i don't have time for this crap

I'm kind of drowning in life right now. (Or, more like, always.) I'm burning the candle at both ends, except if the candle was a ball and it was just ON FIRE. The last thing I should be doing is writing a blog post. It was not budgeted into this week's schedule which is packed tighter than most Americans' ginormous not-even-remotely-carry-on-sized luggage is wedged into the overhead compartment. BUT. When duty calls.

[Incidentally, I saw something the other day directed at bloggers about whether you edit as you write, or write the whole thing first and then edit. I was like, um, neither. I sit down, have digital/verbal diarrhea, post (or more often, schedule it to post), then once it posts I'm like, Shit! Typos! And I go edit and update it approximately three or seven times in rapid succession. What can I say. I'm a pro.

Anyway, that aside was just to say that, when I get a bug up my ass about something, I can't think about much else until I barf it out onto the computer, or on paper in a pinch, or painstakingly type it with my thumbs into the Notes on my iPhone. And actually, it's pretty much the only way I can write anything good. Prompts and sponsored posts come out sounding like just that. Which is why this can't wait.]

So. Today. Jack likes to get dressed IMMEDIATELY when he wakes up. And he likes to pick out his own clothes. And he likes to wear mismatched socks. He has had this one shirt for years. I am obsessed with it. It hails to my youth. But he never ever wants to wear it. Probably because it is neon pink. This morning, however, he decided, of his own accord, to wear the pink shirt. Correction. Orange shirt. Radical.


No, he's not brown-baggin' a fo'ty.
That's his "share." It's a "tele-cope." (Obv. Because BOYS like SCIENCE.)
By the way, I took this pic before "the incident," because I thought he looked so freakin' cute.

But. When we walk onto the playground for drop off, two little girls from his class instantly point and yell, "JACK'S WEARING PIII-IIINK!!!" Now. As you may or may not know, my son is a "highly sensitive child," and people making fun of him is honestly the worst possible thing for him. Seriously, I almost think he would rather be in physical pain. His sweet little face just fell and he kind of folded into himself. One of his teachers saw this go down, knows Jack's sensitivities, and tried to save the situation by saying "No, I think it's more of a coral color." Jack cries back, "It's not pink! It's not cowal! It's OWANGE!" I said, "BOYS ARE ALLOWED TO WEAR PINK, YOU IGNORANT LITTLE FUCKS!" No. I didn't. I said, "Buddy, it's fine! Boys are allowed to wear pink! You look super handsome! And it has an awesome surfer bug on it!" His teacher picked up on my line of argument and said to the little girls, "Right. Boys can wear pink, and girls can wear blue," etc.  The two girls caught the drift and were like, "Yeah! See? There's a blue jewel on the crown on my purple Princess Sofia dress!" and "I'm wearing blue, too!" (Like, a blue thread in a hot pink dress, but, hey, E for effort, kid.) Jack said "IT IS NOT PINK!" I was like, "Okay. Pinkish-Orangeish." Jack: "O-WAAANGE!!!!!" Me: "Okay, okay. Let's call it 'neon orange.'" Just to seal the deal, another little boy walked out and said, "PINK SHIRT." Seriously?!? You would have thought he was dressed in sequins and gold lamé like fucking Liberace the way these kids were reacting. And I live in a fairly funky so-cal surf town. And all this 80s crap is back in style, right? Or has that passed now? Still. What the shit, people?!

I knew the damage had already been done. Jack sort of crumpled into himself, tugging on his shirt, on the verge of tears, saying "I don't want to wear this shoit anymoah. People are going to think it's pink." (Accurate, because it is, in fact, pink.) I said, "Aww, bud, it's okay, it's an awesome shirt and you look like such a cool dude! It's okay if people think that - EVEN THOUGH IT IS NOT PINK AT ALL IT IS VERY ORANGE - but if it WERE pink, that would be okay, too, because it is totally cool for boys to wear pink. Daddy has pink shirts! He even work a pink shirt for our Christmas pictures and he looked so handsome!" NOPE. Not havin' it. J: "I willy don't want to wear it, Mama. People will just laugh at me all day." Me: "Okay, love, of course! The last thing I want is for you to be sad and uncomfortable. And I am so so sorry those kids made you feel bad. That was not nice of them. You do whatever you want, but just so you know, your shirt is totally fine and nobody should have given you a hard time." Luckily he had a spare Lego Movie t-shirt in his cubby and it was BLUE. Phew. That was a close one. Remind me not to step out of our color-coordinated gender roles ever again. (Oh shit. I just realized I'm wearing a blue sweatshirt. And blue jeans, too. Come to think of it, I'm basically dressed like a giant Smurf. People are totally going to think I'm a man!!!)

