Becoming Teen Fathers

Abstract

Drawing on in-depth interviews, I analyze how teen fathers talk about the responsibility for having a baby at a young age. In addition to negotiating the stigma often associated with teen pregnancy, teen fathers also confront stereotypes that label them as selfish and uncaring. In telling their stories of “what happened,” they utilize three gendered discourses to deny responsibility for the pregnancy: the feminization of birth control, a discourse of uncontrollable male sexual desire, and love. Their narratives also reveal the ways in which gendered norms can solve some problems while creating others. Aligning themselves with certain notions of masculinity can serve as a resource for denying responsibility for the pregnancy while also signifying their manhood, but these same discourses are also constraining in that they reinforce stereotypes of teen fathers as selfish, even predatory. While these approaches may allow teen fathers to claim masculine identities, they also stigmatize them as the wrong kind of men. In short, teen fathers are not only negotiating the potential stigma of teen pregnancy, they are also negotiating their identities as men.

Keywords

adolescence/children family men/masculinity reproduction sexuality

Despite an abundance of evidence to the contrary (Furstenberg 2007; Geronimus 2003; Luker 1996; Mollborn 2011), conventional wisdom still posits that early childbearing is an important social problem. By having a child at an early age (and often outside of marriage), teen parents have openly disrupted cultural expectations about who should have a child and when. Most research on teen pregnancy centers on women as the main participants. I take a different direction, focusing on the perspectives and experiences of teen fathers. To be sure, both teen mothers and teen fathers are charged with managing the potential stigma of having a child at an early age. However, teen fathers face a unique set of challenges: stereotypes that label them as predators, absent, or uncaring (Kiselica 2008; Luker 1996; Paschal 2006). Then again, teen fathers are also unique relative to teen mothers in that they can more easily deny their paternity and, in turn, their accountability. Drawing on in-depth interviews with 26 teen fathers, I examine the ways in which men talk about the responsibility for having a baby at a young age. More than just stories about people or events, however, the young men’s stories about becoming teen fathers also serve as powerful arenas in which to perform identity work, negotiating the potential stigma of teen pregnancy. In trying to reduce the negative reactions of people around them, the men draw heavily on norms of masculinity not only to deny responsibility but also to signify their identities as men, as “good guys.”

Even though teen birth rates have been generally declining since the mid-1970s, many Americans and policy makers still worry that early childbearing has reached “epidemic” proportions (Furstenberg 2007; Geronimus 2003; Luker 1996; Mollborn 2011). Hence, as with other social problems, research analyzing teen pregnancy requires us to navigate multiple “realities”—those drawn from social research as well as those that characterize popular perception (Furstenberg 2007). Twenty-four of the 26 men in this study acknowledged that other people—“society” at large (however they defined it, local or otherwise)—viewed their having a child at this age as a mistake. Their narratives about responsibility are nestled within these understandings.

Still, this acknowledgement has the potential to naturalize teen pregnancy as a social problem—that it is everywhere and always a problem. For example, while the fathers may recognize that society at large sees early childbearing as a “bad thing,” they themselves may not. This fluidity has repercussions for this study and for qualitative research in general. The teen fathers I interviewed were telling specific stories, at a specific time and place, to a specific audience, with specific objectives in mind (Holstein and Gubrium 1995). Hence, it is necessary to consider that the men’s narratives could/would shift were they telling their story to an adolescent male peer, as opposed to an adult, female researcher (see also Pascoe 2007). As such, I am not so much interested in the truth telling of their stories, but the ways in which they told those stories, how they constructed their identities as teen fathers and young men within the contexts of the interview.

This study has important implications for our understanding of teen pregnancy specifically and gender more generally. While the challenges of teen pregnancy have been considered in a variety of contexts, teen fathers have been noticeably absent from many of these discussions (Barret and Robinson 1982; Bunting and McAuley 2004; Coleman and Dennison 1998; Glikman 2004; Thornberry, Smith, and Howard 1997). Most simply, this article seeks to fill this gap. Beyond this, analyzing teen fathers’ narratives of accountability sheds light on the ways they experience and make sense of their identities as teen fathers, especially how they negotiate the potential stigma of teen pregnancy. Moreover, by relying on norms of masculinity in constructing their narratives, teen fathers are able to simultaneously deny responsibility for the pregnancy and construct a self that is recognizably masculine. Exploring teen fathers’ identity work reveals not only how gender dynamics shape the experiences of teen pregnancy but also how gender is constructed and maintained in everyday life.

Teen Fathers

According to a 2011 study conducted by the National Center for Health Statistics, the birth rate for men ages 15 to 19 was 18.2 per 1,000 (Martin et al. 2011). However, data about men involved in pregnancies are often inaccurate. Birth certificates serve as the primary source of data for information on fathers, but fathers are least likely to be listed for children born to unwed mothers under the age of 20 (Abma, Martinez, and Copen 2010; Kimball 2004; Martin et al. 2011; see also Thornberry, Smith, and Howard 1997).

