By: Tommy Druen
Guest Columnist
I never had the chance to meet my great-grandfather, William Elbert Druen. He passed away several years before I was born. From all accounts though, he was a kind and decent man, the sort of person who made others feel comfortable simply by being near him. He was a farmer and lived a life marked by hard work and conviction.
He and my great-grandmother raised four children—three daughters, followed by their youngest, my grandfather. The girls were born in 1913, 1915, and 1920. Remarkably, each one graduated from Hart Memorial High School. That may not sound extraordinary today, but it was rare for girls—especially rural girls during the Great Depression—to finish high school. Each would’ve walked those hallways during the darkest economic downturn in American history.
At a time when families were scraping by and children were pulled from school to work, my great-grandfather kept his daughters in the classroom. That simple choice, made in hardship, speaks volumes.
Like most families, mine felt the weight of the Depression. I’ve heard stories of my great-grandfather laboring all day cutting tobacco for just twenty-five cents—and being grateful for the work. Still, he went to the bank seeking a loan to send his daughters to college. The banker declined—partly due to the economy, but also because he didn’t see the point in educating girls past high school.
That notion is foreign to me. I didn’t grow up wondering if girls were as intellectually capable as boys—I grew up knowing they were. I came of age in the time of Margaret Thatcher and Sandra Day O’Connor. My mother was the valedictorian of her class, and in my own high school honors courses, the girls outnumbered the boys three to one. The idea that girls should be discouraged from achievement felt as outdated as a horse and buggy.
Yet history tells another story. Even when women were allowed to work, their paths were narrowly drawn—teacher, nurse, secretary. Professions like law and medicine were largely out of reach. And even now, some public offices are seen as more “acceptable” for women. In Kentucky, roughly 70% of circuit and county clerks are women, but only seven counties have female judge-executives. Women make up less than 8% of county magistrates and commissioners.
That’s why I’ve never taken issue with efforts to encourage girls to explore male-dominated fields. Organizations like Girls Who Code, Step Up, and Girls Develop It have sparked interest and confidence in STEM over the past decade. And it’s working. Since 2016, the share of American women in the STEM workforce has risen by 8%, now standing at 29%.
The progress isn’t limited to STEM. In 1976, women made up 47% of college students. Today, they account for 58%. Their numbers have more than doubled—from 5 million to 11 million. That’s a story worth celebrating.
But what about the boys?
In the same period, male college enrollment rose only from 6 million to 8 million. Let me be clear—this isn’t about resenting the success of young women. I’m thrilled to see it and want it to continue. But I do wonder if, in our push to lift up girls, we’ve inadvertently overlooked the struggles of our young men.
Recent data shows that of Kentucky’s 2017 high school seniors, 35% of the girls earned an associate’s or bachelor’s degree within seven years. That may sound underwhelming—until you learn that only 23% of the boys did the same.
And it goes beyond degrees. Boys are underperforming in school, enrolling in college at lower rates, and entering the workforce more slowly. They’re more likely to still be living at home a decade later. Rates of clinical depression and suicide among young men are climbing at alarming rates.
Despite all this, the national conversation remains quiet. There’s little discussion and even less action.
Robert Baden-Powell, the founder of the Boy Scouts, once said, “The spirit is there in every boy; it has to be discovered and brought to light.” That spirit still exists. But somewhere along the line, many boys are losing their way—and we’re not doing enough to help them find it again.
I know my great-grandfather would be proud of the opportunities my daughter has today—the very ones he once dreamed of for his girls. But I suspect he’d also want to ensure those same doors remain open for his great-grandsons.
Empowering girls and supporting boys aren’t mutually exclusive. We can—and must—do both. The next chapter of American progress shouldn’t be exclusive to one gender; it should be co-authored.
