Russian team at the 2016 Olympics

As you may have heard, some Russian athletes were barred from participating in the Olympics in Rio in light of alleged large-scale state-sponsored doping, and it's unclear how many will qualify to go. Please read the Wikipedia article on this for adequate depth and balance of coverage that you won't get from a single news source.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doping_in_Russia

My reflections below:

After reading the wiki article, it appears there's substantial evidence for doping cover-ups, much as it pains me to say that, and that would be well within the MO for the current Russian state. I think the IOC's decision is fair. I understand the sentiment of the athletes who are opposed to it - they love their sport and don't want it to be tainted by doubts of unfairness - but I think they have unexamined biases against Russia. How would they want the IOC to react if it were their country?

Also, a unilateral sanction would play squarely into the anti-Western victimization narrative woven by the Russian state. Especially since it's evident there's some doping going on everywhere, the stakes are too high not to. If you follow a sport for years, it's pretty obvious when previously unremarkable athletes all of a sudden start performing exceptionally. There's a race to stay ahead of WADA bans.

I've lamented Russia coverage before, and I've since pretty much come to terms that Wikipedia is the most impartial and exhaustive way to read up on any of these big news items. For example, you can read WADA's accounts of the problems they had collecting samples and understand why 90% of Russian athletes might refuse to be interviewed - their mistrust of WADA is understandable. Of course, some of them live or train in military or restricted access cities, because people live there. And it makes sense they didn't have the best directions, because no one thought to be more specific about X competition that everyone knows about. You can read statements by Russian officials on the matter and see how they're consistent with party-line BS. You can see what other people wrote and evaluate which perspectives are more nuanced, and how the source may have been biased.

It pains me greatly that many Russian athletes will be barred from competing and may even be stripped of their titles as the investigation into previous Olympics continues. I sympathize with them even if they were complacent in the doping cover-up, as the onus of guilt is on the shitty system, run by a power-hungry psychopath with delusions of grandeur. They also love their sport.

Just one final thought that is pertinent from any side of the issue - to think that a large international competition is free from the influence of politics is naive.

Movie Review: Henry & June

Henry & June (1990) gave me mixed feelings from the very beginning. It seemed to drag unnecessarily without doing justice to their writing. The Miller character also struck me as too old and not as charismatic as I imagined. It turns out that the actor playing Miller (Fred Ward) was indeed a bit older (47-48 vs. 40-42), but Miller himself wasn’t actually much of a looker! I did believe Anaïs’s characterization, though. Her apparent innocence is quickly exposed as a setup for character development, as she pushes her boundaries and experiences the sexual liberation she and Henry talk about. This path of self-discovery is what loosely drives the plot.

Film does seem too long, especially by modern standards. It was nominated for an Oscar for its cinematography, and there are definitely enough beautiful moments in it. I was surprised to see similarities with The Hunger (1983) and Blade Runner (1982) in what I now think was the film aesthetic of the eighties, perhaps influenced by Tarkovsky. I felt nostalgic, in this era of extremely short cuts and little extraneous material that works simply to establish the mood. (Only Lovers Left Alive (2013)) is the only recent example of a film following that measured, heavily visual approach I could think of.)

In the end, to get a true sense of these two, I would recommend just reading their books. However, Henry & June, for which the MPAA “NC-17” rating was reportedly invented, fits as a legacy of Miller and Nin’s work; artfully portraying obsessive, messy, passionate human relationships and the intimacies that come with them. It makes a statement against the notions of sex and nudity as shameful, countering also the mainstream easily-defined, fit-in-boxes or completely screwed up, portrayal of relationships. And that is still as necessary and useful in this day and age as it was in the 1930s.

Also, if you like the idea of young Uma Thurman being a beautiful manipulative bitch, definitely watch it.

Chapter 4: Part 1. Каргалинские корни (Kargaly roots)

Трио "Реликт" на стихи С. Есенина - "Клён ты мой опавший"

To my surprise and displeasure, the acclimatization process this time was occurring slower than I remembered 6 years ago. Perhaps due to age, I had lost the ability to integrate into the local time zone after only a day. This time, it took almost a week of not sleeping well and getting dead tired around 18:00-20:00 every night. My mood and energy levels were affected, too – I felt out of it or, as we would say in Russia, не в своей тарелке¹. So, when nana suggested on Day 2 that I come back to the village with her, I was not thrilled about the idea. Fortunately, she managed to convince me otherwise.