The knowledge that we have about teen fathers is limited by this lack of access. Existing research indicates that Black men ages 15 to 19 are more likely to father a child than white teens (34.0 per 1,000 and 15.4 per 1,000, respectively) (Martin et al. 2011). Research also suggests that young fathers and mothers tend to come from low socioeconomic backgrounds (Bunting and McAuley 2004; Klein and the Committee on Adolescence 2005; Thornberry, Smith, and Howard 1997). For example, several studies have found that young fathers are three times more likely than same-age nonfathers to come from families that frequently experience economic hardship (Bunting and McAuley 2004; Glikman 2004; Klein and the Committee on Adolescence 2005; Pears et al. 2005; Thornberry, Smith, and Howard 1997; Xie, Cairns, and Cairns 2001).

Teen fatherhood is often examined through a context of risk. Several studies report a link between teen fatherhood and involvement in deviant behaviors, such as gang membership, fighting, and drug/alcohol use (Bunting and McAuley 2004; Miller-Johnson et al. 2004; Thornberry, Smith, and Howard 1997). Helen Glikman (2004) shows not only that teen dads tend to complete fewer grades but that all of her respondents reported behavioral and academic difficulties while in school (see also Bunting and McAuley 2004; Klein and the Committee on Adolescence 2005; Thornberry, Smith, and Howard 1997; Xie, Cairns, and Cairns 2001). Thus, pregnancy seems but one issue among other social and academic difficulties facing teen fathers. The importance of these issues aside, they tell us little about how the men see themselves, or how they make sense of their experiences as teen fathers.

Theoretical Framework

Much of the literature on teen fathers relies on narrow conceptions of gender and masculinity. Most often, they rest heavily on norms of breadwinning and providing. But as the breadth of research and theorizing on gender demonstrates, masculinity is much more complex than that. R. W. Connell (1995) defines hegemonic masculinity as a set of cultural ideals or dominant notions about what it means to be a “real man,” that is, behaviors and processes that privilege certain forms of masculinity over (and against) femininity and other subordinated or marginalized masculinities (Connell 1995; Connell and Messerschmidt 2005; Pascoe 2007; Richardson 2010; Wilkins 2009). This perspective of plural masculinities suggests that most men will perform hegemonic masculinity to the best of their ability given the tools and opportunities available to them. These opportunities, however, are limited by numerous structural constraints, including race, class, and age. Schrock and Schwalbe (2009) provide a powerful critique, suggesting that while the multiple masculinities perspective may provide a useful frame for recognizing differences and inequalities among men, it also complicates our ability to see what these varying masculinities have in common. For example, emotional stoicism and heterosexuality have been identified in numerous studies as central components of masculinity, across race and class lines (Kimmel 2008; Pascoe 2007; Schrock and Schwalbe 2009; Thorne 1993; Wilkins 2012). Many men may be unable to achieve, or may even reject, some aspects of the hegemonic ideal (e.g., gay men); however, their acceptance and enactment of other facets (e.g., sexual risk taking) still reflect the power of the hegemonic ideal (Schrock and Schwalbe 2009). Similarly, few (if any) of the teen fathers in this study would be considered hegemonically masculine, given their age, social class, and/or race, but they are still able to enact or emphasize different aspects of the hegemonic ideal. To dismiss these young men as less masculine, or even hyper-masculine, overlooks the ways in which they utilize and manipulate hegemonic norms of masculinity to construct a self that is recognizably masculine (Pascoe 2003).

Drawing on the narratives of teen fathers allows for insight into the ways in which these young men see themselves—not only as fathers but also as men. As Charlotte Linde argues, narratives serve as “important social resources for creating and maintaining personal identity” (1993, 98). In addition to creating a private sense of self, narratives also help us in conveying and negotiating that self with others (Linde 1993). Moreover, these young men do not exist in isolation. In constructing personal narratives, these young men draw on resources, such as cultural discourses, to navigate various norms, to portray themselves as “good guys”—and masculinity serves as one such resource.

Teen mothers and fathers are located in a tough position, having openly violated various societal expectations, especially those that dictate that individuals follow a “normal” life path (e.g., education, job, and marriage, then family). Having a child outside of this path is generally considered a mistake, challenging societal beliefs about the timing and context of parenthood (Edin and Kefalas 2005; Furstenberg 2007; Kiselica 2008; Luker 1996; Luttrell 2003). However, compared to teen mothers, teen fathers also face a unique set of challenges. Young men who become teen fathers frequently face stereotypes that label them as fickle at best and predatory at worst (Kiselica 2008; Luker 1996; Paschal 2006). Again, the majority of the men in this study recognized and acknowledged that their having a child at this age was considered problematic by “society.” Their narratives about responsibility respond to, and intersect with, these experiences and realizations. In other words, their stories are not just about the pregnancy; they are also about negotiating and reducing the negative reactions of people, of the society around them.

In their attempts to negotiate the potential stigma of teen pregnancy, the men draw on norms and discourses of masculinity to deny responsibility while still maintaining their reputations and identities as “good guys.” This is not to suggest that teen mothers do not also do important identity work in negotiating the stigma of teen pregnancy but, rather, that masculinity provides a different set of tools with which to do this.