I wrote a poem special for the occasion:

Jack wore pink, kids pointed and laughed
Jill wore blue, no one gave a rat's ass

Anyway, the moral of the story is: my son will never, ever, wear pink orange EVER again. Thanks a lot, jerks.

It just makes me so sad. I just saw this post this morning by some dad about how he "lets," or rather, gives his girl the freedom to be a "girl" (read: pink glitter princess), and I liked it, I see his point, I'm the same way. My girl does love princesses and kitty cats and all things pink. But really, lets be honest with ourselves here. Girls don't come out of the womb wanting pink frilly shit, and boys don't come out of the womb with an aversion to it. They are, apparently, sooner than later, shamed into conforming, and it pisses me the fuck off.

That is all.



[This reminds me of a funny post I just saw:
"I'm in Old Navy. I can't believe how many shirts are left over from the 1976 Surf Championship." ;)]

Update: This morning when I dropped the kids off, all of the little boys in Colby's class were wearing pink fire fighter hats (which, incidentally, were given to all of the GIRLS when "Calbin's" fire fighter dad visited the class last month. The boys got manly BLACK. Rawr.) It made my heart happy. And made me realize that the identity-stomping must start somewhere between the ages of 3 and 4.

the bedazzled bulldozer

what better way to start your day than with some more critical analysis of heteronormativity and hegemonic masculinity.... AMIRITE?!? hahaha, i'm half kidding.

this is about my boy and his pink blankie - the kernel that sparked my recent gender studies rampage. warning: there may be an inverse relationship between word count and actual knowledge on the subject.

anyway. my son is very ... sensitive. the sensitive child thing, and more specifically, the sensitive boy thing, is enough for a whole book (seriously, there's a whole book), let alone a blog post, so i will address that another time. i know (or hope) that, at least in part, it's the age, hence the "top 50 insane reasons my son is crying" fad. but i also know that, at least in part, it's just who he is. he's the sweetest, funniest, most thoughtful, most empathetic, cleverest little person, but he's also very emotional, raw, dramatic, and intense. he cries a lot and has a quick and furious temper. he gets his feelings hurt SO easily - even a stray look can set him off like a spanish soap opera. we call him our "drama king." he also loves the outdoors and is obsessed with all things sports-related, especially baseball. he will reenact his world-series-winning pitch time and time again, but inevitably, his dad or his sister or i will say something wrong and there will be bats thrown in fury and a waterfall of tears.

jack loves bikes and skateboards and "surfing" and jets and rockets and construction vehicles and motorcycles and garbage trucks. he is also the only boy in his preschool class who listed pink as one of his favorite colors. he has a pink blankie (two of them, actually). he screams bloody f*cking murder if any winged insect flies within 37 feet of his head. (i'm talking like, a gnat, let alone one of those enormous shiny green pterodactyl bugs. last week we were eating lunch out and one of those skeevy things buzzed through the outdoor seating area and jack's reaction was exactly the same as the 14 year old girl one table over). meanwhile, my daughter will stomp on a big juicy spider with her bare foot, or pick up an enormous horned beetle bug between her little pincer fingers like it's no big thing.

