As recent harassment charges against high-profile celebrities have come to light, it’s a fantastic time for us ‐ men, that is ‐ to take a good hard look at our actions and attitudes. And that’s why I’d like to formally apologize for everything I did prior to having a daughter. Mea culpa. But I think I can explain myself.

Since creating a girl person, I’ve become what you might call “woke”. Prior to fatherhood, I had no idea what it was like to be someone whose sole interests didn’t include throwing balls and looking at cars with other men. Did women think like us? Could they see color? Were they able to distinguish between hot and cold? Did they have two sets of eyelids, like a frog? What it really came down to was, they sure looked a lot like us but, lacking a pickup truck and a desire to eat hot wings, were they even human? How could we be sure that their unmoored souls hadn’t slipped down into the dark, cavernous and unknowable depths of their purses and disappeared entirely, leaving the hollow shell of a person behind?

So you can understand why I didn’t hesitate to tell Andrea from Accounting that I wouldn’t mind crunching her numbers. It was a compliment, for god’s sake. It means you’re pretty. Do you want to be like Angela from Accounts Payable? I never once told her she has an ass I could bounce a quarter off of. Know why? Because she doesn’t. That ass is mediocre at best. In fact, no one even pays attention to Angela. What does she do all day? Just focus on her work and do well at her job? Sad. People feel bad for her. Maybe that’s why they gave her that promotion.

Anyways, like I said, I was trying to give a compliment. Just like the time I told Denise from Marketing I’d like to have her full page spread in my paper, and why I suggested to Nancy from Reception that we fuck and then never speak again. None of them would mind. Like how no one minds when I kick puppies. Do puppies feel pain? Christ, I don’t know, do I look like a puppy to you?

It’s also why I call the masculinity of other men into question whenever I get the chance. It’s a lot like swimming underwater; if you’re blowing bubbles out of your mouth while you’re under, water can’t possibly get up your nose, and if you’re calling out out other men’s masculinity all the time, you couldn’t possibly be weak yourself.

But once I created a girl, everything became clear. What would you say if I told you that all humans are basically the same? When my daughter was born, I looked deep into her eyes, and I knew. But just to make sure, I pinched her, hard, and she cried, so then I really knew. She could feel pain!

At that moment, something primal stirred inside of me. From the depths of my person, a memory bubbled up and I remembered that I have a mom, a sister AND a grandmother. ALL WOMEN. And I remember all of them having feelings at one point or another in my upbringing.

As time went on, my convictions only grew stronger. Sometimes my daughter had thoughts, just like a kid who is a boy. And then one day she came home and told me that she wanted to grow up and work.

“Like washing a car in a bikini in a calendar?” I said. She looked at me, confused.
“Like turning around letters on a game show?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Baking cupcakes?” I asked.

But no, the job was a real job, one that had to do with the maths, and then I knew that I couldn’t deny the truth any longer. I had created an actual person.

Now that I have myself created a person who is not a man, I denounce everything that I ever did when I was a man without a child who was not a man, but also I forgive myself and you should too, because how could I have known?

What I’m telling you is that if you ever ask my daughter if she’s wearing space pants or Windex pants, or invite her to a party in your pants, or whatever the hell you neanderthals are saying these days, I will fuck.you.up. Because, Jesus, man! That’s someone’s fucking daughter! Are you serious?

Also, while I can’t confirm it myself, my vet tells me that animals have nerve endings and therefore experience pain, so lay off the dogs, eh? Mostly my daughter, though.