Norms of masculinity do not result in undiluted power and privilege for all men at all times. Examining teen fathers’ narratives of responsibility reveals the ways in which discursive constructions of masculinity can be both enabling and constraining. For example, aligning themselves with stereotypes of young men as “naturally” heterosexually obsessed can serve as a resource for signifying their manhood as well as mitigating the stigma of early childbearing. But these same images also serve to stigmatize teen fathers as selfish, even predatory. In short, teen fathers are managing multiple concerns—not only are they negotiating the potential stigma of teen pregnancy, they are also negotiating their identities as men.

This Study

Utilizing in-depth interviews with 26 teen fathers, I explore the narratives of responsibility that these young men employ in telling their stories of becoming fathers at a young age. I conducted my research in a midwest city I call “Greenlawn” (population: approximately 85,000, according to 2010 census data). In addition to a long history with the railroad, Greenlawn is also the home of numerous manufacturing plants. Demographically, the city is about 85 percent white and 12 percent Black, with the remaining 3 percent being composed of Hispanic or Latino, Asian, and American Indian. The median household income in 2010 was nearly $26,000, with approximately 14 percent of persons living below the poverty line. Eighty-two percent of residents are high school graduates, but only 13 percent have a bachelor’s degree or higher. In 2009, the teen birth rates for Greenlawn and the surrounding area were 31.6 per 1,000 for women 15-17 years of age (compared to 19.7 for the entire state and 19.3 nationally), and 100.4 per 1,000 for women 18-19 years of age (75.7 for the state, 58.2 nationally).

As stated earlier, the ability to document the lived experiences of teen fathers is made more difficult by the challenges of simply locating them for research. For this reason, I relied on convenience sampling. I drew on a variety of gatekeepers (teachers, principals, and other members of the community) who offered access into several different networks of teen fathers. I also utilized snowball sampling, relying on the fathers themselves, to access additional respondents. As a result, the young men I interviewed came from varying backgrounds. Most are working-class, but individuals from the middle- or upper-middle classes, and some whose families would be classified as living below the poverty line, are also present. Fifteen of the men identified as white, while 11 identified as Black or biracial. Their ages ranged from 16 to 21, but they all fathered their children within their teens (19 or younger). The majority of the fathers (19 of the 26) were between the ages of 16 and 19 at the time of the interview.

Several important points deserve mention at the onset. First, all of the men in my study claim their paternal identity. In other words, all of the pregnancies were carried to term, and the men identify as fathers, openly claiming and/or parenting their children. Men involved in a pregnancy that resulted in abortion, miscarriage, or adoption are not included in my sample. Second, men of different classes and race used the same processes and explanations for the pregnancy. So while race and class play out in important ways in other aspects of my research on teen fathers, within this analysis there were no discernible differences.

I conducted the interviews during the summer and fall of 2010. Each interview lasted between one and two hours and took place in homes, restaurants, coffee shops, and offices. The interviews were taped and transcribed, and field notes were taken immediately before and after meetings. Each of the men received a $20 gift card to a local discount store in exchange for his time.

An interview guide provided loose topical direction, but each conversation took a different form as constructed by the participants. That being said, each interview contained an instance in which I asked, “What happened?” in an attempt to elicit their stories about how the pregnancy came about. The question implied that the pregnancy requires explanation. It is their immediate responses to this particular question that I focus on in this analysis, specifically how young men assign responsibility when asked to account for problematic behavior. Importantly, this question occurred later in the interviews. By this point, rapport had already been established, and the men had already broached the topics of the pregnancy, the baby, and being a father. Still, as my discussion has intimated, meaning is contextual, arising out of interaction between people (Holstein and Gubrium 1995; Riessman 1993). These are the stories as they were told to me; they might have taken a different form if someone else were the listener (Riessman 1993). Finally, the themes and patterns I will discuss were inductively identified, emerging after hours of listening, transcribing, and analyzing.

What Happened? Stories of Becoming Teen Fathers

The story about “what happened” is an important part of the bigger story of being a teen father. None of the men I interviewed blamed themselves for the pregnancy. All but four placed the responsibility directly on the mother. The remaining four blamed parents (e.g., providing alcohol the night of conception), a doctor (e.g., saying the woman could not get pregnant), or circumstance (e.g., the condom broke). Furthermore, in telling the story of what happened, these men draw heavily on norms of masculinity to construct themselves as not responsible for the pregnancy. Through my analysis of the interviews, three primary themes emerged—all of which are linked to, and maintain, the ideals of what it means to be men: (1) gendered assumptions regarding pregnancy and contraception—specifically that women are in charge of preventing pregnancy; (2) a belief that male sexuality is uncontrollable; and (3) the utilization of love and intimacy talk.

Because masculinity is culturally aligned with status and power in ways that femininity is not, teen fathers are also able to potentially garner greater esteem by signifying themselves as men. However, masculinity comes with costs, as well as benefits. Hence, the men I interviewed often moved between expectations, relying on more than one assumption. In other words, the ways in which they rely on these dominant tropes are fluid.

“’Cause Every Time I Asked Her If I Should Wear [a Condom] She Said No”

The most common cultural assumption the teen fathers relied on was the belief that women are in charge of preventing pregnancy or, at the very least, managing birth control and contraception. As Kristin Luker argues in her seminal work on teen pregnancy, following the development of the Pill “contraceptive use has become increasingly feminized: both men and women tend to think that contraception is the responsibility of the woman and that it’s the woman’s fault when something goes wrong” (1996, 146).