Even though I had planned for an extended stay (almost 8 weeks) to allow an ample window for renewing all my documents, there was still a certain time pressure. However, the 1^st through the 7^th of January were now federal holidays in Russia, so none of the administrative offices would be open for another few days. This was a fairly new development, inspired by the density of days off around the beginning of the year: historically, January 1 and 2 were always a holiday because of New Year’s, and Orthodox Christmas has been nationally celebrated on January 7 since 1991. The high likelihood of a weekend falling somewhere between those dates made the first week of the year generally an unproductive time anyway, so in 2005 Putin’s party introduced the so-called “New Year’s Vacation.” Ironically, around election time in 2012, Putin himself said he would be open to the idea of moving some vacation days to the May holidays instead (between May 1 and 9), as most people in Russia still grow vegetation on plots of land outside city limits, making spring a busy period. Labor representatives were plainly pushing to keep the New Year holidays and have more days off in May, though it was unlikely their demands would be met in full. I liked to joke when telling this to foreign friends: “While the rest of the world is dealing with recession, Russia’s biggest problem is when to have their holidays.”

As I arrived on Tuesday (Jan. 3) and there was nothing I could do until next Monday, I agreed to kill some time in the country. My grandfather, who had to stay behind to take care of our birds and livestock, was anxious to see me. Thanks to my uncle’s car ownership and improved roads between Ufa and Kargaly (a village ~100km away), it was now a casual occurrence for him to drive out for a weekend visit or give my grandmother a lift, especially in the winter. Though there is much nostalgia tied to it, I was relieved at the prospect of not getting up at an ungodly hour to catch the train (электричка) that ran twice a day and took close to 3 hours in total travel time (including getting to the station).

Some views from the car on a different trip to the village.

"Зима!.. Крестьянин, торжествуя..."

Equestrian exercise!

When we pulled up to the gates, the dogs were going crazy. Kolobok, a 12-year-old black mutt (a Schnoodle?) whom I still remembered as a puppy, greeted us with a familiar friendly bark. The other dog – a younger and less intelligent Caucasian shepherd mix – joined in the chorus. To keep with tradition, we gave each of them a treat. Back at the Ufa apartment, bones, old bread and other leftovers were collected in a freezer-kept (literally) doggy bag, to be taken to the country. In the winter, my grandmother stews the leftovers with some fat and feeds it to the dogs with a supplement of bread or bones. That way they can still get their share of liquid in freezing temperatures.

After unloading the car and grabbing a bite, my grandmother and I settled in front of the TV, while the men went to wash in the баня first. I’ve found it very difficult to get across the concept of Russian saunas to people unfamiliar with the bath house as a cultural phenomenon. But even compared with countries like Turkey and Sweden, the traditional saunas in Russia are a bit different. They are not just places for cleaning and cleansing, but socializing, as well. In the cities, at least in the Soviet days, the bath houses would serve beer and snacks (often crawfish) poolside that visitors could enjoy after the steam room. The smaller private saunas that many people have in the country or at their dachas will often feature a little entry room, called predbannik, that can serve the same purpose if weather-proof. However, more often people will relax at the house.

Yet, the bathing ritual itself is a social affair. People will go as a group and will first sit around to sweat. Then, they will soap up and wash their hair if needed. As there is often no running water in rural areas, banyas are used as a place to clean up. The most important step is known as попариться в баньке². Russians use veniki³ – bundles of young birch twigs, less frequently oak or other trees – first soaked in water, then steamed, to pat or slap each other all over the body, especially the back. Like any form of massage, it’s more pleasant than painful, especially if the twigs are sufficiently thin and leafy. They also release a pleasant birch aroma when steamed. Nana always told me to put one close to my face and breathe it in for a bit. If they feel too hot, people will jump outside any time of the year to take a break (butt naked, of course). After a final rinse, the ritual is over. Some even like to hop into an outdoor pool of water at the end instead, though that is recognized to carry a risk of heart failure.

Veniki are made in the summer and hung to dry, so they can be
preserved and used over the entire year.

