Why I Am Proud of My Daughter
by Huina Zheng
When her grandpa visited us, my ten-year old daughter asked him, “Grandpa, do you want a grandson?”
He replied that a grandson or a granddaughter was the same to him.
She sensed what he meant beneath his words and rephrased her question: “Grandpa, are you happy with your life now?”
He shook his head.
“Is it because you don’t have a grandson?”
“Yes.”
She straightened her small back and said seriously, “Grandpa, even if you had a grandson, when you grow old, the ones who usually stay by your side and care for you are daughters and granddaughters.”
Her grandpa sighed and looked away. “If you want me to be happy, then tell your mom to give me a grandson.”
My daughter’s face flushed instantly. Her voice was clear and firm. “Why should my mom risk her life to give you a grandson?”
After her grandpa left, my daughter told me about the conversation. Of course, the expressions and gestures I’ve described are imagined. But she understands the risks of “late-age pregnancy.” Earlier, when she asked me about having a second child, I told her that I was no longer young. She understood then that another child would mean danger for her mother.
Yes, she is only ten years old, still a child. But she understands that in her grandparents’ generation and even today, many people in China still favor sons over daughters. I have always wanted to shield her, to keep her from the most toxic cultural messages, to spare her from growing up as I did, under the weight of being told that “a daughter is an outsider.”
But she lives among relatives who still believe in patriarchal values. I cannot filter the world for her forever. She must come to know the soil she stands on in order to grow her own strength. That was something I realized when she was five.
That year, during the Spring Festival, I took her to visit my parents. My mother said to her, “Tell your mom to hurry up and give you a little brother.” This is the kind of joke elders love to make with young girls. There are even crueler versions: “Once your mom has a son, she won’t love you anymore.” To them, it’s a harmless joke. To a little girl, it is a repeated message: you are less than your brother.
So when my daughter later asked me, “Mom, do you want a son or a daughter?”
I answered calmly, pretending her question hadn’t hurt. “I can’t decide the sex of the baby. Whether it’s a son or a daughter, I would love them.”
“But what if you could choose?”
“Then I would choose a daughter,” I said. “Daughters are understanding. They notice things. They stay close.”
She smiled and said, “Mom, when I chose a mother up in the sky, I chose you, too.”
I hope she never feels sorry for her gender, never believes she was unwanted or that her arrival meant disappointment. I have never felt that way. I didn’t lie to her. I truly always wanted a daughter.
But my mother-in-law wants a grandson. She tried to persuade my husband and me. When we refused, she went to my mother, hoping she could convince me. For people of her generation, not having a grandson means the family line is broken. If they still lived in the countryside, they would be mocked, looked down upon, even bullied. That’s why my parents-in-law avoid returning to their village. Whenever they do go back and are asked about it, they can’t lift their heads.
My own parents are not much different. After my sister-in-law gave birth to two daughters, she was pressured to keep trying. If the fetus had been another girl, she would have had an abortion. Fortunately, the third child was a boy, finally satisfying my parents’ desire for a grandson.
In their eyes, a daughter will eventually belong to another family, become someone else’s wife. A daughter is never truly part of the family. All property is left to sons. In old age, only sons can be relied upon. And this way of thinking does not end with their generation. My sisters, my cousins, and my brother all believe one must have a son. I am the outlier.
So I explained to my daughter how patriarchy works and why it exists.
I told her about remarkable women who broke through constraints imposed by patriarchal culture.
When her teachers told her that girls weren’t good at math, I told her there was no scientific evidence that women were less intelligent than men, and that if such beliefs existed, they were learned limitations imposed from outside.
When her roller-skating coach rewarded her with princess stickers and refused to give her the astronaut ones she wanted, I encouraged her to tell him that girls could like vehicles and spaceships, too.
When her grandmother told her that the most important thing for a girl was to marry well, I guided her to see that her stage extended far beyond the kitchen.
I do many things I wish my own mother had done for me.
I kept working, even when it meant working from home while caring for her as a young child.
I chose to pursue graduate studies while working full-time, because that was what I wanted.
I take risks, like switching jobs at 38, an age considered too old in China’s job market, and choosing to write in English, a non-native language, while tackling sensitive topics like family planning in a novel I’m still writing.
I don’t mind my bare face. I don’t wear high heels. I’m not afraid of aging.
I work to love my gender, even though many times in the past I wished I had been born a boy.
So when her grandpa admitted that he wanted a grandson, my daughter’s response made me proud. She does not believe her gender is a mistake. And, for that, I am deeply proud of her.
Copyright © 2026 by Huina Zheng