However, while the development of the Pill contributed to the feminization of contraception, sex itself has historically been a masculinized domain. Traditional gender stereotypes have long portrayed men as sexually obsessed while women were charged with controlling men’s sexuality via access (Brumberg 1997; Dunn 2002; Hust, Brown, and L’Engle 2008). These gendered assumptions are most often visible in studies and accounts of rape. Post-assault, victim-blaming accusations that women invite rape with their clothing, alcohol consumption, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time are based on longstanding beliefs that women are responsible for managing men’s sexuality. These beliefs, combined with the development of the Pill and other (mostly) feminine forms of contraception, along with norms surrounding the gendered division of labor concerning relationships and child care—all have served to further locate the nexus of responsibility for intercourse, contraception, and pregnancy squarely on the shoulders of women.

Similarly, the majority of the young men I interviewed located the nexus of responsibility on the mother. Several were straightforward in their claims. Dallas, 18, stated, “We were tryin’. She wanted to get pregnant,” even though he “wasn’t sure he was ready, but she talked [him] into it.” Jon, 17, tells a similar story, maintaining that his girlfriend “just wanted to have [his] baby” even though he “wasn’t sure it was a good idea.” Sometimes the men openly blamed the women, such as the case with Quinton, 16, who claimed that “it really wasn’t my fault because I told her to get up [afterwards] but she didn’t.” Despite having openly admitted to not wearing a condom, Quinton still places the responsibility for getting pregnant on the woman, since she apparently didn’t get up and use the restroom immediately following sex. Each of these examples speak to general assumptions that it is the women who are in charge of either choosing or preventing pregnancy, denying the men any real choice in the matter.

Most often, the men rely on assumptions that managing birth control (e.g., the Pill or condoms) is explicitly the woman’s domain. For instance, when I asked, “What happened?” Marcus responded frankly that “she wasn’t on birth control.” Similarly, Paul claimed that their pregnancy stemmed from his girlfriend’s irresponsibility: “She probably missed a pill.” But men’s not-doing is less culpable than women’s not-doing. In addition to cultural stereotypes that label males as sexually obsessed, while females are in charge of access and consequences, assumptions that women are responsible for preventing pregnancy (and sex, unwanted or otherwise) are located in a long cultural history that has valued, and continues to value, men’s sexual pleasure over women’s (Brumberg 1997; Higgins and Hirsch 2007; Moore 2007). Many men stated that they didn’t wear condoms because the woman told them not to, regardless of the fact that these claims were often accompanied by other acknowledgements that condoms don’t “feel good” or that they just don’t “like it.” For example, after stating that he didn’t use a condom because “it didn’t feel very good,” Dean went on to say:

I think she wanted to get pregnant. She denies it to everyone else, but . . . ’cause every time I asked her if I should wear [a condom] she said no. [Interviewer: So, because of that you think she wanted to get pregnant?] Yeah, I do.

Similarly, Joel, who also claimed that he “hated” condoms, responded this way when I asked “What happened?”: “One day, she was just like, ‘I don’t want you to wear a condom.’ And I was, like, ‘okay.’”

The decision to use a condom, however, is not a simple one but is weighted by complex gender dynamics that dominate heterosexual relationships (Gavey, McPhillips, and Doherty 2001). Condom use is typically perceived as a man’s prerogative (more so than other forms of contraception), yet cultural norms, along with public sexual health messages and abstinence-only education, place the onus of safe sex, pregnancy prevention, and/or no sex primarily on women (Fields 2008; Gavey, McPhillips, and Doherty 2001; Kimmel 2008; see also Fennell 2011). This presents a contradiction of expectations that women must navigate in their intimate relationships.

These seemingly simple negotiations tend to make invisible the gendered contradictions that culturally handicap women. The assertiveness that goes along with encouraging women to insist on condom usage contradicts cultural norms of femininity (Luker 1996). Women are expected to manage protection and be prepared for sex while still being the “good” girl that doesn’t plan on sex but is merely “carried away” in the heat of the moment. As Kristin Luker states:

[The] skills a young woman needs in order to use contraception effectively are precisely the skills that society discourages in “nice girls,” who are expected to be passive, modest, shy, sexually inexperienced . . . and dedicated to the comfort of others. . . . When it comes to contraception, she is caught in a net of double binds. (1996, 148)

So while women are expected to be hesitant about sex, and only interested in and having sex under the guise of love, they are still expected to plan ahead. In a culture that punishes women for having sex while simultaneously rewarding men, this “net of double binds” leaves women in a vulnerable position—one that puts their identity and reputation at risk. Kimmel’s book Guyland adeptly portrays this double standard. As one of the men in his study says: “If a guy hooks up with a girl . . . She’s the one that let her guard down . . . her job going into the night . . . was to like protect herself, protect her moral character and her moral fiber” (2008, 198). This statement demonstrates that sex (including a resulting pregnancy) means something very different for men and for women. While sex bolsters men’s masculinity, it compromises not only women’s femininity but also their moral character.