Our banya was built by my grandfather when I was still a little girl, so I grew up with the customs. He’s modified the structure a bit since, but for the most part it stayed just the way I remembered it. A black stove to the left of the entrance, concealed coals glowing red or still blazing with fire; the hissing steam caused by a splash of water on the stones laid out inside the stove, above the coal chamber; a floor of wide wooden planks and wooden table to lie down on for the venik treatment; and – my favorite – a large cubic container of well water on the right, absurd-looking with its silver paint. This banya helped cure my colds and still carries special memories. I miss it periodically, no matter where I am.

Getting used to the road signs was an adjustment. Some are quite different
 and there exist more of them overall than in the US.

More pictures from the road. This winter was considered to be light on snow.
It covered the plains, but just barely. It hardly snowed in the 2 months that I was there.

I tried to capture how colorful the houses tended to be. It makes them easier to distinguish
 from each other and looks better in the seasons when nature is dying/dormant.

In my description of seemingly routine things, I was really struck with the extent of winter’s influence back home. I tend to shun stereotypes, but there truly is a multitude of unique cultural aspects related to the season, born of its length and climate. These features are profound, yet subtle, and only through explaining them to foreign friends did I realize how abundant they were. It’s not that winter in Russia is everlasting or excessively cold (mostly), as common perception abroad suggests. But it is so entwined into Russian folklore, daily life, the very consciousness and fabric of Russians, it has become inseparable from the Russian identity. I’m glad to have experienced it again.
_________________
1 - literally, "not in one's own plate"
2 - to steam oneself in the sauna
3 - I've seen this translated as "besoms," but didn't feel it reflected the meaning properly, so I opted to use a latinization of the Russian word

Chapter 3: Welcome to the Old World

Theme song: Вальс из х/ф "Ирония Судьбы" - М. Таривердиев

I awoke (or was awakened?) groggy from my nap, around 3:30 pm. Though the date hadn’t changed, it felt to me like an entire night had passed since my trip; arriving in darkness probably only enhanced this effect. It was time to eat and go out. My nana and uncle were determined to take me shopping, having evaluated the wardrobe I packed as insufficiently warm.

Our meal of the afternoon differed little from brunch. As I mentioned in the last entry, having meat with breakfast is definitely more typical of country living; my friends confirmed that their morning meals are usually more of a snack – oatmeal, yogurt, bananas, or глазированый сырок (sweetened soft cheese encrusted with a thin chocolate-y layer; delicious). I found my uncle was an exception. He would often eat a hearty breakfast (sometimes consisting of dumplings or turkey broth), probably because of a hectic schedule that may or may not allow for a sit-down lunch. While boiled meat tends not to be what I crave first thing in the morning, it is definitely more advantageous to eat a solid breakfast, if time permits. Daytime and nighttime temperatures usually vary by as much as 10 ^oC (~20 ^oF), which means that the morning trek to work or school may occur in much lower temperatures than expected for the day. Additionally, the body not only needs more calories to function in the cold, these also need to come from substantial sources. As I told a friend via Facebook, “Nothing like a rich fatty broth to help face the -20 ^oC cold.”

Milk with 6% fat content. We normally settled for 3.2-3.5% but I was just amused that this existed.

Another attribute of the Russian winter diet that becomes more prevalent the further one gets away from large cities is a lack of fresh vegetables. Interestingly, none of the locals seemed to really notice it, but as someone who loves fresh green veggies, I can attest that there were not enough. Plant products that were easy to find: potatoes, carrots, beets and other root veggies, yellow onions, garlic, white cabbage. Plant products that were either not for sale everywhere or were not always good quality: zucchini, cucumbers, tomatoes. Plant products I don’t remember seeing at all: lettuce, bell peppers, broccoli, celery, radishes (?), green onions, etc., etc.. In all fairness, fruit were available in much better selection; and in keeping with the season, sweet-tasting mandarins were in blissful abundance. Luckily for me, vitamin deficiency was easy enough to avoid by relying on our national recipes. Russian cuisine is ripe with salads that use “winter” veggies as the base, while fermented cabbage and pickles fulfill a craving for something juicy and crunchy. There were also canned peas and corn, on top of the frozen vegetables I think I remember seeing in stores. All in all, though occasionally missing some foods, I did not mind the situation too much. Moreover, I was amused by rediscovering why it’s impossible to be a vegetarian in most parts of Russia. Not only was the selection of vegetables limited, but I had to think of creative ways and make a conscious effort to include them in my diet. …Because it’s so much easier to just boil some пельмени¹ and call it a day.

