My mother always called cooking “girl stuff,” and she never veiled her distaste. My mother always called cooking “girl stuff,” and she never veiled her displeasure of my son’s baking. I hoped she would change, but I misjudged how far she would go to destroy his ambition. Her actions led me to push her out of my house, and I have no regrets.

Jacob, a 40-year-old widower, raises Cody and Casey, two great kids.

Cody’s 13th birthday was only days away. I entered the home that evening to a pleasant cinnamon and vanilla scent. Cody was testing a new cookie recipe, and the home smelled delicious and welcoming.

My 12-year-old kid could make flour and sugar seem magical. Every time I watched him work, I thought of his late mother, Susan, who always said baking was another way to convey love.

“Dad! See what I made!” Suddenly, Cody’s excited shout from the kitchen brightened my spirits.

I saw him painstakingly aligning beautiful brown biscuits on the cooling rack. He looked lovely and proud with his flour-dusted black hair and apron around his little body.

My 10-year-old daughter Casey was completing her schoolwork at the counter, unaffected by the flour explosion.

“These are amazing, champ!” I ruffled his hair. Oh, and Mrs. Samuels from down the block phoned. She wants 2 dozen cookies for book club.”

Cody’s face shone brighter than our Christmas tree. “Really? The cost is $15!”

“Exactly! So proud of you.”

What type of guy spends all his time in the kitchen like a housewife? That chilly, biting voice sliced through the pleasant moment.

Elizabeth, my mother, stood at the doorway. Her face pinched in displeasure, her arms firmly across her chest. She was only with us for three days, but the tension seemed like it had been building forever.

Mom, please. “Not today,” I responded, trying to remain cool.

She snapped, “Jacob, you’re raising that boy into weakness. “When I was young, boys fixed things and played sports. They didn’t bake in kitchens!”

Cody dropped his shoulders and lost his brightness. I could not let her ruin him.

“Mom, Cody’s actions are fine. His skill. He’s glad. He’s learning responsibility.

She sneered. “Responsibility? You’re girlifying him.”

She turned and left, as if she hadn’t just broken my son’s confidence with one statement.

Cody stood still, flour on his little fists.

“Dad, why does Grandma dislike my baking? She continuously accused me of wrongdoing.”

I kneeled, hugged him, and drew him close. His heart pounded on my chest.

“Look at me, buddy. Her opinion doesn’t matter. You like baking? Then bake. You excel at it. I am really proud of you. That matters.”

“You promise?” He muttered, crying.

I swear by your chocolate chip cookies. Quickly fetch me one before I start chewing this countertop!”

He eventually laughed a little. He ran to the kitchen after wiping his nose with his sleeve.

My breath was shaky. I hoped my mother would drop it after that. I was mistaken. I had no clue how far she would shatter his soul the following day.

I went for work the next morning sad. Cody was silently stirring his porridge as my mother argued about “real hobbies for boys.”

Before leaving, I said, “Don’t ever let anyone make you feel ashamed of who you are, okay?”

He nodded, but I could see the uncertainty growing.

The day seemed interminable. I kept looking at my phone, feeling sick. My mother has been loud recently, and I mistakenly hoped she would change.

When I drove into the driveway at 6:30 p.m. and entered, I knew something was amiss. The home was too quiet. Scarily silent.

Cody lay on his bed with his face in his pillow.

“Is everything okay, buddy?”

He gazed up at me, red and swollen eyes. I can’t do this anymore, Dad. When I returned from Tommy’s place… My grandmother threw them away.”

“Threw away?”

All of it. I have everything: mixer, pans, decorating tips, measuring cups. All my baking supplies. Guys don’t need it, she said.”

My heart stopped. “What did she discard?”

“All my allowance savings and birthday purchases. Everything’s gone. She advised me to acquire a serious hobby.”

I ran to Cody’s supply cupboard in the kitchen. Doors hung open, vacant. Two years of treasured instruments gone in an instant.

My mother was watching TV in the main room, unaffected.

“Where are Cody’s things?” I demanded.

Not even looking up. “I expelled them. Someone has to be the adult.”

