“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 1st 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.
;
Bedecked
by Victoria Redel
Tell me it’s wrong
the scarlet nails my son sports
or the toy store rings he clusters
four jewels to each finger.
He’s bedecked.
I see the other mothers looking at the star choker,
the rhinestone strand he fastens over a sock,
Sometime I help him find sparkle clip-ons
while he says sticker earrings look too fake.
Tell me I should teach him it’s wrong to love the glitter,
that a boy’s only a boy who’d love a truck with a remote that revs,
battery slamming into the corners
or Hot Wheels loop-de-looping off tracks into the tub.
Then tell me it’s fine-really-maybe even a good thing
-a boy who’s got some girl to him,
and I’m right for the days he wears a pink shirt on the seesaw in the park.
Tell me what you need to tell me but keep far away from my son who still loves a beautiful thing not for what it means-
this way or that- but for the way facets set off prisms
and prisms spin up everywhere
and from his own jeweled body
he’s cast rainbows made every singing true color.
Now try to tell me-man or woman-your heart was ever once that brave.
@Bored in Vernal, I love this so much!
I most definitely agree with the “keep far away” sentiment and the questioning whether you were once that brave. Part of me thinks he’s brave and then part of me thinks it’s just nothing to him. He is just being him. Is that brave? Does bravery require fear? If so, then he’s not brave because he’s not afraid. It’s all the meddlesome adults who are afraid. Afraid of what, I don’t know.
I can’t begin to tell you how much this warms my heart. I plan on sharing this link with my friends on Facebook tonight. Thank you.
As a school teacher, I’m never worried about the student expressing himself/herself. BUT I do worrying about bullying. Safety, both emotional and physical is often difficult to monitor for any child who goes against the norm. There are support groups. In the town where I teach, Vegas -there are GLBT clubs. I watch GLEE on television and see them trying to portray some of the attitudes of students and openingly different kids. It has to be very, very lonely for students living and feeling singular in their natural skin.
I’m glad to hear that your son is already logically and briefly defending himself and his choices. He probably is doing well because he has a supportive and loving home. Fingernail polish and favorite pink or girlie clothes will not make him gay. But there are physical and hormonal and biological differences that have been studied by scientists that do show a person’s own physiology does. There are also studies about genetics and family patterns. It has to be scary for a person born with a leaning in a direction that is not the norm for the people around him.
My God made a variety of people and I believe he loves them all.
We took Stuart shopping for his soccer stuff. There we were, in a sporting goods store. We’d picked out shoes, socks, shin guards, etc. and we were looking at the row of soccer balls. I showed him which size he was supposed to get (which narrowed it down to 5-6 balls). The balls were up high, so I took a few different balls down and he looked at them. We’d looked at about half the balls when I noticed a pick ball, shoved back on the shelf. I ignored it and we kept deliberating. Stuart asked which one I liked the most and I commented on a couple of them. I thought we had it narrowed down to a black and silver ball signed by somebody whose name I didn’t recognize when Stuart glanced up and saw the pink ball. “Dad, is that ball the right size?” Huh, yeah, Stuart, I think it is. “I want that one.” Huh, it’s pink–you sure you want that one? I don’t think anybody else on the soccer team is going to have a pink ball. “I know, I’ll be the only one. I want that one.” Then his sister chimes in, “Hey Stuart, you won’t have worry about anyone stealing you ball.” Then his other sister chimes in, “And yours will be easy to find when it’s mixed in with all the other balls.” “Cools,” Stuart says, in response. And that’s it. We buy the pink ball. And he’s happily taken it to every practice.
@Angie, yes, the bullying worries me. Tremendously. I have seen him disarm people who are teasing him with a confident response, but I know it’s one thing to do that at 3, 5, and 8 and quite another to do it at 15.
Also, I didn’t mean to imply that liking pink and painting one’s fingernails are signs that someone is gay. I worried that someone could get that impression. I don’t want to sound so reductionistic. I absolutely agree that it’s biological and that no amount of fingernail polish (or prayer or therapy or any number of other things) will make–or UNmake–a person’s sexuality.
My husband and I just decided, after being confronted with some of these situations, that our job as parents was to help Stuart be who he needs to be. It’s not to help him be who WE want him to be.
Heather and Brent,
You’ve a great parenting job to have a child so secure that he can make choices based on what he likes rather than what his peers will say.
You have a beautiful family Brent! And judging from this blog, you are both wonderful parents. Basically what I’m trying to say is…You Rock!
The beautiful thing about it is that Stuart is already feeling his way around, asserting himself, and experiencing differentness. There is also a strength in his staking out his territory before they are delineated for him.
As many of us have experienced with the word of wisdom, having presented our standards in the past, it becomes a given, and many around us will make that extra effort to requisition a ginger ale.
Stuart has wisely let all around know his tastes, and by extension, fair warning to JR High School teachers etc. Hopefully, that will pay off in a ‘he’s always been that way, and we’ve always gone along’ tolerance.