Typical dawn, around 10am. View from our kitchen window. The green building is a kindergarten/pre-school.

But returning to observations of Day 1 in the homeland: So. Many. Cars. There were at least 3-4 times as many as I remembered seeing before my departure in ’03. Our дворы² were jam-packed with them, quite a few of the parking spaces improvised. The bloated number of cars was the single most apparent change, reflected by many aspects: wider and better highways, designated parking lots and (multiple!) car dealerships. My uncles jokingly boasted that they now even had “real traffic jams.” I wasn’t sure whether to delight or despair at this new extravagance. Because gas is relatively expensive in most parts of Russia (the price comes out to about the same in $/gal, but the income there is 3-5 times lower, on average), owning a car is still a bit of a luxury. On one hand, it could mean an overall increase in the quality of life and income level for the middle class, now that more of them could afford a vehicle. On the other, it’s a triumph of consumerism, getting more people hooked on the oil needle. And it’s not necessarily a bump in salaries that has churned out more car owners, but the sheer increase in car availability. The domestic market is unpopular, so until foreign dealers opened up plants all over Russia (Nissan, Ford, GM, Peugeot, Toyota and others), decent cars all had to be imported and were therefore even more expensive. Nonetheless, some positive aspects of this auto-boom are apparent: much better and continually improving infrastructure, more jobs and a boost to tax revenue. And given the country’s size, any environmental fallout is conveniently easy to ignore. (For now...)

We hit up a couple of clothes stores to scoop out the prices and a shoe store where my uncle bought me an awesome pair of Finnish fur-lined leather boots as a belated birthday present. My footwear was actually adequate, but such boots are impossible to find in the US. (Though now that I think about it, Minnesota might be the place.) I also got a pair of black pants that looked like a more fashionable version of ski pants and proved a very useful asset over time. As I figured out that same day, the double layer of jeans and woolen tights was clearly not cuttin’ it. We passed on feather and down jackets, partly because we didn’t really see any we liked much, and partly because, well, I would have no use for one here. They also shed feathers over time and were generally more expensive over there. It just didn’t seem worth it. Besides, my Canadian sheepskin coat with raccoon fur on the hood seemed a bit special: raccoons are endemic to North America.

Finally, we headed back just as the last store was closing, and my jet-lagged self finally got to pass out after an eventful first day. But more importantly, my caring relatives probably felt a little more confident in preventing pneumonia and frozen appendages in a girl who thought she came prepared for the winter that awaited her 13^o of latitude north.

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1 - meat dumplings

2 - courtyards

Chapter 2: The Homecoming

As I was writing this post after almost 3 weeks in Russia, there were certain words that readily came to me in Russian that I could not translate. I doubt I ever actually knew them in English, but I decided to keep them as evidence of the adaptation of my language that is interesting to me and might be of interest to some of my friends. I include their translation at the bottom.

Theme song: "Родина" - ДДТ

As my plane touches down around 6am local time, I observe with excitement the snow covering most of the field. Somehow, even this snow seems familiar. It could have been just my imagination, but it was at least a welcome change after a snowless Chicago. I make my way through the small two-story airport building – passport control, luggage claim, customs. The passport lady (an officer of the police) takes a long time with my expired passport, studying the permit of entry. In Russia, passport control is a branch of the правоохранительные органы (literally, “right-protecting organs” = the police). While I waited, I thought how it might be useful to learn the different ranks reflected by the погоны¹ on the uniforms.

My uncle and second uncle greeted me at the “finish line.” As usual, it felt nice to be welcomed after a long journey. On the way home we chatted easily. They had many questions about us (me and my parents) and life over there in general. Predictably, talk of the weather came up almost instantly. My uncle asked whether I had only brought jeans and commented that my дубленка² was a bit thin. I tried to say I had brought extra layers, but they seemed unconvinced. I could understand them, seeing that it was about -15C outside. There was also snow, real snow, and trees adorned with иней³. The guys complained that it was “a little humid.” At first, I wasn’t sure what they meant, as I considered humidity impossible at any temperature below freezing. The air to me seemed perfectly normal, but I reminded myself that the climate here is normally dry, especially compared to swampy Chicago. It’s no wonder I dislike humidity so much, born and raised mostly among these steppes, close to the continental divide and well away from any large bodies of water.