Despite research suggesting that women dislike condoms as much as men do, condom usage is still more strongly linked to men’s (dis)pleasure while there remains a general absence of discussion related to condom use and women’s (dis)pleasure (Higgins and Hirsch 2007). The result is that men have more power in refusing to wear a condom than women do in insisting that men wear one—an argument that is supported by prior research finding that women were less likely to be assertive with condom usage if the partner resisted (Detzer et al. 1995; Gavey, McPhillips, and Doherty 2001; Paschal 2006; Wingwood and DiClemente 1998; see also Higgins and Hirsch 2007).

Some of the men I interviewed discussed the decision to not wear a condom as merely an aside. The real problem, as they saw it, was the women’s choice to not take the Pill. Ben, a 17-year-old with an 11-month-old son, admitted to not wearing a condom because he “didn’t like it,” but nonetheless suggested that the pregnancy stemmed from her irresponsibility: “She’d actually [been] talking to her mom about getting on birth control but then she just kept puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off. And, so, here we are.” JD, 17, told a similar story. He too admitted to not wearing condoms because they “didn’t feel good.” But when I asked “What happened?” he responded:

I was always, like, let’s go get you on birth control. And she was always, like, “No, I just got off because it messes up my body.” And I was, like, well, there’s different things. And she was always just like, yeah. . . . But she never did. And then we got pregnant.

Sometimes, though, the men didn’t blame the women per se, but they still placed the responsibility of the pregnancy on her shoulders. In response to how/why they got pregnant, several of the men explained that the woman had difficulties with the Pill or other forms of female contraception. For example, Daniel, an 18-year-old with one child and one on the way, claimed that both pregnancies stemmed from her difficulties with birth control—as opposed to his not wearing a condom. In explaining the first pregnancy, he said, “She had this birth control in her arm . . . it was hurtin’ her and makin’ her real sick. So she got that [taken] out and a week later she got pregnant.” The second pregnancy seemed to follow a similar path:

She was on birth control, but she wasn’t . . . I don’t know . . . [she] didn’t like taking it or something. She said it made her sick . . . and it made her tired. It made her depressed, kinda.

Daniel’s reasons for each pregnancy are located in her difficulties with birth control, rather than his not wearing a condom. This sort of framing, while not explicitly blaming the woman, still locates the responsibility for the pregnancy as hers alone. Despite Daniel’s knowledge that his partner didn’t like using (or couldn’t use) birth control, he doesn’t assume any responsibility for utilizing another method of protection. If the Pill doesn’t work, it is up to her to employ another form.

But both teen mothers and teen fathers are forced to negotiate an important cultural contradiction. On the one hand, having a child too early (and presumably out of wedlock) is considered a mistake (Edin and Kefalas 2005; Furstenberg 2007; Luker 1996; Luttrell 2003); on the other hand, whether a pregnancy is intended or not, there is a cultural expectation that the parents not wish away the presence of the child. So there is a distinct line that teen parents must walk: take responsibility for their “mistake” without admitting it was a mistake. This contradiction is not gender-neutral, though. Since women are the ones expected to prevent pregnancy, combined with other cultural norms that assume that women should/do want children, the mistake is especially theirs.

Whether their stories are characterized by blame, or just a general lack of empathy with women, they represent the efforts of teen fathers to construct themselves as powerless or not in control of issues surrounding sex and pregnancy. They accomplish this by relying on norms of masculinity—specifically that sexuality is an essential and natural part of masculinity, but family planning (and all things family-related) is the domain of women. Moreover, men’s not-doing is linked to pleasure, and this pleasure is taken for granted. Women’s not-doing, on the other hand, is automatically linked to irresponsibility.

“You Know How When They Say It Looks [Worse] for a Girl Than for a Boy?”

Another theme that characterized the men’s narratives was that the pregnancy was an accident, the result of getting lost in “the heat of the moment.” However, even these simple explanations were still located within larger, cultural assumptions of gender. In particular, they relied on one of two primary cultural discourses to explain the pregnancy: They utilized a “boys will be boys” frame, suggesting that as males they are incapable of controlling their sexuality, or they drew on the girl’s promiscuity. As discursive resources, both frames utilize gender norms as tools to allow the men to construct themselves as not responsible for the pregnancy. So while the stories within this group began with responses such as “it just happened”—beyond this initial claim their narratives expanded to tell larger stories that relocated the responsibility elsewhere, away from them.

Brian, 16, relies heavily on a discourse of male sexuality. After stating that the pregnancy was an accident, he continued:

It’s just one of those things where you just wanna have sex. You’re not thinking of anything else . . . I mean . . . I’m a guy, you know . . . I’m like, I just wanna have sex. And, when you’re a man and your hormones are raging, and it’s like you can’t think about anything else besides having sex . . . so you just do it.

Brian claims that his being a man prevented him from thinking clearly about anything besides having sex, especially the consequences. Damian, 18, also relies on cultural proscriptions of male sexuality. “It just happened,” he said. “I mean, I knew it could happen, but . . . I’m a guy, I can’t help it. As a guy, it’s like, you just can’t help it.” Like Brian, Damian lays claim to the fact that male sexuality is uncontrollable. The language that Brian and Damian use, that they are “guys,” invokes this cultural discourse that assumes that their drive for sex is normal, natural, and consequently, beyond their control.

