I have to run with one earbud in because I am scared to run with both in? Why is it that when I say something in meetings I am bossy and not a boss? Why is it that when I wear a skirt to my internship I need to be cognizant of how I look in front of my older Korean bosses? 

I asked my dad all these questions. I asked him not expecting that many questions to come out of my mouth. The more I asked, the more his eyes widened and the less words were coming out of his mouth. 

He sat there for a minute and just looked at me, my sister, and my mom. 3 women in his life that look at him and ask, “Why is this happening to us?” He was at a loss of words, and let me just say that, doesn’t happen often. 

I calmly said, “아빠, I hate to break it to you, but you are a feminist and as much as you might not like that, it is the truth. When I had a speech or presentation to give, you always made me practice and you would listen to it, tell me what to fix, and tell me what sucked. You were honest, not to hurt my feelings, but to make me the best. That would not have changed if I was a son.”

“You taught me to be ready for anything, to always be prepared and come with my best. You told me I needed to learn how to throw a football, so you practiced with me while all the other boys laughed at me until I was throwing better than them. You told me to be the freaking president. You taught me everybody on this planet needs to know all the songs on Prince’s Purple Rain album, how to politely talk to waiters when your food is messed up, how to pick the best fruit at the market, to listen more than you talk, to always put family first, and that Saturday mornings are for brunch, always. You didn’t love me any less because I was a daughter.”

And I believe that he would’ve taught me those same things, even if I was a boy. I know my dad is proud to have daughters and he would do anything to protect us, but he always raised us knowing that we could also protect ourselves too. So, Dad, if you’re reading this, I hope you’re proud of raising daughters who know that their gender is not a limitation but an asset. I am proud to advocate for myself and dream big because of you. Here’s to the strong women who raised us, but the men who let us thrive.