The Pink Nightmare

Do you have dreams, like I do, where you are not familiar with the environment, are not entirely certain who you are, but you know that you are not who you are in your waking life?

See, I was born in the 80’s, and that meant I was a youngster in the early 90’s, where mushroom cuts were all the rage. I preferred having short hair for a good majority of my childhood simply because I liked the way the clippers felt when they shaved the back of my head to get that perfect mushroom bowl. This preference, my preference, led others to conclude that I was male because my hair was short, and my face is handsome rather than fine featured.

Preference. That’s a funny word.

So, my mom had my ears pierced when I was 5 years old to help convince other folks that I was female; and like I said, it was the early 90’s, and men (even a handful of boys) also had their ears pierced, so this tactic was about as successful as Pepsi Clear.

“You are such a cute little boy!” said the neighbour lady who lived next door to me since FOREVER at the time.

My sister and friends were always slightly more offended than I was by ‘you must have a penis’ commentary, and were quick to jump to my defence by shouting from the bottom of the neighbour lady’s driveway that I was indeed, a girl.

Preference. Hm.

I remember being invited to a ballet-themed birthday party when I was 5, and borrowed pink tights, a tutu from god knows who, and pink ballet flats that were just this side of too small. Cutting my too long little kid toe nails didn’t help the cause.

I went to that party with my baby fat shoved into a pink sausage case onesie, my mushroom hair freshly cut, and infected pierced ears, thinking, “What in the hell?” as I stared into the mirror seeing a true pink nightmare. Ralphie who?

I remember that moment because it was the first time I wished I were a boy rather than simply looking like one.

Enter the confusing time in every child’s life where we become aware of stereotypes that are thrust upon us (mainly for the purpose of commercialism and product marketing) but also for the purpose of determining a deeper sense of identity and personal belonging in a community. The community of gender.

I am female, and identify as female, but I participate in the world in a way that our current culture still stutters in believing to be male. For example:

• I am the working parent
• I will choose to wear blue over pink
• I prefer to play sports roughly (Foul is my middle name in basketball, and I tend to make it a contact sport)
• I am trained in Kung Fu
• I prefer to lead (in the boardroom, and in the ballroom)
• I think farts are hilarious, and my sense of humour is almost always circling the toilet

I could go on…

For me, being a parent of two boys in this era is a conscious effort. It is important that my sons are supportive and understanding of gender fluidity, and that no, Donald, makeup is not only for girls, and yes pink does make a great hockey helmet for my boy, and if you refer to my child as a ‘bundle of sticks’ one more time I will Kung Fu punch-you-in-the-throat.

My four year old is constantly asking me whether a toy or product is meant for boys or for girls, and I consciously explain it is always both. I have yet to see a child’s toy that is operated using genitals, and if I do find one, you can be certain that a strongly worded letter to the manufacturer will follow shortly thereafter…then a bon fire…then that mind eraser thingy-ma-bob from MIB.

Son, you want to wear makeup to the mall?

Absolutely.

You want to have a Barbie for Christmas?

Santa says yes.

You want to wear a dress to your buddy’s birthday?

You betcha kiddo.

Look, I’m not on a crusade here. I’m just fiddle-farting my way through Mommyhood just like everyone else- throwing shit at a wall and seeing what sticks. All that I’m trying to accomplish is to instil empathy and compassion in my children, who just happen to be born male, but can be whoever the heck they wanna be, and should encourage others to be just as courageous and understanding.

So, do you have dreams, like I do, where you are not familiar with the environment, are not entirely certain who you are, but you know that you are not who you are in your waking life? Well, in these dreams, I am always a dude. It’s nuts!

Sincerely yours,

Fumbling Mom