What is a boy? I suppose technically a boy is a young male human, so I was a boy once. But on the other hand, I was never really a “boy.” Walking through the aisles of toys and costumes and games and everything else aimed at our children, I am constantly reminded that there are certain rules for being a boy that I never followed. Not that I was a typical “girl” either, I just wasn’t very good at being a “boy.”
For one thing, “boys” like sports, which I never did. I never played on a team, even though my pediatrician at the time (whom I loathed for saying this) told my parents that I must take up a sport. I did sign up for some sports, but I never went to a practice or a game. I was never really that coordinated and, while I liked playing with my friends, the instant it became an official sanctioned team, all the fun went right out of it. It was all about winning (even if the coach just told everybody to have fun), and I knew it. Even in gym class where it really didn’t matter, every ball I missed was rewarded with shouts and looks of scorn from my beloved classmates. Luckily I didn’t care (too much), but I definitely felt a lack of respect among those who valued athleticism above all else.
And maybe it was because I had a sister, or maybe not, but I was not selective in what cartoons I enjoyed. I loved He-Man, to be sure. I had many battles involving Thundercats and Transformers in my living room growing up. But I could also name all of the My Little Ponies. Is that embarrassing? Should it be? Maybe I wouldn’t have picked “Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer” as my number one movie choice on any given day, but I have seen it over a dozen times, and I enjoyed it every time, despite its obvious “girl” bias.
Perhaps it was because most of my friends were girls. I have always gotten along better with females, but I don’t think I ever counted a boy as my best friend until 3rd or 4th grade, and even now when I go to a party, or start rehearsals for a new show, I tend to gravitate towards hanging out with the women. I just don’t understand boys. Of course I don’t understand women either. Am I a mess, or what?
With Ruby, it was easier. I didn’t want to assign gender stereotypes to her, and so when we would go to McDonald’s on a trip, and they would ask “Boy or Girl toy?” I would always ask what the toys were, and then let Ruby decide. Sometimes she would get the Polly Pocket, and sometimes the Spider-Man, and that was fine with me. I figured that society would be sending her enough “girl” messages along the way, and I would do my best to make sure she had the option to do sports, or take advanced classes, or basically do whatever she was capable of, and had the desire for, doing, and her gender would not prevent her from anything.
But now I have a son. Edward already loves cars and trucks. He loves airplanes and dinosaurs. He says “vroom” when he plays with cars and “Rawr!” when he plays with dinosaurs. He may in fact be, a “boy.” If that is the case, what am I going to do with him? I don’t understand why 15 minutes of football takes an hour when all they do is stand around and crash into each other. I don’t know how to fix a car. As far as I know, I never bashed my head into things constantly as a child. I don’t think I know how to be a “boy,” and how can I teach him if I don’t know myself?
And here’s another terrifying thought. What if he’s not a “boy?” It’s totally fine for girls to play with cars and do sports and have Spider-Man toys now. Perhaps there are some who would disagree, but I believe that, even if the progress is slow, as a culture we are moving towards a kind of equality for women. Not so much for men. Will I have the strength to stand at the McDonald’s counter and ask Edward if he wants a truck, or a sparkly necklace? And what if he picks the necklace?
When I was 5 or 6, I had a doll that I loved very much. I had a lot of stuffed friends, but my doll was, at the time, my favorite, and I wanted to bring it in for show-and-tell. My mother begged me not to bring it in, and suggested other toys, but in the end she let me do it. Everyone laughed at me and teased me, and I came home crying. The end. Or is it? As a stay-at-home dad, I realize now that it is crazy not to allow boys to be nurturing, and to not let them express their care-giving side. I have ended up using a lot more of that side of myself than I ever originally thought. I am here in the house with two kids all day, and I don’t really know how to cook anything, I can’t sew on a button, and anything past basic cleaning seems to be beyond my grasp (according to my wife). So I am not a very good “girl” either.
I guess what it boils down to is that I want to give my children everything, and I know that I can’t. I can’t teach them how to sew, and I can’t teach them how to play football. But I can teach them a lot of things. I can teach them how to ride a bike, and how to make cookies. I can love them for who they are, no matter who they turn out to be, or how much it might terrify me. I can teach them my values, and I can teach them to value others. I can let them know that the person who is laughing at them today, will someday be their Facebook friend. I was never a very good “boy,” but I’m okay with that, as long as I can be a good father.
great aria