I'm thinking today about the way we measure ourselves as mothers. I suppose we all have a set of mothers in our heads--the ideal one we think we should be; the bad one we strive not to be and maybe fear being. Maybe we were raised by a version of one of those archetypes, and are measuring ourselves against our memories and hopes. If we adopted
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At least Pa Ingalls did his share of keeping his family fed (although natural disasters and his misjudgement of government regulations made this harder than it might otherwise have been). He made some sketchy choices as a provider, but he was a hell of a lot better than, say, Bronson Alcott! Bronson Alcott is my standard for pretty-talking, WORTHLESS father.
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Is Bronson Alcott the model for Pa March? Because in the movies, anyway, Pa March comes home from the war*, sits his ass in a chair, and never does a thing for the rest of the movie, except maybe standing around during a wedding and a funeral. I don't know what he's like in the book because I've never been able to get past "It won't seem like Christmas without presents!"
*having been in the war, he's entitled to sit on his ass, I think, but since the war stuff was offscreen it leaves him making very little impression, dad-wise.
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