jack has an internal safety-meter, closely monitoring himself and anyone in his general proximity, while colby likes to climb anything taller than she is, and will launch herself backwards off any surface with complete faith that someone will catch her. if her faith was misplaced and she comes crashing down on her head, she'll rub some dirt on it and move on. she's a little lover and gives the best "huggles" (snuggle-hugs), but if you wrong her, she will bite you or smack you in your stupid face. she loves "foop-ball" and "beep-ball" and is really into "air-peens" and trucks right now, or, as she calls them, "phucks." :) maybe this is just because her brother also loves all of those things and we basically haven't bought the poor girl a single toy of her own. the only "girly" toys she owns were gifts from aunties and uncles and grandparents. sorry kid ;)

jack likes to have his toenails painted, and when i'm getting ready in the morning he demands his own "makeup" so he can "get ready" for his "'pecial date." he loves to try on my heels (his favorite are a pink patent leather pair that he calls my "ballerina shoes") and his sister's glitter Target Toms. the other night he told me he wanted a pair of glitter shoes, too. DM was sitting there giving me a warning glare so i said, "would you rather have glitter shoes, or light-up Spider Man shoes?" he chose Spider Man, and DM said, "that's my boy!" [*insert eye roll*]

but i couldn't help but ask myself, why did i make him choose? (aside from trying not to make him spoiled as sh*t, and it is too late for that.) the same thing happens when he wants to wear one of his sister's flower headbands to school, or wonders why he doesn't have any tutus. i just duck and weave, claiming they're in the wash or we don't have any in his size. when he asks to have his toenails painted pink or purple, i try to steer him to green or blue. i know how ridiculous that sounds. i'm painting his freaking toenails, so at that point, does it really matter what color they are? (speaking of, did you guys read about the hullabaloo last year when the president of J Crew was featured in an ad with her son, painting his toenails, and the caption read “Lucky for me, I ended up with a boy whose favorite color is pink. Toenail painting is way more fun in neon.” the backlash was quick, fierce, and absolutely absurd. ugh.)

but, my point is, why do i care? why can't i be more brave like that mom who let her son dress up as "Daphne" from Scooby Do on Halloween?* why can't (or rather, won't) i let him choose his own identity without placing my parameters on it? these are obviously my hang-ups, not his. where is that internal cringe-factor coming from when he zeros in on the gold glitter shoes at Payless Shoe Source? my critical gender studies professors would be ashamed of me. he's freaking three. i've seen enough photos of my straight male friends dressed in high heels and dresses as children to know that he will probably not turn into a cross-dresser later in life, no matter what he wears today. i don't worry that i'm "turning him gay" or anything of the sort. either he is or he isn't and i'm fine either way. i guess mostly - at least, this is how i justify it to myself - i feel like i'm protecting him? isn't it better that i steer him toward "gender appropriate" choices now so that he doesn't get teased and made fun of down the road? but then, i am just perpetuating the problem, right?

i mean, we live in california. people name their kids cricket and apple and lazer and some family used their third-born child as a sociological experiment re: gender norms. i understand that we've got a lot more leeway here than we would, for example, in kalamazoo, michigan. i mean, some places, a kid could get beat up for having his toenails painted pink or wearing his tinkerbell backpack to school. but still. i can just see him proudly bringing his favorite pink whatever to show-and-tell and some big brash bully character calling him a pansy or a "girl"... just imagining his little crestfallen face, and him coming home and telling me he hates pink and his new favorite color is black (not technically a color but not the time to tell him that). UGH. just the thought of that imaginary scenario in my mind BREAKS MY HEART. seriously. my heart. it is hurting right now. ouch.

many people claim nature over nurture and i'm not disputing that we all have, at our core, some essence of being that we carried with us into this world. but i think this essence is such a unique, individual thing. i don't think it comes in only two colors, two shapes, two sizes. nothing has driven this point home for me like having children. my kids each burst forth from my womb (and boy did they burst) with their personalities more or less formed. they like what they like and they DO NOT LIKE what they don't. they don't fit any formula, prescription or mold. they couldn't be more different from each other, or different than what i expected.