As previously stated, a majority of the men acknowledged that “society” saw their having children at a young age as a mistake. Given this awareness, the stories these men tell about becoming fathers take on a different angle. Relying on a discourse of the uncontrollable male sex drive as a component of masculinity allows them to deny responsibility for the pregnancy. The biological frame of uncontrollable desire that presumably stems from hormones and the male body serves as a naturalizing, taken-for-granted defense. In other words, this biological assumption of masculinity allows men to offer a seemingly natural justification for the denial of responsibility for the pregnancy. They can’t change what they can’t control. Moreover, the accounts of the young men were characterized by a view of sex as unavoidable for boys in ways that it was not for girls. As a result, sex was viewed as more of an individual choice for women than it was for men. This gendered construction of choice served to portray the women as responsible for the pregnancy, given their power and ability to choose whether or not to participate in (unprotected) sex.

However, they also benefit from this masculine display. As other scholars have argued, expressing heterosexual desire establishes a general, baseline masculinity (Pascoe 2007; Wilkins 2009). Whether we view these claims of hormone-driven behavior as trite or as empty clichés is beside the point. For these men, they serve as valuable resources for performing identity work, for constructing themselves as men. Aside from merely shedding responsibility, these men are also able to lay claim to a valuable asset—masculinity.

Beyond the boys-will-be-boys frame, many of the men drew on the girls’ sexual activity to justify, or at the very least offset, their participation in the “accident.” When asked what happened Jon, 17, with one daughter and another child on the way with another woman, replied:

Well . . . we were drinking and ended up hookin’ up, you know, havin’ sex. And it just happened. [Interviewer: Were you using protection?] No. But, like, she was messin’ around with other guys. She was sleepin’ with other guys while she was hookin’ up with me. So, like, I didn’t think the kid was mine.

Dario, 19, with a son, told a similar story:

No, I ain’t use protection. I didn’t like it, you know. And then she was pregnant. But, like I said, I done broke up with her and she had started talkin’ to her old boyfriend, and all these other guys . . . I thought it wasn’t mine. I kept tellin’ people it wasn’t mine . . . that it was one of them other guys’ baby.

Tony, 18, was also quick to point to his ex-girlfriend’s promiscuity. “It was just an accident,” he said. “But, she was always out with all these other guys all the time. She cheated on me all the time. I thought for sure the baby was someone else’s.”

Dario, Jon, and Tony locate the pregnancy in factors outside of themselves, particularly that the respective mother was “messin’ around” with other men. These men mobilize gendered stereotypes by implying that her promiscuity is more culpable than their own. Marlin, a 16-year-old with one daughter, a baby on the way, and another child that may or may not be his, openly claimed that the latter woman (who says that the child is his) had several children by three different men, marking her as “nasty” in his opinion. “’Cause you know how when they say it looks [worse] for a girl than for a boy? Yeah, that’s how I think about it. With a boy, there ain’t too much wrong with it, really. But, like, a girl . . . that’s just nasty.”

The equation of masculinity with sexual prowess and femininity with sexual restraint allows the men’s behavior to go unnoticed. Men’s sexual promiscuity is expected, even normal. The women, however, are doing the opposite of what is expected of them as women, thus compromising their feminine and moral identity. For men, sex is status-producing and status-enhancing, while for women it is a dangerous assault to their reputation and their identity (Kimmel 2008; Tanenbaum 1999; Wilkins 2008). Consider Marlin and the similarity of his situation to that of the mother of his (potential) third child—multiple children by multiple partners. This similarity results in very different outcomes for him and for her. Dismissing the women as “sluts” justifies their exploitation and releases the men of any real responsibility in the resulting pregnancy. Consequently, it appears that the double standard is alive and well, despite apparent gains that appear to grant women more respect as agentic sexual actors (Risman and Schwartz 2002; Wilkins 2008). And, with a baby as proof of sexual activity, the slut label becomes an even more powerful epithet. Ultimately, by framing the pregnancy in terms of her promiscuity, these fathers are able to deny, or at least cast doubt on, being a father altogether—which is clearly the most definitive and successful way to avoid responsibility and stigma.

Men’s (active) heterosexuality is a central tenet of masculinity, especially that of teens and young men (see Kimmel 2008; Pascoe 2007; Wilkins 2009, 2012). The men in this study benefit from the norms that the culturally hegemonic display of masculinity espouses—and their ability to rely on their “natural” sexual prowess, while condemning the same behaviors in their partners, is one of the ways in which they do so. By relying on these assumptions, they are able to deny any real responsibility for the pregnancy, while simultaneously staking out their place as “real men.”

As strategies for shifting blame and signifying their masculinity, assumptions about the feminization of birth control and compulsive heterosexuality may be beneficial. However, these discourses can also align with stereotypes that portray teen fathers as self-centered and reckless. In short, while these approaches may allow teen fathers to claim masculine identities, they also stigmatize them as the wrong kind of men.