It was around 8am when we finally made it home, twenty-five and a half hours after I left the Berwyn bungalow. Conveniently, there was now an exact 12-hour time difference between Ufa and Chicago; in a move completely becoming of Russian leaders, President Medvedev ended Daylight Savings in Russia in 2011. Also completely typical with such decisions, they now kept the country an hour ahead on summer time, which meant that in the winter, dawn came inconveniently late. (Pretty much everyone I’ve conversed with has expressed dissatisfaction with the situation.) Thus, at the morning hour when we reached our destination, it was still pitch black. The darkness and lack of human activity combined with my fatigue and a yet unadjusted biological clock almost convinced me it was nighttime. I was looking forward to a nap.

But before I could pay a visit to Morpheus, there was some washing up and feeding to do. Nana (as I will refer to my paternal grandmother for distinction – a term that sounds similar to the Tatar нәнәй I grew up using) offered us pieces of roasted turkey, boiled potatoes, квашеная капуста (lightly fermented cabbage), homemade pirozhki, and her signature baked dish for dessert, called “хворост” or “brushwood.” This was a somewhat unusual breakfast not only for me, but most Russian urbanites as well, but more on that later. I was too exhausted to really appreciate my grandmother cooking and running my hot bath; perhaps also because it was no surprise that she’d be waiting for me at home. Looking back, though, I feel a surge of gratitude for all my family did to make a weary traveler’s homecoming truly feel like one.

_________________________

1 - strap
2 - sheepskin coat
3 - frost

Russia Trip Chapter 1: The Travel

I am finally starting to post entries from Russia. So far they are turning out more like journal entries than articles, but I'll try to aim for a more balanced blend of impressions vs. information in the future.

Theme Song: "Из Алма-Аты" - Ногу Свело!

Jan 2, 11am (7pm local time)
Ataturk Airport, Istambul

After multiple unsuccessful attempts, I’ve given up trying to connect to the Internet. Different networks, locked and unlocked, all tell the same story: status “Connected” but “No Internet Access.” It seems like it’s a problem common among at least American users. When I approached a gentleman on his Mac who sounded like someone from the States, he testified that his attempts to get online have also failed. I’m making a mental note to ask Sevi about this.
 

Turkish mineral water disclosing its pH content

Right now I am sitting at an airport bistro with half a liter of Efes Pilsen. Like Sevi said, it does seem like it’s the only kind of beer they serve. I’m finding it quite drinkable, though an unremarkable lager.

 An exhibit of traditional wares at the airport.

Jan 11, 00:20 (12:20 pm Chicago time)

Apartment, Ufa

My notes from earlier got interrupted by the arrival of my meal. I no longer recall what it was called on the menu, something to do with “fajitas.” It consisted of grilled strips of chicken and beef served over peppers and onions, with flour tortillas, guac, salsa and sour cream on the side. The food and beer came as a combo and cost me $25, tips included. Overall, it hardly resembled the Mexican dish, but the quality was pretty good, so no complaints there.

The bistro was getting filled to capacity, and shortly after I sat at a table for two, I was joined by a middle-aged gentleman also apparently seeking to pass the time between flights. Eventually we got to talking and ended up having quite a conversation, learning about each other and touching on a variety of topics. He turned out to be a Kurdish doctor living in Holland of Iraqi origin; a highly educated and interesting man. He was waiting for a connecting flight to Suleimanyah to visit his parents for a week. In the meantime, I learned about his sister, a mechanical engineer in Iraq, and his brother also living in Holland, who, after studying political science in college, now made a living as a sculptor, unable to find employment in his field. Nzar – a name that means “shadow of the mountain” in Kurdish – also had an artistic streak. He demonstrated some examples of his artwork on his phone. What I remember most were portraits of his sister’s kids in either pencil or charcoal. They were not photographic, but each one was depicted with a distinct facial expression, which added a touch of realism.

Jan 14, 00:20

Apartment, Ufa

We ended up talking right until it was my time to board. The poor doctor’s flight was delayed by 8 hours, and he’d have to wait at the airport until about 7 AM. Towards the end, we both indulged in some Turkish ice-cream (his treat). Neither of us could tell if it was any different from other ice-cream, but it was good. The flight back was uneventful. Fortunately, the passengers were sparse, so I was able to stretch out on my row of seats for a nap.

Turkish ice cream server. Unfortunately, he didn't show off like this guy.

