I had the chance to view the new documentary March of the Penguins. Narrated by seasoned actor Morgan Freeman, March of the Penguins tells the extraordinary story of the Emperor Penguins. At once a story about migration, survival in inhospitable environments (winter in Antarctica) and commitment, Freeman perhaps says it best when he says “in the harshest place on earth, love finds away”. As the film’s producers’ describe March of the Penguins:
Each winter, alone in the pitiless ice deserts of Antarctica, deep in the most inhospitable terrain on Earth, a truly remarkable journey takes place as it has done for millennia. Emperor penguins in their thousands abandon the deep blue security of their ocean home and clamber onto the frozen ice to begin their long journey into a region so bleak, so extreme, it supports no other wildlife at this time of year. In single file, the penguins march blinded by blizzards, buffeted by gale force winds. Resolute, indomitable, driven by the overpowering urge to reproduce, to assure the survival of the species.
Understandably the general consensus among critics is that March of the Penguins is the “feel good” movie of the summer.
But locked deeply into this story of sweet survival is the relative seamless ease in which the female and male Emperor Penguins trade gender roles in an attempt to guarantee the survival of the species. Male Emperor penguins spend more than two months nurturing their un-hatched eggs, while the female Emperor Penguins return to the ocean to feed. The penguin chicks are in fact born while the mother’s are still away, thus the father’s are responsible for the first feeding—a small amount of a milk like substance that they’ve been holding in their mouths despite the fact that the fathers have not eaten in over four months. The mother and fathers trade roles as primary nurturers until the chicks are old-enough to fend for themselves—and only then does the family disperse. I’m pretty sure there’s no discourse among the penguins that suggest that the male penguins are “less of a penguin” because of the fluidity of gender roles.
I watched March of the Penguins with my oldest whurl-a-gurl. She’s turns 7 in two weeks and has a week off until 2nd grade starts up next Thursday. Our day at the movies was one of few times we’ve had to hang out with each other. She reminds me quite often that it was not always the case that daddy had to set aside time to spend with her. Earlier in my career, when I was an assistant professor with no reputation (good or bad), I would often get her from daycare early so that we could take walks, hang out at the Book House at Stuyvesant Plaza or chill at the Albany Starbucks. I often tell folks that the beauty of the academic life is not that we have summer’s off (which we rarely do), but rather the flexibility of our work schedules—I would sometimes go to my oldest daughter’s daycare to read to her class, for example. Alas my youngest whurl-a-gurl (nearly 3) will never have the kind or relationship with me that my oldest had with me when she was nearly 3.
As so much of my life has become defined by “the grind” and legitimately so, I do lament that I can’t always be the “nurturing father” that I want to be. My oldest whurl-a-gurl will often say that she wished that I had a “regular” job, instead of being a “book writer” and “professor”. In her mind, if I had a “regular” job, I’d have more time to spend with her. Alas there are lots of folks with “regular” jobs who also need to be on the grind—mortgages, car payments, child-care, toddler gymnastics, in some cases private school tuition, art camp, etc. are all real things that desire real finances. There may be some bad parenting going on in contemporary America, but there is a lot of good parenting that is challenged everyday by the need to help our children better navigate the world that we’ve made for them. In this regard, perhaps I envy the Emperor Penguin.
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