Between Thoughts -Intellectual Musings

This piece is Part II in the series on the making — and unmaking — of boys. To follow first Read  Part 1 – Fear of a “Soft”  Son.

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You didn’t teach me to be afraid of the world.
You taught me how to be afraid of myself.
A bridge, not a break. I don’t hate you. I understand you. And that’s what makes this harder.

I heard you.

Not the speeches. Not the advice.
The small things. The slips. The jokes that weren’t jokes.

“I hope my son is not soft.”
“At least he’s not like that.”


You thought I wasn’t listening.

I was.

I Learned Early What Not to Be
Before I knew who I was,
I knew what would disappoint you.

Not from a lecture—
but from your tone.

The way your voice changed when you spoke about “those boys.”
The relief in your body when I chose football over dance.
The silence when I cried too long.

You didn’t say, “Don’t be yourself.”
You said something more precise:

“Be careful which parts of yourself you show.”

I Tried to Be the Right Kind of Boy
I studied masculinity like a subject.
—  Don’t cry too much
—  Don’t speak too softly
—  Don’t move “like that”
—  Laugh at the right jokes
—  Be interested in the right things

I edited myself in real time.

Not because I was confused—
but because I was watching you watch me.

Every boy learns this.

Some of us just learn it earlier.

You Said It Was Love
And I believe you.

I still do.

I know you were afraid.

Afraid of the world.
Afraid of cruelty.
Afraid that life would be harder for me.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted.
Your fear of the world
became fear of me becoming something the world could hurt.

And then, quietly:

I became the risk you were trying to manage.

I Didn’t Become “Soft” — I Became Careful
Careful with my voice.
Careful with my body.
Careful with my truth.

You see softness as weakness.
But what you call “soft” is often just unarmoured humanity.
WHAT SOFTNESS ACTUALLY IS
The ability to feel deeply.
The courage to be open.
The refusal to perform hardness for approval.

That’s not fragility.

That’s exposure.

And exposure, in a hostile world, is dangerous.

You were right about that.

But Here’s What It Cost
When you teach a boy to hide,
he doesn’t just hide from the world.

He hides from himself.

Research in Psychology calls it emotional suppression. But I don’t need the term.
I lived it.
—  Conversations that stayed in my throat
—  Tears that learned to retreat
—  Questions I never asked

And slowly:

I became fluent in a language that had no words for me.

The World Didn’t Have to Break Me
You were trying to prepare me for a harsh world.

But here’s the irony:
The world didn’t have to break me.
I had already learned how to do it myself.
Quietly. Efficiently. Repeatedly.

This Was Never Just About Being Gay
Maybe I am.
Maybe I’m not.

That’s not even the point.

Because I watched boys who weren’t gay get punished for the same things:
—  Being gentle
—  Being expressive
—  Being different

This isn’t just about sexuality.

It’s about the narrowness of manhood.

I Know Why You Were Afraid
I’ve seen the world too.

I’ve seen how difference gets treated.
How quickly people are reduced.
How casually cruelty shows up.

You weren’t wrong about the danger.

But you made a choice — maybe without realising it.
You chose to prepare me for the world
by making me smaller inside it.

What I Needed Instead
Not protection through correction.

Protection through acceptance.

Not “be less of that.”

“Be fully yourself — and I’ll stand with you.”

There is actual evidence that even small acts of acceptance from parents change everything.
Not perfection. Not full understanding.
Just… not rejection.

I Am Not Your Fear
I am not a future you need to prevent.
I am not a deviation to correct.
I am not a risk to manage.

I am your son.

And everything you feared in the world—
judgment, exclusion, misunderstanding—

I learned to expect first from you.


But Here’s the Part You Won’t Expect
I don’t hate you.
I understand you.
More than you think.

Because one day I realised:
You didn’t teach me to be afraid of myself.
You taught me how afraid you were.

A Different Ending Is Still Possible
I’m still here.
Still becoming.
Still unlearning.
Still trying to put language back into the parts of me that went quiet.

And you’re still my parent.

So maybe the question isn’t:
“What if my son is soft?”

It is
What if softness was never the problem?

You tried to protect me from the world.
I just wish you didn’t teach me
that I needed protection from myself.

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Between Thoughts – Intellectual Musings | Dr. Mzamo Masito 

Where the uncomfortable questions get a seat at the table.