Overall, my experience at the Ataturk airport was pleasant, minus the Wi-Fi fiasco. Pretty good service and overall cleanliness. Though, when I was told it was a “nice” airport, I wasn’t expecting to see Hermes, Bulgari, Versace, et al. on premises. Also, it felt different to be surrounded by a hodge-podge of languages again. I heard Russian, English (US and UK), French and Italian, though I’m sure there were others I did not recognize. But seeing and hearing all the announcements in Turkish reminded me how long it had been since I visited a country where I didn’t at least have moderate knowledge of the primary language, and how it can be a bit disconcerting. Turkey seems like a beautiful country. Given its large proportion of coastline, no wonder it’s a popular vacation spot. I would definitely like to come back for a proper visit some day.

Response to sexist comment

This was in response to an article about poll results on the preferred gender of one's child.


This article made me think of my own upbringing and how it may or may not have been affected by my gender. Growing up, I never felt that I somehow got special treatment because of my gender, and now looking back through a feminist lens, the only area where I can see it playing a role was corporal punishment. Not that I wasn't smacked on the heinie once in a while, but I did not make acquaintance with a belt in the same way my dad and uncle did in their day. But this could also have been a generational change in attitude.


To all the men worrying about what to do with or how to relate to girls, I am proud to say that I have a good relationship with my father, and that there are a number of activities we do together for fun, including sports. As an only child, I also grew up helping him with auto and home repairs, along with other mechanical work. Occasionally, we shop together (primarily for sports clothes, if it's just the two of us) and it's typically the two of us going rafting, biking, or other outdoorsy stuff.

An argument can be made that this outcome is an accidental result of my particular situation, rather than a logical culmination of specific choices in upbringing. Part of the reason my dad and I are usually the ones engaged in indoor or outdoor recreation is that my mom doesn't enjoy as much physical activity as we do. It's just not her thing, so that left me as an only choice of compainion. However, I legitimately enjoy it, because it was my father's side of the family that nurtured this tendency, by engaging me in a lot of activity, teaching me about good sportsmanship, and stressing the importance of exercise afforded by sports. Maybe your daughter will enjoy football, maybe she won't. But there are so many different ways in which to use one's body, it should be no trouble to find some physical activity you can both enjoy. As with all instances of child sports, it doesn't have to be played by adult rules. The important thing is to get her to try different things and experience the rewards of participating: a fun, exhilirating workout.

I do sometimes wonder if I'd be spending more time with my dad, had I been born a male. The truth is, though, the are few, if any, things my dad enjoys that I don't find interesting enough to at least discuss. He doesn't like to watch sports and doesn't follow any specific teams (though he will with big events, like the Olympics or FIFA). He doesn't hunt or fish in his spare time. He's not particularly moved by cars, is not a beer or barbecue snob, and does not support a particular political party. Most action flicks leave him cold, if they don't have a good script or cinematography to go along. In other words, he doesn't really care for any of the manly man things prescribed by modern society. Instead, he has a wide range of interests, reading up on everything from gadgets and technology to politics and current events, to history and biographical details. Gaming, sports, and intellectual curiousity for diverse topics are all things we have in common. Sure, if I were a male, perhaps I would match his knowledge and passion more in areas like sports, computers and general handiness and technical savvy. But I don't think that my relative inexperience in these areas hurts our bond whatsoever. It simply exhibits itself in the forms of master and apprentice, doer and helper, pro and newbie. Some times I have even risen to be a competitor, as with table tennis.

From every perspective, I've been very lucky to have been born into and raised by my family. They spent a lot of resources and time on my upbringing, teaching me what's important and treating me mostly without the contraints of rigid gender roles. What if I had siblings of the other sex? Perhaps things would have been different, but the point is, forming a bond with your children has nothing to do with their gender and everything to do with how you chose to spend time with them.

In response to Comment #13: "Close, but here are some other reasons: Raising boys is easier. You let them go and do their thing. Once in awhile they need some medical attention as a result of their activities, but that's about it. Boys just want to go have fun, girls are having fun one minute and crying the next. Most boys will throw on whatever rags that are nearby that could possibly qualify as clothes. Girls are always wanting more expensive clothes in styles that may not be age-appropriate. Having a daughter exposes you to future financial risks. There is the chance she will be pregnant by some low-life male who has no means to support the baby. Guess who pays instead? Guess who pays for the wedding too? And guess which gender earns less on average, meaning it will be more difficult to get a return on your investment? Girls again. Having a girl is a much more difficult experience financially and emotionally."

First of all, "raising boys is easier" is a stereotype. There are girls who are very independent and boys who require constant attention. I would argue that a child's character in that respect is not significantly incfluenced by their gender. What MIGHT be relevant, however, is the willingness of the parents to grant independence to male vs. female children, which probably starts manifesting itself early on. Boys may be more likely to "go and do their thing" because their parents start letting them do that earlier, while keeping a closer eye on female children. And I, personally, was perfectly happy reading books or playing with dolls or toy soldiers when I was 3-7 y.o. quietly, on my own, and without getting upset or needy, as you seem to suggest girls are wont to do. In fact, around that age I would also spend summers at my grandmother's and would often stay out playing with other kids for whole days, my grandmother having to call me in for meals (talk about low maintenance). But, even assuming gender-stereotyped activities, how are more broken things, more frequent trips to the doctor, more torn clothes, etc. easier to deal with than whatever trouble girls might be? (Could it be because those are problems one can just throw money at - buy new things, pay for medical care, etc. vs. dealing with "emotional" girls?) Sometimes kids are just a headache, and that's that.

I won't dwell much on the next raging stereotype, besides pointing out that brands like A&F, American Eagle, and others are equally expensive for both genders. And what about sports gear? A parent wouldn't let their son play football, baseball or soccer in "whatever rags that are nearby," would they? Let's also not forget that for every little princess there is a tomboy.

Moving on to the pregnancy argument and "age-appropriate" clothing. Welcome to the challenges of teenage years! Yes, these are things parents of a 13-18 y.o. girl are likely to worry about. On the other hand, young men could be facing their own demons in the form of drugs and reckless behavior. Not to mention a myriad of issues affecting both genders: body image, popularity, balancing school and social life, depression, the temptations of underage drinking and substance use, just to name a few. This is why parenting a teen, any teen, is hard work. But let's look at the core of the above-mentioned concerns: as someone who once was a teenage girl and knew many others, I believe these concerns could be entirely alleviated, if a young girl is raised with a healthy body image and right values. Contraceptive education wouldn't hurt either. That way, she would hopefully be putting effort in something productive rather than catching the eye of some dude, and spending her free time with friends who are a positive influence, rather than a horny low-life male with no means. I mean, I'm assuming you wouldn't want your teenage son to end up impregnating some girl or getting in trouble with the law, would you? No, surely you'd teach your son better than that. I guarantee that teaching a girl would be no different. Just like with boys, averting poor consequences takes investing time in the right upbringing. It also sounds like you are hoisting financial responsibility for the consequences of a pregnancy entirely on the woman's side, because, wait, if you had a son with no job who got a girl pregnant, what would you do? Would you recognize equal responsibility and give, or at least loan your son the money to pay for half of the expenses?

Skipping ahead now, to address "return on investment." As was mentioned in another Economix article, women are the more likely caregivers for their elderly relatives. So, even if your son is doing quite well for himself, where's the guarantee he'll be investing any of his wealth in your care in old age? Maybe he'd feel responsible enough to put you in a home, which sounds like the outcome you'd want anyway, since you're so concerned with the financial returns, rather than the unpaid time and effort a family member may offer instead of leaving you in the hands of strangers.

I'm assuming the other half of the argument hinted at having to support a daughter longer than a son, due to her lower projected earnings. It's sadly true that there is still gender discrimination in the workplace. But nowadays, thanks to the push for gender equity and a shift in public opinion, most of the wage discrepancy comes from a higher percentage of women in lower-paying jobs, rather than overt sexist denial of equal pay for equal work. Which means that a girl still has a pretty good chance of earning enough to support herself and (gasp) even pay for her own wedding. Instead of assuming that girls are a burden and treating them as such, encourage them to pursue careers in the higher-paying fields, to continue their education, to excel at what they do. Guess what? You won't have to support a girl any more than you would a boy, if you stress to her in equal measure the importance of being able to support herself. Or do you think boys are bound to succeed in life without any involvement on your part?

I hope you reconsider your position; but given how much bias and stereotyping your comment betrays, a girl would probably be better off being born to someone else (if such choice were possible).