“You threw away my son’s stuff? You ruined all his loves?

“Jacob, I did what you should have months ago. That youngster needs manhood training.”

His age is twelve.

“Exactly! You’re letting him become abnormal.”

“What’s unnatural is a grandmother who can’t accept her grandson.”

Don’t you dare—

“No. Dare not. You shouldn’t come into my house and rip up my son’s happiness because it doesn’t meet your macho ideal.

Redness covered her face. I won’t apologize for shielding him from scorn.

“You’re the only fool. A spiteful elderly lady who hates cheerful children.”

You dare speak to me like way!

How dare you injure my kid!

Casey entered the hallway pale and shaking. “Dad? What’s up?

My voice softened as I turned to her. Sweetheart, check on your brother.”

She nodded and ran upstairs.

Returned to my mother. “You’ll replace everything you threw away. Tonight.”

“I won’t.”

“Then you’re leaving early tomorrow.”

She opened her mouth. “Kicking me out? Over baking tools?

“I’m shielding my kids from someone who wants to ruin their happiness. Cody would have made my wife proud. She would never have allowed this.”

I’m your mom!

He’s my son. Also your grandchild. And you crushed him.”

Jacob, please. I just wanted to help.”

“Help? You started him crying. You challenged him. You chastised him for something beautiful.”

“Just make him strong.”

He’s powerful. He pursues his passion every day despite people like you telling him he’s wrong. It requires more power than you realize.”

Cody cuddled near me on his bed that night. Casey softly stroked his back.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Cody muttered. Maybe Grandma was correct. Maybe I should stop.”

‘Don’t you dare,’ I shouted, shivering with rage and love. No one should make you embarrassed of who you are.

“But…what if people find it odd?”

I gazed right into his eyes and raised his chin. You mother always claimed baking was flavor painting. It needs love, creativity, and patience. These aren’t female or guy stuff. Human things.”

Hand squeezed by Casey. I believe you’re the coolest brother. My buddies often want cookies from you.”

An uncertain grin pulled at his lips. “Really?”

“Really. We’re shopping tomorrow to replace everything.”

“What about Grandma?”

“She decided. And I’m creating mine,” I replied clearly.

The following morning, I helped my mom load her vehicle. Her pride was hurt, and she walked stiffly, her face stone.

“You’re making a terrible mistake,” she screamed, closing the trunk. “That boy needs guidance.”

“He needs love. Something you plainly can’t offer.”

“I love him! Therefore, I—”

“No,” I snapped. “Don’t call that love.”

She got in the vehicle, holding the wheel. You’ll regret it.”

“The only thing I regret is letting you hurt him so long.”

My phone rang after she drove gone. Adams was my stepfather.

“Jacob? How did you hurt your mother?

“I guarded my kids.”

“She cries. She claims you dumped her like trash.”

“She ruined my son’s dreams. She hurt herself.”

“You overreact.”

I’m fathering. Something you’d understand if you’d ever placed a kid first.”

Silence. He spoke again, cold and cutting. You shame me. This is how you thank her for raising you?

“She could choose. Leave or love my kid. So she left.”

I hung up. Through the glass, Cody and Casey were hunched over a list, discussing which supplies to replace.

We stood at the kitchen supply shop that afternoon. Each whisk and pan was a prize to Cody, whose eyes lighted up like stars.

“Can we really get all this?” he questioned, shivering with hope.

“We can get everything you need, buddy. No one can take it from you again.”

Casey grabbed colorful mixing basins. These are adorable! And see! Star cookie cutters!

Cody straightened as we filled the trolley. He returned with a stronger spark.

“Dad?” Cody replied as we loaded the suitcases into the vehicle. “Thank you. For defending me.”

“Always, buddy. Always.”

The night I put them to bed, Casey gazed up at me with her mother’s kind eyes.

“Will Grandma return, Dad?”

I dunno, dear. If she does, it will be because she finally loves you both as you are.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“She loses. I’ve never had anything better than you two.”

I contemplated my decision as I turned out the light and went to my room. People may argue I’m harsh or overreacted. I was positive I had made the correct decision as Cody’s sweet chuckle echoed down the corridor.