Toxic Masculinity Cost Me an Easy-Bake Oven
All I wanted to do was cook. Why do we spread lousy advice that stunts the happiness of young boys?
I grew up cooking with my grandmother. She made biscuits from scratch, baked sweet potato pies, and prepared turkeys at Thanksgiving. She canned her vegetables, jelly, and chow-chow, and even made ice cream.
And I helped.
I stirred pots for her. I peeled fruit and ran to the store for forgotten half-pints of cream or to buy onions and collard greens. I watched simple ingredients become things of beauty. And I loved it. Even as a small child, I read cookbooks for fun. No one thought anything of it — or, if they did, no one ever said anything.
I only remember one instance when my love for cooking met some resistance. When I was around nine or 10 years old, I hauled out the Sears Wish Book to dream about Christmas. I pored through the massive holiday catalog’s huge toy section, using an ink pen to mark dozens of toys that I had absolutely zero chance of receiving.
What I really wanted that year was an Easy-Bake Oven. Even a Strawberry Shortcake version — I could have lived with either. Both toy ovens baked tiny cakes and pies using a lightbulb as a heat source. They came with little packages of cake mix and…