Heather, Brent, you must be the IDEAL parents! My father treated me as an accessory (I feel a strange affinity towards Paris Hilton’s pet-of-the-month) As a kid it was, “What would the rest of the ward think if the bishop can’t even get his own son to dress properly!” Even in my late 40’s its,”My counsellor in the mission presidency has a thing about facial hair, if you could just shave while you visit.” or “I know that as the artist you need to stand out, but I’m not driving you to your museum opening if you wear that; people I know will be there.” And they wonder why I don’t visit much…
Stuart is blessed to have you as parents, and I can see that he has blessed you in many ways too! Customs are not commandments, and those of us who can show alternatives, and different perspectives on things are absolutely essential to a vital vibrant community. It will be exciting to see how and where he shines.
Your article made my day!
@ Bitherwack, thanks for you posts (here and elsewhere). No offense, but if my dad were to say something like what you describe, I’d put my arm around him, tell him that it wasn’t personal, but then say something like “Dad, I have a problem with arrogant, self-righteous assholes that someone feel entitled to impose their religious views on everyone around them–would you mind making sure the mission president doesn’t come around while I’m there, I’d really appreciate it.” Or, “you’re right, it’s important what people are going to think at the museum opening, would you mind staying in the car when we get there?–it’s not personal, but if you’re going to where what you’ve got on, I’m afraid people might think you were some self-righteous, Beck-watching conservative, and that might be bad for my image–or you could change into something else?” Hopefully he would take offense, and they you’d have the opportunity to suggest that maybe you both should be more accepting of the other (and then, being the bigger man that you are, you could offer to meet him half-way). Anyway, I tried Facebooking your name, but all I came up with was the page of a guy running for congress in Florida. . .
Folks, sometimes it’s hard to tell what Brent’s *really* trying to say, isn’t he?
But yes, I agree. I shudder to think that my adult children would not be able to be themselves when they were with us. Or that they would think of shaving or covering themselves or skulking around, pretending to be someone they’re not just for us.
Oops–it’s hard to tell what he’s trying to say, isn’t it?
What a cool post…
I played with my sisters’ barbies, wore my mom’s fingernail polish and makeup (and shoes, and made makeshift dresses for myself out of blankets), pretended to be Jeanie (from “I Dream of…”). I hated “boy toys.” My brother had toy soldiers, race cars, etc. I thought they were boring or gross. (Always hated the war-toys — maybe it was the graphic images from Vietnam I was seeing on our TV as a kid.) I never liked sports — either watching or playing. Preferred hanging out in the kitchen with mom…
I’ve never known how much of that was related to being gay… I don’t know how many of my straight male friends had similar inclinations/interests, but won’t fess up to it… Or how many of my gay friends were more stereotypically “boyish” as kids… (Though, truth be told, just about every gay friend I’ve ever asked has told me as kids they played with dolls and liked dressing up…) It’s fascinating to me.
Your son’s lucky to have such parents, either way, gay or straight.
@Bored in Vernal, LOVED your poem. Really beautiful. I hope that you’ve published it somewhere or are going to publish it somewhere.
@Brent and Heather, you guys give me a lot to look up to and try to imitate. I hope my kids will feel as comfortable and loved as your kids do.
Oh how I wish we all had Stuart’s confidence, good for you for not squashing it.
Loved this post. Tonight my 2yo son is wearing his sister’s sparkly boots and hot pink nail polish.
I remember my son in Kindergarten (who is now 15 and seems to be quite heterosexual), wistfully saying, “Mom, why do the girls get to wear the sparkly stuff?” I told him that he could wear it too, but he wasn’t sure that was such a good idea.
One of my favorite things about having kids is watching them express themselves. Our youngest, the only girl – knows exactly who she is. It changes from day to day, along with grand proclamations such as: “I will only wear things that are pink”, or “I’m only wearing ‘boy clothes'”. The result? Last Friday she wore camo-green cargo capris, a t-shirt that matches her brothers from the boy’s department with a wolf on it, long sleeve-heart shirt layered under it, argyle knee socks, and sparkly twinkle toe tennies. You never know what is going to walk down the stairs in the morning, and she could care less what anyone else is wearing, or thinks about it.
I wonder – if I could possibly remove any social cues about what is in style, what is appropriate, what matches, etc. – what would I wear today?
I can’t help but think of this song from Hair, which I first heard in 1968 (when I was 13). It hit me like a ton of bricks.
I grew up with 5 sisters. I was subjected to many beauty experiments involving dresses, fingernails, make up you name it. In my rare me time I would play with legos.
In jr high i would get hand me downs from my flamboyant trendy 80s clothes-wearing young uncle and weird cheap clothes like coca cola shirts that were turquoise color.In high school I continued to get more depeche mode sterotype clothes and had no sense of style. I was a shy computer nerd that had one close friend who didn’t know fashion either. We always hung out at lunch in the same spot.
At the reunions or when I see someone from highschool and they see my wife or baby they say huh, guess i was wrong. The first time I heard that people thought I was gay in school I had a passing thought all at once of “lol, how did I not see that.” and thats all I ever thought about it the one time someone said that. Then I thought, hey at least I had a title. Gay Nerd.
I think SLK has it right with the lyrics. Up until the near the revolutionary war gentlemen wore high heels, powdered wigs, fake moles and ridiculously silly fancy clothes. The males usually do have the crazy plumage. TO IMPRESS THE LADIES! So now instead of Gay Nerd I think that I will retroactively adopt the moniker Renaissance Nerd.
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