Favorites: “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to turn him gay?”

I’ve really enjoyed sharing snippets of our family’s life in Knit Together this year. So I decided to re-run this post about my Stuart, who is one of the bravest kids I know–despite his fears of fast things, new places, and new people. Update on Stuart’s penchant for stereotypically “girl” things at the end.

“Aren’t you afraid you’re going to turn him gay?”   I’ve been asked this question many times. The first few times, I was speechless (which pretty much never happens to me). After those first few times, my canned response became: “Well . . . if this were Hogwart’s, then yes, perhaps I would be worried that my parenting style would ‘turn my son gay,’ but since we’re not living at Hogwart’s, then no, it’s not something I worry about.” That usually shuts up even the most meddlesome inquirer.

Stuart exhibits lots of stereotypically girl behaviors (although fewer now that he’s almost 8 than he did at 1, 2, 3 . . .). He has two sisters, after all.   He loved Polly Pockets, Littlest Pets, Barbies, and Bratz (gasp!). When he brought a doll to pre-school for show and tell, a girl said:   “Stuart, you can’t play with dolls.   Dolls are girl toys.” Watching from the sidelines, I wanted to jump in and fix the situation, but I needn’t have worried. Stuart shrugged his shoulders and said, with his little-boy voice that couldn’t say his r’s: “That’s weiwd. At my house, we don’t have giwl toys and boy toys; we just have toys.” And that was that.

Then there was the time in kindergarten when he painstakingly painted his nails sparkly purple and proudly waved his hands in front of his face to show me. I told him they looked beautiful . . . and then warned him that kids at school might tease him. He dismissed my comment summarily and went to school the next day, gender stereotypes be damned. I worried a lot that day about what might happen to him. When I picked him up, he said:   “Mom, you were wight.   Somebody did say something to me about my fingernails.” My heart skipped a beat. I said:   “Oh yeah?   What happened?” A girl said: “Stuart, you can’t paint your fingernails. Only girls can paint their fingernails!” And he said:   “Huh.   Well I’m a boy and I paint my fingewnails . . . so I guess boys can paint their fingewnails.” And then they both ran out to the playground.

We re-visited the fingernail painting issue in 1^st grade. I reminded him that usually boys don’t paint their nails and he reluctantly said “I know . . .” I told him he would just have to think about how much he liked painting his nails, and decide whether it was worth it to him to paint them even if people made fun of him. He immediately said: “Well I do weally like it . . .” So that settled it.

He once wore a hot pink sequined belt to school. Another time he wore his sister’s old denim coat with hot pink fur lining. His older sisters begged us to prohibit him from wearing it. I imagined myself saying: “Stuart, you can’t wear that coat that you love because it’s too girly” and I just couldn’t do it. His best friend took one look at him that day and said: “Dude, where’d you get that coat?”   And Stuart said: “Dude, it was my sistuw’s.” And that was that.

So no, I don’t worry about whether I’m going to turn him gay.   I’ll be completely honest and admit that if he (or one of our daughters) is gay, I will feel a bit sad-not because I think it’s wrong or bad or against somebody’s divine plan, but simply because it’s a tough row to hoe.   It’s not politically correct anymore to be racist or sexist or anti-Semitic, but it’s still okay to be homophobic. Or to use the tiresome “Love the sinner, hate the sin” line. And I don’t want my kids to suffer-even if I know that no one goes through life unscathed.

What do I worry about? I worry about creating a home in which Stuart can grow up and be happy and confident and comfortable in his own skin.   And so far, all systems are a go on that. The most important message I want my kids to get from me is this: you are beautiful and good and whole just the way you are. Your dad and I love you-gay/straight, rich/poor, dumb/smart, Mormon/not-Mormon-you get the picture. We just love you. And God help anyone who tries to convince them otherwise.

I love my boy who, at age seven, still loves pink, shiny, sparkly things, painted fingernails, his weekly ballet/tap/jazz class, “girl toys” at McDonald’s, and proudly hauls his pink soccer ball to practice every week. I can’t wait to see what the world has in store for Stuart. Or what my Stuart has in store for the world. But for now, I’ll just enjoy him. He coated his arms and legs in Fuji Apple Body lotion tonight. Man, I love that kid.

***************************************************************************************************************

Update: In the last year, Stuart has said goodbye to the following “girly” loves:

• Sparkly lip gloss – In January 2011, I bought 4 clearanced lip glosses from Bath & Body Works–one for me and each of the three kids. When they got in the car after school, I held them up and said, “Okay, you each get to choose one.” Stuart scrunched up his face and said, “Mom, I don’t want that.”   I asked why on earth not. He said, “It’s sparkly.” Case closed. No more sparkly lip gloss for Stuart. I was surprised by how sad his response made me.
  
• “Girl” McDonald toys – I can’t remember when this happened. When the drive-thru person said, “Is it for a boy or a girl?,” I started to say my usual line: “It’s for a boy, but we want the girl toy . . .”   But before I could finish, Stuart loudly said over me, “Boy.”   No more girl toys from McDonald’s. Another little dagger in my heart.
  
• Painting his fingernails – I can’t remember the last time he did this, either, but regret that I didn’t take a picture of it. Alas, I had no way of knowing it was the last time.
  

Luckily, Stuart still loves dance and wowed us at his recital in May. He loved his hip hop class this summer and added all sorts of funky moves to his white boy repertoire, but when fall dance classes started, opted to stick with jazz, tap, and ballet. He recently informed me that he wants to learn French in high school. When I asked him why, he said, “I think it will really help me with my ballet.”

Because everyone knows that the best ballet dancers can properly pronounce “battement tendu.”

So here’s to many more years of dance (or soccer, but please not football . . .) and choosing boy (or girl) toys, painting fingernails (or not), and wearing lipgloss (or not).