It was said, in the passed down oral history from my Dad’s family, that when Grandpa walked into the bedroom he shared with my grandmother and gazed upon the newborn she held; his statement to her was…”Another girl, huh,” turned, and promptly went back to his field work.
Now, you might think him a jerk, Neanderthal, chauvinist pig, unfeeling excuse for a man, but lets think about it for a minute, and give him the benefit of the doubt.
In the twenties, if you lived on a dirt farm and worked the fields from sunup to sundown, you needed help…you needed sons! It’s not to say women didn’t help their men with field work, but it was much easier for sons to take on the reasonability of the hard labor required on a farm. Gender roles in the family, were very clear.
Aside, from all the reason for wanting a son, did you see at all that HAIR, not to mention, ribbons and fancy dresses those little girls were wearing? My grandmother was a wonderful seamstress who made all the family’s clothes, household blankets and linens. All boys needed were a pair of overalls and a straw hat—shoes, optional.
I’m happy to tell you… after that sweet little girl you see on my grandmother’s knee was born, my grandma went on to have three boys and another girl, before she called it quits. Privately, she would joke that every time grandpa hung his pants on the bedpost, voila!