Search
Close this search box.

When Your 6-Year Old Daughter Smashes the Patriarchy

My daughter is a six-year old force of nature.

She doesn’t so much walk into a room, as she touches down like a tornado; altering the temperature, shaking the walls, and knocking stuff over when she arrives. Fearless and blissfully wide open, she spins her way through this life—and as her Daddy I get to live in the eye of her storm.

She has always been a complex little girl, equal parts Barbie Dolls and flaming swords; tough as nails to stand up to the brash little boys in the neighborhood who cross her, yet sugary sweet, hopping into bed every night for “snuggle time” with Daddy.

But lately there has been a profound disturbance in that equilibrium, a specific rebellion—one that Walt Disney might not sanction.

Today I walked into my daughter’s bedroom, and piled in a corner behind the door, were all her books featuring princesses or crowns or tiaras. One of the covers had even been ripped off. They had all been specifically removed from her book case, which was now left with only animal books and adventure stories. 

This discovery was made just before she walked into my room to tell me that she would no longer be wearing any princess dress pj’s (which until recently constituted nearly all of them). Pink is out, as are ornate detailing and taffeta of any kind. The bedspread and wall decorations can’t be far behind. Heck, we may be approaching total “Flip This Room” territory.

But these grenade revelations were all nothing, compared with the atom bomb she was about to drop on us:

“I don’t want to be a princess for Halloween anymore” she said with great confidence,”I want to be Harley Quinn.”

I may have blacked out for a brief second or two. After composing myself I asked her why, admittedly hoping the hot pants and sledge-hammer were really low on the list. She said, “Because she’s strong.”

I could be wrong, but in some 6-year old way I think my daughter is beginning to smash the Patriarchy—or at least giving it a good swift shot to the mid section. 

“I don’t want to be pretty” she insisted. “I want to be cool. I want to be strong.”

As I tried to explain to that she could be all of those things, I quickly realized that she didn’t want to talk about that right now. That’s a little complicated for her 6-year old mind to wrap itself around just yet. Right now, she just knows that she doesn’t see herself in gowns and sparkling shoes, and certainly doesn’t identify as a damsel in distress waiting for rescue from a cleft-chinned prince on horseback. She’d rather have a lightsaber and the plans to the rebel base so she can kick stormtrooper behinds and take out the Death Star—which is all perfectly fine with me.

I’d be lying if I said that seeing my daughter shed this earlier version of herself, doesn’t come without a bit of grieving; not so much losing the princess part, but losing the little part. She’s growing-up at light speed, and yet as bittersweet as it is, I know she needs to do this. She needs to become who she will become, even if that means I lose a little of who she was

Over the coming years she’ll likely meander into all sorts of personas; maybe eventually even ending up back in tiaras and taffeta. But right now, if shedding those things and resisting the color pink and saying goodbye to princesses for a while, helps her small arms push back against a big world that already wants to tell her what little girls should be and what toys are appropriate and who gets to play the hero, I’m good with that. I’ll celebrate the rebel in her every time.

My daughter already seems to feel a pressure from outside that would seek to define her, and she is already refusing to be defined by anyone but herself. This gives me great joy. Whether she becomes soft, abrasive, girly, tomboy, sassy, independent, spirited, clingy, or all of the above, I’m looking forward to it.

I don’t know who my daughter is going to grow into, but I’m hoping I’ll get a few decades to have a front row seat, because it’s going to be something to see.

Anyway, even though I won’t say it out loud, I know deep down she’ll always be my little princess—even if it is less Sophia and more Leia.

Share this: