I've been thinking a lot over the past few days about what it means to be a good man, whether that is something I can legitimately call myself, and who gets to decide.

Juliette thinks I'm being ridiculous. "You're so good," she said to me, "and it's crazy that you're letting this get to you so much."

The "this" that she's referring to is that someone told me over the weekend that I'm sexist. It turned out that this person's opinion of me was based in large part (though perhaps not entirely) on a misunderstanding we'd had several years ago, one which was my fault. I apologized and tried to explain better, and as far as I know we've now reconciled and have agreed to let bygones be bygones. Still, it's been eating at me ever since.

A man protesting that he's not sexist after an accusation of such always sounds to me a lot like my son when we tell him that he's acting like he's tired—no matter how strenuous his objections, it's usually not long before he nods off. He's sincere and honest in his objection, but he just doesn't have the perspective to know. I don't believe that I'm sexist, and I do believe that I'm a good man. I don't know how to prove that to someone who claims I'm not, though, and I suspect that the reason it bothers me so much is because I worry that they're right.

I was raised by a single mother, who is one of the strongest and most hard-working people I've ever known, and who is, more than any other single person, responsible for who I am today. I'm the husband of an amazing and intelligent woman who, among other things, has more academic honors and advanced degrees than I'm likely to ever have. I'm the father of a daughter who I want to grow up to be an empowered and confident woman, who I never want to be kept from accomplishing something because of her gender. I'm also the father of a son who I want to grow up to be a respectful and fair-minded man. It's important to me that I live up to my responsibilities to them all.

I think about sexism a lot, both in the context of society at large and my own behaviors and attitudes. There are a lot of things about the treatment of women about which I am outraged and offended. I know for certain that I am not a pig—that if I am sexist, it is not obvious. But it doesn't have to be obvious. I find that I don't always agree with the conclusions of feminist analyses that I read, or that I come away with more questions than answers. I tell myself that being a man doesn't invalidate my perspective, that it's good to be balanced, that I do not believe in intellectual orthodoxy, or in limiting the rights of people to hold opinions or engage in discussions. But maybe I only think that because, as a man, I'm used to a certain privilege. Maybe I am, underneath a veneer of enlightened manhood, actually the kind of asshole that I want not to be.

So I'd like to take the opportunity to use this space to explore some of my attitudes and beliefs about women, feminism, and sexism. Over the next few weeks or months I'm going to take a look at the subtleties and details, the things that aren't obvious. I'll try to explain my point of view, and ask the questions that I can't resolve for myself. You can feel free to join in via the comments—ask your own questions, give your answers to mine, express your support, or tell me how and why I'm wrong. All I ask is that we keep it civil.

This might be a terrible idea, and I'm more than a little nervous about what I might find out about myself. But I think it's important for me to do this, because I want to be a good man, and if I'm not, I need to know.

Beeswax. It makes a great lip balm. It's also something you should mind—but only your own.

You have probably seen this week's "Are You Mom Enough?" cover of Time. At least, judging from my Facebook feed and the blog buzz about it you have. I have no doubt that the photographer, Martin Schoeller, and Time's cover editors were fully aware of how riled up that cover would get people. It is, after all, exactly the kind of thing about which people these days feel a need to opine. You know what, though? This is not something that falls into the category of "your beeswax."

"But! But!" I can hear the objection coming already. "Don't you think she's screwing up her kid by keeping him on the breast so long? My God, don't you think it's weird?"

Yes, of course I think it's weird. You know what else I think is weird? Something you do in your family. Yes, you—all of you. And of course I think she's screwing up her kid, not because she's extending breastfeeding or following attachment practices but because she's a parent. You are screwing up your kids too. So am I.

Look, every single one of us is going to get it wrong with our kids. The best we can hope to do is to minimize the damage we cause and give our kids the means to cope with the rest.

And aren't there enough real problems in the world without having to find new things to get upset about? On the scale of things for me to care about, this is somewhere between how other people make their hot dogs and whether or not they put sweaters on their pets. Are they doing something I wouldn't do? Sure. Does it affect me? No, not really.

So, sure, maybe I think it's weird if some family wants to breastfeed their kids until they're twelve. But odds are, their kids are going to be fine, and parenting is hard enough on a good day; the last thing most of us need is some nosy blowhard butting into our lives to tell us what we're doing wrong.

It does cut both ways, of course. That other family over there? The one that bottle fed from day one and Ferberized their kids? Those kids are going to be fine, too. Maybe that's not how you would raise your own children, but it's none of your business.

None of us are perfect. We're all doing the best we can. Let's all just take a deep breath and get back to minding our own beeswax.

I am a man. I am a father and husband. Around my house, I am responsible for things like taking the garbage cans out to the curb, squashing spiders, grilling, putting up Christmas lights, administering our home computer network, changing lightbulbs and batteries, assembling new furniture and electronics, and balancing our checking account. And, yes, I watch the occasional game of football.

I also kiss boo-boos. I clean the kitchen and dining room, every day. I change diapers. I feed babies. I bathe my son and brush his teeth and put his pajamas on. I take my son to school. I do laundry. I rock my daughter to sleep. I give my kids as many hugs and kisses as they'll allow. I play with them, but I also educate them about the rules of the house and society, and enforce those rules, and do so calmly. I sing to my son every night. I show up to doctor's and dentist's appointments, and teacher conferences, dance recitals, and music lessons. I am, in almost every conceivable way, as much a parent as my wife is.

Of course, none of that will stop people from automatically assuming that Juliette does everything around the house and that I'm essentially a very large child, obsessed with games and toys and not really a contributor to my family in any non-financial way. And no one will ever honor or venerate me as a nurturer or life-giver. I can't lactate or carry a child or give birth, so none of the rest of it really matters, not in terms of getting any respect as a parent.

Why does this even matter to me? After all, the people who really matter and who really know me—including the most important one, Juliette—know that I'm a good dad and a good husband. It shouldn't matter to me when some woman I've barely met rolls her eyes and mutters "Men..." It shouldn't offend me that the primary representation of fatherhood in TV and movies is of a bumbler who barely knows his children. It shouldn't bother me that Father's Day cards and commercials almost all have the message "You don't really want to be doing this parenting thing anyway, so why don't you take the day off?"

But it does. It really, really does.

I know it sounds like I'm trying to eat my cake and have it, too. I get that women have it bad in this world. No, I really do. I know that women receive less pay for the same work and less respect for the same level of expertise. I know that the vast majority of property and businesses are owned by men. I know that there is a systemic bias in our culture that steers girls away from "masculine" fields like science, technology, and business leadership. I know all of that, and, believe me, I am outraged by it. I hated it before I was a father, and now that I have a daughter, I hate it even more. I tell my daughter—who is too young to know what I'm saying yet—that she is beautiful, but I also tell her that she is smart and strong and that she has value apart from the way she looks, and that she can be anything she wants to be. I tell those things to my son, too.

So, yes, I know there is inequality in the world, and that I am a member of a group that benefits from that inequality. I also know that we live in a culture where the stories we choose to tell ourselves, especially at this time of year, teach us that the things that we associate with masculinity—physical prowess, career, money, authority—are ultimately shallow, immature, or empty, and that the truly important things in life are home, family, and personal relationships. The things that I'll never really be given credit for, not in any general sense.

And you know, maybe I could still deal with all of that if not for the fact that my kids seem to feel the same way. Oh, I know they love me, but it still stings that Jason's first request in the morning, every morning, is "Mommy," and if he sees me first instead, he cries. That he'll often ask for her to sub in during my parts of our routine, but rarely the other way around. That he usually only cries for me when I'm not around, but often cries for her when she's right there. Eva seems to show that preference, too, though at this point I'm hopeful that it's mostly due to her desire to eat.

In the end, all I can do is what I already do: the best I can. I hear tell that the current crop of dads is the most involved and nurturing group of men in several generations. Maybe by the time I'm a grandfather, fathers will get the recognition that I seem to want so badly now.

I'm not really holding my breath, though.

"The Popculturist Hears WTF":

There’s something about funny people that has always been fascinating to me. A truly funny person has that combination of intelligence, insight, and charisma that is immediately recognizable and impossible to ignore. I think, too, part of the allure is the recognition of a skill or talent that I don’t have, myself, but that I respect and admire in others.

"Credibility Vs. Transparency: A Closer Look at NPR and Its Ethics Code":

Twice in the past month, NPR (National Public Radio) has found itself in hot water over the application of its ethics policy. Two weeks ago, they drew criticism over a memo sent from the news department to staffers reminding them, among other things, that they were not allowed to attend Jon Stewart’s and Stephen Colbert’s upcoming rallies. Then, last week, they fired long-time news analyst Juan Williams after some remarks he made on Fox News’ The O’Reilly Factor. In both cases, the network came under fire for political bias and for stifling free speech.

"Old Books: Don't Judge a Book By Its Megabytes":

The first time I ever had a writing piece published was in my senior year of high school when an essay I wrote for my English class made it into the local paper. My teacher had assigned us to answer the question, “Will computers ever replace books?” Being the book-lover that I am, I said no.

Last night I went out for dinner with Juliette, Jason, and her parents and brother. It was a pretty nice restaurant, not particularly fancy and not outrageously expensive, but with pleasant, dark-wood decor; a relaxed, sophisticated ambience; and a menu that neither pedestrian nor pretentious. Most importantly for me, the ambient noise level was high enough that Jason's outbursts went mostly (but not completely) unnoticed by the tables around us. (They were all very understanding and forgiving, thankfully.)

So there we are, conversing and trying to keep Jason entertained while we wait for the food to arrive, when from the next table, I overhear someone loudly declare "Democrat means you want to pay people to sit around and do nothing." I look up, and I see this teenager—probably 18 or 19—passionately denouncing Democrats, unemployment, and the lazy people that rely on the welfare system instead of getting jobs like they ought to.

The first thought that popped into my head was "Has this kid ever even met a Democrat?" Because, honestly, I've never met anyone who actually wants to pay people to sit around and do nothing. But it's really none of my business what some kid says to his parents about welfare and I don't like to be nosy. Aside from which, right about then Jason was demanding that he be allowed to have all of the bread at the table, so I had more pressing things to occupy my attention.

I really wanted to mind my own business, but the kid had a strong voice and he was pointed right at me. So after he was done telling his parents and grandmother all of his thoughts on what was wrong with the unemployment system, he went on to talk about how awesome it is to have a fridge in his dorm room and how much fun he's having this summer and so on, and I found myself getting angry at him.

Now, look, that kid—whoever he is—is just as entitled to his opinion about unemployment benefits (or anything else, for that matter) as every other person is. If he wants to shout in a crowded restaurant about how Democrats facilitate laziness, it's certainly his right to be able to do so. Furthermore, I agree that the system as it exists now has flaws, and I've heard a lot of sound arguments from some very intelligent people that were substantively not much different from what this kid was saying.

Even so, sitting there in that nice restaurant in that nice strip mall in that nice, upper-middle-class neighborhood, listening to that nice-looking, clean-cut college freshman rant about Democrats and welfare, making his parents laugh about the misguided liberals, it just rubbed me the wrong way. I don't know that kid; I don't know what the sum of his life experience has been and how that's colored his opinions. But from where I was sitting, it didn't look like that kid had ever been poor, or had ever even known someone in any meaningful way who was poor. Or who was a Democrat, for that matter. He almost certainly has never had to financially support himself or anyone else. And I highly doubt he's ever had a family to support or a mortgage to pay, and it didn't sound like he knew anyone who'd ever been laid off.

Do you have to have been poor to be allowed an opinion on welfare? Is it required that you be financially responsible for others before you can talk about unemployment benefits? Of course not. Poor (or formerly poor) people do not and should not have the monopoly on discourse about that aspect of public policy. Nor does that having that kind of experience mean that your opinions are more valid, or that your ideas and observations are necessarily more astute.

In fact, there is no limitation on ignorance or insensitivity at all before we are qualified and entitled to our opinions. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try not to be ignorant or insensitive when we're spouting off about something, especially if we're doing so in public. And I've just known too many intelligent, hard-working, honest people who have had to deal with hard times through no fault of their own to be able to paint unemployment recipients as lazy or useless.

One of my best friends, for example, is a highly skilled and talented engineer who puts in long hours and genuinely enjoys the challenge and technical knowledge involved in his job. The company he was working for happened to be losing money in certain areas, and decided to cut its losses by closing down his division. So he found himself with a mortgage and a baby on the way, and short the major portion of his household income. What would you do in that situation? I'll tell you what he did: he spent eight hours every day finding companies with open hiring reqs, sending out applications, and lining up interviews, and he did that for weeks until he landed another job. And he collected unemployment benefits to help tide him over until he got that job. Is that irresponsible or lazy? Try telling him that to his face.

Fortunately, my friend and his wife are sensible about money and between their savings, unemployment, and tightening their belts a little, they were able to get through that rough patch. Even more fortunately, there were actually jobs to be had. Not everybody is that fortunate.

The point here isn't to say that we do or don't need unemployment benefits or other kinds of social welfare programs, nor to say what forms those benefits should take. There is a lot of room for discussion there, and I'm certain that there are many valid points of view and many good solutions to the underlying problems. No, the point is that I'm sick and tired of hearing ignorant people say things like "Democrats want people to be lazy" and "Republicans hate black people."

We're all entitled to our opinions. But sometimes your opinion makes you an asshole, damn it.

In the past week or so, Juliette and I have been out to nice restaurants twice: last week we went to the Farm House Cafe for my birthday, and last night it was Morton's for our anniversary. Since Jason still isn't up to the task of sitting quietly for long periods, we don't get much chance to go to fancy restaurants much these days, and so these outings were a fun change of pace.

The two restaurants we went to are very different in both atmosphere and food, but what they have in common are both high quality and excellent service. And it's really the latter that impresses us most. Good food is a must, of course, for us to put a restaurant in the top tier, but in a city like San Diego there are plenty of people who can cook. Good service, though, is what really keeps us coming back.

One thing I've never understood is how disdainful people can be of waiters. I've had a fair number of different jobs over the years—I'm an engineer now, of course, but in the past I've been a film festival projectionist, worked the register at my mom's store, tutored underprivileged high school kids, and worked in visitor presentations at the Montery Bay Aquarium. I've also been a busser, a bartender, and a waiter. And let me tell you, waiting tables was by far the hardest job I've ever had.

Yes, yes, I know: different jobs are difficult in different ways, and there are a lot of people out there who would find waiting tables to be much easier than what I do now. Certainly, my difficulties as a waiter have a lot to do with my own personal limitations.

Still, I can't even remember how many times I've overheard people saying something snotty along the lines of "How hard can your job possibly be?" I'd be willing to bet that nearly all of those people would be terrible waiters.

It's not just the physical aspects: the lifting, the balancing, the squeezing through a crowded dining room, dodging bussers and other waiters as they fly by, the aching feet and wrists. Though, those are certainly things I'm glad not to have to deal with anymore. And it's not just the mental gymnastics of having to keep multiple tables and their orders straight, each one having come in at a different time, each being at a different stage of their meal and having different particular requests. Though, again, that's also more than I can handle. (As I was telling Juliette last night, I can't really deal with more than three tables at a time.)

The real difficulty lies in the fact that each customer has a different expectation of how the meal should go, and what the waiter should do and when. You simply can't treat every table the same way. Some people will get angry if you don't check back every five minutes, others want to be left alone. Some people want you to be chummy, others want you to be formal. And first impressions make a huge difference, so you need to have all of it figured out before you even start talking, which gives you maybe thirty seconds to try to pick up any signs as you walk up to the table.

A good waiter is a master of reading the subtle psychological cues each customer provides. He will juggle ten tables, each with their own demands and special requests, all the while making everyone feel like he's there just for them. It's an incredibly difficult skill to master, and to me, seeing someone pull off perfect service is every bit as impressive as watching a master musician or actor give a great performance.

Of course, not every waiter is a master of his profession. Most aren't. But they all have a challenging job, and nearly all work hard to do it well. So try to cut them a little slack.

Mind you, I'm not saying you should ignore bad service. Not at all. As former waiters, both Juliette and I are quite forgiving of honest mistakes, but the same experience that gave us empathy for waiters who try left us with no patience at all for lazy waiters or those that don't care. I've stiffed waiters for bad service before and not felt the least bit bad about it. And I say this as a person who routinely tips over 20% on the total after tax.

No, I'm just saying, maybe take a look around and see what's going on. If you've been waiting a few extra minutes for your check to show up or for your plate to be cleared, take a look and see how crowded the room is. If it's wall-to-wall in there, very likely your waiter is slammed and simply can't get from table to table fast enough. Yes, in situations like that the management probably should have brought in extra staff to help out, but your waiter likely has no input at all into the scheduling process, so don't take it out on him that there's more to do than people to do it. Just try to have a little patience and remember that your waiter is a human being with feelings, and who has a very difficult job.

And for crying out loud, people: tip. As I mentioned before, I usually tip at 20% to 25% after tax, and I've been known to give tips as high as 50% when the service is truly outstanding. (Though, admittedly, I usually can't afford to tip that high at really expensive places.) I recognize, though, that most people don't or can't tip as much as I do. You don't have to be a big tipper to be a good customer, and I don't think any waiter should expect big tips. The standard is 15% of the pre-tax total. If you can't afford that much, you should probably be eating in cheaper places, or not eating out at all.

In my book if your waiter was trying, didn't make any unforgiveable mistakes, and you didn't tip when you could have, well, you're a cheapskate. And I don't want to eat at a restaurant with you.

"Raising Respectful Sons: A Father's Reaction to the 'Slampigs' Scandal":

Back in the early stages of my wife’s pregnancy, before we knew we would be having a son, people often asked me whether I wanted a boy or a girl. My response usually went something like this: “Well, I’d be happy either way, I think, and I don’t have a preference, really. I don’t want one more than the other. Honestly, though, the idea of having a daughter kind of terrifies me.” That’s the thought that occurred to me again Monday morning when I ran across this article in fellow Life As A Human author Schmutzie’s Twitter feed.

Dear Ms. Alkon,

I had the pleasure of reading your op-ed piece "Screaming kids and airplanes: Mayday! Mayday!" last week and I just wanted to write and let you know how refreshing it was to finally hear from a kindred spirit. This country has been overtaken by rude and selfish people and seeing someone tell it like it is was a welcome breath of fresh air.

Like you, I have never been loud in a public place. Just as you described for yourself, my parents instilled in me a strong sense of propriety, which is why the occasion of my birth was an calm, orderly affair, without any of that obnoxious crying and mewling that you so often hear about. I have no idea why newborns these days are so self-centered and ignorant of our vital social conventions but it is simply unacceptable. Parents, take note: just because your child doesn't have the ability to speak or understand language or control their limbs or bodily functions is no excuse for them not to know and follow the rules of polite society. And don't bother trying to tell me about cognitive development or any of that nonsense—we both know it's just a ruse to try to distract from the obvious fact that you're a failure as a parent. Am I right, Amy? (May I call you Amy? I don't want to presume.)

I also applaud your exhortation of people to take responsibility for their own life choices. If you are thinking about having a child then you need to consider the possibility that your little Johnny might inconvenience other people for a few hours. And if there's even the slightest possibility that that could happen, you had damn well better keep little Johnny away from them, even if that means that he doesn't get to meet Granny until he's 17. I don't care if Granny can't get the time off work to come to you, or if you don't have the money to fly your whole family across the country for the holidays, you should have thought of that beforehand.

I am a bit concerned, though, Amy, that you might be bowing to pressure from the unwashed masses in limiting the scope of your article. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you're willing to put Mr. Cell Phone and Ms. Unruly Child in their places, but there is so much that you've left out. I mean, I can hardly go into a Starbucks or Panera Bread or even the grocery store without having to hear people talking. And I don't mean on the phone—thankfully, you already covered that. No, I'm talking about those oblivious, obnoxious jerks who have the audacity to have face-to-face conversations in public places. Don't they know that every time they open their mouths, I have to hear them? If their parents had done their jobs, maybe, but that must not have happened because it's getting to where I can't go anywhere without having my ears raped by their noise-pollutive talking. (People have told me before that I shouldn't used the term "rape" that way because it's hyperbolic and downplays the seriousness of the crime, but fortunately I know you haven't been infected by that ridiculous PC nonsense. I bet you even had people complaining about your having used phrases like "social thuggery" and "stealing" and "victims" in your piece. The nerve of those people...)

Along those lines, why do people think it's OK to wear ugly clothing in public? For that matter, why do they think it's OK to be ugly? I shouldn't have to pay the cost just because someone chooses not to have plastic surgery. Ugly people should stop being so selfish and keep themselves in the basement where they belong. And I don't want to hear "Oh, but plastic surgery is so expensive." Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to be poor.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know as a like-minded individual how much I much I value your writing. People are always telling me that what we really need is patience and tolerance, and that if these are the worst of my problems that I'm pretty well off. You and I know, of course, that all that is a bunch of nonsense. Because, after all, it really does come down to this: I should never have to experience anything that I dislike in the slightest, and anyone who makes me do so is nothing better than a terrorist.