Ultimate Blogging Challenge January 2026 - Default Parent

A while ago I came across a post by a fellow HR Professional on LinkedIn, Marlene Eve. I don't know her personally, but I immediately felt connected.

Here’s what she wrote:

Yesterday, I had a brief chat with my daughter’s kindergarten teacher. I’d dropped off some clothes and, as Wednesday is my day off, we exchanged a few words about current topics. She mentioned that parent-teacher conferences would be scheduled soon and that she’d get back to me with details.

So far, so good.

And then she added:
At the conference, we could talk in more detail about my daughter’s development, upcoming appointments and events, and her dad could also join, if he has time.

If he has time.

That sentence stopped me for a moment.

So as a mom, I’m automatically expected to have time, because I’m the mom, while dad, with his presumably important job, is only included if it suits his schedule? I may be overthinking this, but it triggered something.

To be clear: the teacher is kind and caring, and I’m convinced there was no malicious intent. Still, doesn’t this unconsciously reinforce a certain role model?
Mom is the default parent. Dad is optional. Important conversations happen with mom; dad joins if convenient.

Or am I exaggerating?

Reading the comments, I noticed one from a male friend who wrote that he is almost always one of very few fathers attending school events, even those held in the evening. For him, it’s a question of priorities. He works a lot, yet he makes time.

Same goes for my husband, btw, and I am grateful for this.

That resonated, and I commented for once.

Dear Marlene, just wait until there’s an incident: fever, injury, anything urgent. Even when both parents are listed as emergency contacts, the mother is almost always called first.

Why?
Because a sick child wants their mom?
Because mom is seen as the first choice, always?
Because it’s assumed she’ll drop everything and come running?
Or because no one dares to disturb dad, surely he must be busy?

The same pattern shows up in volunteering. School events, sports clubs, hotdog stands, storytelling afternoons, carving Räbeliechtli (the Swiss version of a jack-o’-lantern). I clearly remember: it was a group of moms. 

Exclusively. 

And it was on a workday; I had to take time off. I didn’t mind; I was happy to, and I considered it time well spent. What I can’t remember, though, is the conversation we had at home before the event, when the invitation arrived. By the way I wish I could remember what the invitation actually said. “Dear parents”? Or, implicitly, “Dear moms”?

Did I immediately volunteer to attend arts and crafts, Räbeliechtli edition? Or did I innocently ask, “So… are you going?”

What I do know is that for my husband it would have felt like running the gauntlet: likely being the only father among a group of chattering women, working on a project that required some manual dexterity.

And before anyone assumes otherwise: I had to wing it too. These other moms weren’t my friends, and sitting around gossiping isn’t my idea of a good time either. But I did it for our son.

Our son, not my son.
Even though, in moments like these, I briefly feel tempted to claim him as mine alone.

Have you noticed similar “default parent” assumptions at school, in sports clubs, or even at work? And how do you usually respond to them?