“I Thought She Was the One”

Teen fathers alleviate the costs of the previous two discourses by relying on a third: love and intimacy talk. In contrast to the previous sections, where the men defined themselves in relation to the women, the men who utilized a discourse of love set themselves against other, “lesser” men. Norms of masculinity can support these men in constructing narratives that deny their responsibility for the pregnancy, and thereby negotiate the stigma of teen pregnancy. However, these same masculine ideals can also be constraining—creating additional problems that they must also negotiate. Relying on stereotypes of young men as “naturally” heterosexually obsessed, for example, can serve as a resource for denying responsibility as well as signifying their manhood. But these same images also serve to stigmatize teen fathers as selfish, and even predatory. And, perhaps more than anything, the men in this study wanted to be seen as “good guys.” Discourses of love provide one avenue in which to mitigate the stigma of teen pregnancy while still maintaining a level of respectability. Moreover, while love and intimacy talk appear to contradict norms of masculinity, in reality they serve to reinforce them by maintaining gendered power dynamics within the relationship (Wilkins 2009, 2012).

Francesca Cancian (1987) has argued that love has become feminized, that the work associated with love and relationships (e.g., communication, vulnerability) has become the domain of women, whereas instrumental support (sex, negotiations with the “outside world”) has become masculinized. These gendered expectations suggest that women understand and are better at love than men, and that women must teach men how to “do” love. Jennifer Dunn’s work on stalking proves illustrative. She found that male stalkers’ actions were often justified in terms of love, or in a larger culture of romance. The same was not true for female victims—love was not a valid excuse to explain their reactions to stalkers’ actions. Men’s invasive and threatening behaviors were defensible by way of their deep love for the women (“he just loved her too much”), whereas women, who are believed to be better at love, are consequently denied the ability to use love as a justification for their actions (Dunn 2002, 42). Put simply: Women should know better.

Another powerful point in Dunn’s work is her demonstration that, within the culture of romance, women are expected to be flattered by men’s attention and displays of love:

If men are expected to be unromantic, making the use of romantic imagery all the more effective, women’s role expectations may require that they be flattered by the imagery. . . . This expectation interacts with the notion that women are responsible for men’s feelings when they are fortunate enough to elicit them.” (Dunn 2002, 159)

The men in this study also relied on these sorts of gendered notions of love when explaining how their pregnancy came about. When asked why he didn’t use protection, Luke, 17, with a 16-month-old son and another one on the way (each with two different women), said, “It’s more special to me. . . . When we have sex, it’s not like ‘Okay, let’s hurry up and get it done.’ It’s a close bond between us. I just feel that it’s more special without.” Or as Quinton, 16, said: “I wasn’t using protection because I felt comfortable with her. It wasn’t like with the other girls.” And Marlin, 16, when asked why he didn’t use a condom, explained that, of all the other girls he’s dated, “this is the first time [he’s] been in a real relationship.” He says, “I love her, for real.” For Luke, Quinton, and Marlin, love represents a valid justification for having unprotected sex. Their statements imply that not using a condom represents a sort of compliment to the woman, a demonstration of her value.

Edin and Kefalas (2005) heard similar accounts in their study of low-income mothers: unprotected sex was oftentimes viewed as a symbol of love and commitment to the women as well as the potential children. Still, love and romance are submerged in gender-specific “feeling rules” that tell women that they are in charge of managing their feelings and those of their partners (Dunn 2002; Hochschild 1983). In other words, romantic behavior and love talk become symbols of the depth of the men’s feelings toward them. And if a willingness to have unprotected sex comes to be seen as a demonstration of love, then women are located in a precarious position to manage their relationships, and the emotions of the men, via methods of contraception (Dunn 2002; Edin and Kefalas 2005). Consequently, the decision to have unprotected sex becomes all the more mired in gendered assumptions surrounding love and romance.

Again, compared to the other themes, the men who utilized a discourse of love set themselves against other, “lesser” men. Wilkins (2009) makes similar arguments in her comparative study of Goth and Christian men. She finds that both subcultures make similar claims of “being better” by distinguishing themselves from stereotypical qualities of masculinity—lewd, predatory, selfish—all qualities that “other” men embody. “Like other resources, intimacy talk is more valuable if it is rare. . . . This strategy, then, is predicated on distinctions among men” (Wilkins 2009, 363). The men in my study also rely on the stereotypical assumption that “all men are dogs”—except for them. Their utilization of love as a reason behind the pregnancy allows them to maintain their identity as good men, despite making a culturally viewed “bad choice.” As Josh, 20, with two boys, said:

I mean, I was using [protection] at first, but I thought she was the one. I mean, it wasn’t like I was just sleeping with all these girls . . . I loved her. We was talkin’ about gettin’ married and all this stuff. And then I wanted to have kids with her. And then we did. But, like, it just didn’t work out.

Eric, 20, with a 14-month-old daughter, is also quick to locate the pregnancy in a context of love. “We didn’t plan on it,” he said. “But it’s not like we were just messin’ around. We love each other. We want to get married . . . when the time is right.” For Josh and Eric, having children out of love locates them in a different place than other, shallow, irresponsible men. Having children in his teens wasn’t the result of selfish, casual sex; it was located in a context of love. So while having children at a young age may be considered a bad choice, he did it for the right reasons, so to speak.