and who knows. maybe, statistically speaking, more girls do like dolls and more boys do like trucks. but i also know, from my own experience, kids pick up on our every prejudice. yes they come complete with personalities, but the knowledge and information comes from us, and they soak up every last drop, even the things we don't mean to share. to the extent that we do inform and mold their beautiful little minds, our responsibility as parents and as a society is to fill their brains and hearts and souls with everything they need to grow into functioning adult humans, preferably of the non-A-hole variety. one of my best girlfriends was telling me a while back that she was trying to convince her daughter to leave dance class or the park or wherever and she said, "Let's go home so we can watch princesses with Daddy." Millie replied "Daddies don't watch princesses. They watch football." my friend was marveling that our kids are now at the age where we are no longer in total control of the ideas that fill their heads. it's so true, and a little terrifying, too. but in the end, it's a good thing, right? it means there's still hope for children born into that cult of dickish douche bonnets at westboro baptist church.

maybe the fact that i'm even thinking and stressing about it just reinforces the walls that have already been built. i don't know. all i know is, my boy AND my girl like trucks AND dolls, glitter AND baseball. and i want that to be okay. i want to be aware of, and resistant to, this pigeon-holing that we do. looking on Pinterest, i see "10 crafts for toddler boys," "outdoor games girls will love"... can't we just call those "crafts" and "games"? why do we always have to fit everything so neatly into boxes. do this OR that. be this OR that. must check one. it's dumb.

interestingly, i really don't stress about my daughter in this regard. (actually, that's not entirely true. sometimes the daycare girl dresses her in these horrible butchy/frumpy outfits and ties her beautiful curls back into this little knot and she kinda looks like a sumo wrestler and i have to resist the powerful physical urge to change her outfit and fix her hair immediately upon arriving home.) but generally, i don't worry that she's going to get made fun of because she likes football or dresses like a boy (thank you Shiloh Jolie-Pitt). if she wanted to wear light-up spider man shoes instead of pink glitter ones, i wouldn't even think twice (okay, i'd be a little sad. i do love me some glitter. but i am fully prepared for a tomboy/goth phase as retribution for dressing her solely in hot pink for the first 2 years of her life.) so. i guess that strips my biases bare. why is that?!

maybe because she's tougher and thicker skinned than him. maybe because we are (thankfully) getting to a place in history where it's okay and even lauded when females excel at sports, math, science, and life. or maybe it's because, as a woman, i've spent less time confronting and analysing the socialized concepts of masculinity than i have those of femininity. i don't know. i hope you weren't looking to me for any answers, because i don't have any. thanks for coming along for the ride, though. and if you have the answers, please, feel free to share :)

*um, okay, side note. i went to look online for the link to that Daphne from Scooby Do "My Son Is Gay (or not)" blog post, and it seems to have magically disappeared from the internet. then i see a post from its author basically talking about how she was excommunicated from her church and community for writing the post. WHAT THE CRAP?!?!? okay. THIS is what i'm talking about?!?! is this what happens when you set your kids free to be who they want to be?

dear god, please let the internet self-destruct
before he is old enough to find this
on the world wibe web

by the way, i'm not saying J is necessarily "gender creative" (if that's an official thing), or a "girly boy" (this term is problematic on its face), or is or should be defined by his appreciation for pink glitter, but i do find it really comforting and enlightening that there are so many people thinking and talking about issues like this. it makes me think the interwebs are not a complete and utter waste of our brain cells.

 

Selected Googliography:

 

Can I Make My Son Gay, by Karen Alpert of Baby Sideburns at Chicago Now.com

http://www.chicagonow.com/baby-sideburns/2013/09/can-i-make-my-son-gay/

Pink is for Boys http://pinkisforboys.wordpress.com/

Raising my Rainbow - Adventures in Raising a Fabulous, Gender Creative Son
http://raisingmyrainbow.com
[And I love what she says about photographer/artist Parisa Taghizadeh's project "BOY," "a series of portraits of my son who enjoys 'dress-up.'" Although the project seems to be about a boy’s love for princesses and fairies, it’s more "an inquiry into what little boys are allowed to be before the world changes them and molds them into some notion of what it means to be a man in our society.”]

Sarah Hoffman - On Parenting a Boy Who Is Different http://www.sarahhoffmanwriter.com/