I recall a conversation last year among a group of friends in which we discussed a topic that I suspect is far from the minds of most Harvard students: our future spouses. This group shared their dreams of marrying doctors, lawyers, and various people pursuing other occupations that carry with them Western society’s stamp of sure financial success. When the conversation meandered around to me and it became obvious that I was expected to share my hopes for my future wife, I shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t particularly care what she does.” The oxygen left the room in a sudden collective intake of air. “What a considerate husband you’ll be,” one girl said with a roll of her eyes. I attempted to explain what I considered a reasonable position. “I’m not saying that I would be apathetic about my wife’s career, I’m saying that I would lend her my support regardless of what she chooses to do with her life.” “You don’t mean to say that you would marry a housewife, right?” one boy asked in horror, poised to brand me with the worst form of moral opprobrium. Though grateful for the escape hatch he was offering, I declined to take it. “If that’s what my wife prefers, then I would have no problem with that,” I answered truthfully. He shook his head sadly and responded, “I would never allow my wife to just stay home and raise the kids.” And all of the good feminists said, “Amen.”

A disclaimer is in order: I do not believe women should feel compelled to be homemakers, caregivers, or anything of the sort. I do not believe that they should feel required to have children, or even to marry. I believe that all occupations should be open to accepting women who meet the standards necessary to excel in their chosen field. In fact, considering that I intend to pursue a career in public service (a path that promises many worthy rewards that happen not to include the financial variety), it would actually be ideal if my wife were the primary breadwinner in our future household. I have no problem with strong women, strong men, or strong people–but many Harvard students do. They are not frightened of raw ambition, the relentless pursuit of worldly success that carried a large number of us here to Harvard and still sends 31 percent of Harvard graduates into career fields like finance and consulting. That kind of “strength” is familiar to everyone at Harvard; they’re much more uncomfortable with the self-sacrificial kind that comes with supporting a family and raising children.

If Harvard students do think about marrying and having children one day, it’s likely a distant concern; something to worry about in the hazy alternate universe of your thirties, or perhaps even later. I would say that this is the wrong attitude to take. From a practical stance, there are of course biological concerns to take into account: women have a limited window of optimum fertility no matter how much political freedom they enjoy (though Facebook is trying to change that), and personally it would be nice to look more like my child’s father than her grandfather at her high school graduation. However, even when ignoring the physical limitations imposed upon us by nature, I would urge Harvard students to give greater consideration to beginning a family at a younger age. Harvard can teach us many things, but humility is not usually one of them. Marrying someone and raising children with them is hard. It is a drain of time, resources, and energy, all of which you would most likely prefer to spend on some other pursuit. As a parent, you will make mistakes, you will have regrets, and you will know humility more intimately than you ever thought possible. It will be worth it.

This is not to say that beginning a family in your twenties is for everyone. It is simply to say that you should not denigrate your friends who do make that choice. This does not only apply to friends who marry early, but to those who enter what one might consider an “untraditional” career field for a Harvard graduate: teaching, counseling, social work, or other low-paying but entirely honorable job choices. The irony is that Harvard students are actually quite acquainted with the idea of sacrifice. We sacrifice all other concerns to our research, our internships, and our other résumé-building activities; no cost is too much to ask in order to land that summer job. What we’re not too familiar with is the idea of self-sacrifice on behalf of others. Remember that the next time that you see a woman wrangling her kids in the grocery store aisle or a man tending to his daughter’s bloodied knee at the park. Their choices are not due to any deficit of ability, but an excess of humility–and there’s no job more important than theirs.

Andrew B. Pardue ’16 is a government concentrator in Mather House. His column appears on alternate Tuesdays.