For women, love justifies desire (Risman and Schwartz 2002). Since desire and sexual prowess are perceived as innate qualities of masculinity, men need little justification. But utilizing a discourse of love provides an added benefit. Since love and romance are associated with the feminine, and therefore subordinate, it is easily assumed that participating in these sorts of discourses will jeopardize their masculinity. However, similar to previous research, the men in this study utilized romantic talk as a way to bolster their masculinity (Allen 2007; Pascoe 2007; Wilkins 2009). Popular displays of the emerging “sensitive” man have come to symbolize progress toward gender equality in relationships. However, as Wilkins states, “[W]hile men’s participation in intimacy talk may be desirable, it does not necessarily undo gender power relations” (2009, 362). In fact, men’s use of intimacy talk can actually maintain power in a relationship (Dunn 2002; Wilkins 2009; see also Kleinman 1996). Since men are assumed to be less expressive, their emotional displays become more significant and more valued, relative to women’s, for whom love and romance are considered natural (Dunn 2002; Kleinman 1996; Wilkins 2009).

To summarize, while drawing on love as an explanation for the pregnancy seemingly contradicts hegemonic ideals of masculinity, it actually reinforces them by allowing men more power within the relationship (Kleinman 1996; Risman and Schwartz 2002; Schrock and Schwalbe 2009; Wilkins 2009). This discourse of love also serves to further demonstrate their masculine identity by linking it to their active heterosexuality. Their utilization of the discourse of love demonstrates their desirability to women, therefore bolstering their heterosexuality, and thereby their masculinity (Pascoe 2007; Wilkins 2009).

Conclusion

Both teen mothers and teen fathers are charged with negotiating the stigma associated with having a child off-time and out of wedlock; both are left trying to reestablish their reputations as “good girls” or “good guys.” Norms of masculinity provide these men with a set of tools that allows them to not only deny responsibility, but also signify their identities as men (Schrock and Schwalbe 2009). This is not to suggest that teen mothers do not also do considerable work to deny responsibility for the pregnancy, but rather that masculinity and femininity provide different discursive tools. Consequently, the identity projects that teen fathers and teen mothers are able to accomplish are very different.

Still, teen fathers are negotiating competing concerns. Teen fathers face stereotypes that label them as predators, absent, or uncaring. Norms of masculinity can be used in attempts to mitigate the general stigma of teen pregnancy, but they can also serve to reinforce assumptions that teen fathers are generally selfish, merely impregnating women with nothing to lose and only status to gain (Kiselica 2008; Luker 1996; Paschal 2006). Examining teen fathers’ narratives of responsibility reveal the ways in which gendered norms can solve some problems while creating others. Aligning themselves with stereotypes of young men as “naturally” heterosexually obsessed, for example, can serve as a resource for denying responsibility as well as signifying their manhood. But these same images also serve to stigmatize teen fathers as selfish, and even predatory. While these approaches may allow teen fathers to claim masculine identities, they also stigmatize them as the wrong kind of men. Consequently, many of the teen fathers I interviewed positioned themselves in opposition to these stereotypes. By locating teen pregnancy within a context of love, they are able to challenge assumptions that teen fathers are inherently selfish and predatory by constructing themselves as respectable and good.

Attempts to cope with teen pregnancy usually take the form of sex education reform (e.g., abstinence-only education) or other policies (e.g. welfare reform) that frame early childbearing as a social and monetary burden on taxpayers. These strategies often reinforce the assumption that teen pregnancy is a woman’s issue by emphasizing women’s responsibility in choosing or preventing pregnancy. Recent decades have witnessed the increase in programs that seek to bring (teen) fathers back into the fold, especially those that promote paternal involvement by enforcing paternity and child support. However, these approaches fail to consider the larger structural influences that men, and the culture at large, utilize in maintaining teen pregnancy as a women’s problem. For example, the claims these young men make about the promiscuity of their sexual partners can mean much more than calling names or debasing reputations. Monson (1997) found that women’s child support and welfare receipt were often determined with heavy consideration paid to their sexual activity. Most troubling, she found that men’s beliefs in the mother’s fidelity and their general knowledge of her sexual activity carried just as much weight as the women’s self-reported claims. So it is not just concern over women’s sexual activity that becomes problematic, but also that men’s claims of this activity have the power to shape women’s identities and access to resources. Hence, there are real repercussions for the mothers (and the children) that extend beyond bad reputations (see also Mollborn 2011; Mollborn and Lovegrove 2011).

Footnotes

Author’s Note:

I would like to thank Joan Hermsen for her support and guidance at every stage of this project, Nathan Weber for dropping his own work so that I could write in peace and quiet, and Joya Misra, Maxine Craig, and the anonymous reviewers at Gender & Society for their incredibly thoughtful comments on multiple drafts of this article. This research was funded in part by The James S. Rollins Slavery Atonement Endowment at the University of Missouri.

Jennifer Beggs Weber is a doctoral candidate at the University of Missouri. Her research and teaching interests focus broadly on inequalities, culture, and identity.

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