Men’s ability to nurture
Before proceeding with this bit of famly lore, keep in mind that my dad, the late Ronald Kitt Cox, MD (1931- 1976), often prefaced tales of our tribe with the phrase, “any damn fool can tell the truth.”
My dad’s maternal grandfather, Kitt Connally, was a “troubleshooter” for Standard Oil in the rough and tumble towns of California. KC’s wife died at an early age, leaving him two daughters to raise in the crude (pun intended) environment.
One of the first things my great-grandfather obtained was a book of “How to teach children proper manners.” It worked and continues to work to this day as I unflinchingly carry on the “Yes mam, No sir” traditions.
Granddad Kitt Connally’s “work tools” included brass knuckles and a Savage .380 automatic pistol.
So fast forward to May 1931. My father was born in Redondo Beach, California to his 17 year old parents, neither of whom was much inclined to play mom or dad at the time. So guess who got called up to once again put down his gun and his whiskey (did I mention that granddad K.C. allegedly frequently had a bit of bourbon in the morning like some folks have orange juice).
Anyway, he raised my father to be a major overachiever – Marine Corps officer – artist – musician – historian – physician – and, despite it only lasting 21 years – a hell of a a good dad for me.
So, the next time somebody questions our gender’s ability to care for kids, either whip out your handgun and old granddad, or share this little tale with them.