My daughter, the pink headed nightmare of any grown up tomboy, Helen Reddy singing mother.
I read the Myth of Motherhood, I read and re-read CUNT, and BITCH and BUST and Hip Mama. I highlighted and circled The Secret Lives of girls, and Little X. I listened and listened hard during my Women's Studies lectures on the evils of gender specific marketing, Barbie, Disney, Nickelodeon, et.al.
I truly believe that girls, and boys, should be allowed to play with and how they want regardless of gender stereotypes and mass marketing campaigns. So, when I got pregnant I was so ready to put it all into practice. I did want to learn the gender of my unborn fetus, mostly becuase i was tired of calling my belly "little bean" and I couldn't wait to write it in the baby book, which was yellow and blue and covered in gender neutral jungle animals, just like the nursery.
Of course, as soon as I told everyone the news (I have a big mouth) the pink started rolling in. I tried to discourage it, raving at my family that "Just becuase she is a girl does NOT mean that she will like pink, ponies and glitter!" but, as a poor soon to be mother, I certainly wasn't in a position to turn down free swag, so I figured I would supplement all the sparkly pink stuff with the green and blue stuff my friend gave me from her son and just let the kid wear whatever was clean and play with whatever she fancied. My resolve was solid, she would be a child with balls, (soccer, football, baseball) and little to no mass media affiliation, in her toy box.
So then, along came Lily. As a baby, when her wardrobe and toy choices were relatively in my control, she did just that, play with trucks and balls and bears and so on, wore what was available, and due to a rather lucrative baby shower, I didn't actually have to buy clothes or toys for nearly two years!
Around the time of her second birthday we found that she had finally outgrown the last of the baby shower booty (those women really thought ahead and I love them for it!) and it was time to go pick out some new clothes, and since her birthday was coming up, I thought we might take a stroll through the toy aisle and get an idea for gifts.
Again, becuase I am poor, and kind of lazy, I admit that I did take her to the local Evil Conglomerate Super Store, something I swore I wasn't going to do when I was a Righteous Babe with a pixie cut and rock solid principles in college, but, as cute as the sturdy, locally made wooden toys are at the non-chain, locally owned toy store are, I just can't afford them. That, and becuase there is usually a 3 to 6 month window of interest in toys that you buy for a two year old, I justified to myself that my youthful principles were not that important, (this was not the first, nor the last time this happened, more on that in the future) and that cheap and plastic would be fine.
So this is probably where it all went wrong.
We took her to the clothing aisle first, looking at the overalls, jeans and stretch pants, I saw my little person toddle away from me at her typical blinding speed. I hightailed after her and found her there, clutching a sequined purple belly shirt about four sizes too big and bedazzled with the phrase "Diva" or something equally ridiculous.
At first, I laughed and said "well isn't that a silly shirt!" reaching down to return it to its hanger. But when my hand reached the sequined monstrosity, I found that something was holding it back, hindering its replacement on the hanger next to the other inappropriate clothing for women not working a corner in Reno. Assuming it had to be caught on something, I looked down to free it and found instead, a two year old with a look of resolve and longing on her face I have only seen on mothers lifting cars off their children. "I need it, it's pretty" she says.
"Honey, it's too big and it isn't practical, lets go look at the jeans, over here" and I start to walk away, naively assuming my child will buckle under my simple reasoning.
"No... I need it, its...Pretty..." she says, slower this time, so that her mother, who is CLEARLY an idiot, will understand her attachment to this now entirely necessary piece of clothing.
"Lil, look, this outfit is silly, you are 2, you can't be a Diva, its not possible, and all the sequins will fall off in a day, how can you run around and climb trees in sequins?" forgetting, as I often do, that two year old's are not rational beings when they want something and want it now, I again assumed the matter would be closed. I picked her up, with the shirt, and placed her back in the cart, assuming that she would find something more interesting to play with once we reached the toy aisle.
I tried, once again to pry the offending item from my daughters' grasp and was greeted with "
MOMMY, I NEED IT, IT'S PRETTY!" She says for a third time, this time with an air of panic in her voice, seeing that despite her pleas I was not in fact, getting the urgency of the situation.
"Lil, you are not getting that shirt so give it up alright? Lets go pick out a new book?" I say, never above bribery.
"
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" and it begins, the kicking, the screaming, the general "I need it now and you are not doing as I say" temper tantrums two year old children are notorious for throwing in the middle of shopping centers. As she kicked and screamed I was able to pry the shirt from her grasp, throw it on a pile of something else and make a break for the toy aisle, hoping that perusing the board books would distract her long enough to figure out what to get her for her birthday.
We started in sporting goods, the tantrum beginning to subside, and I naively assumed that this was simply a momentary lapse in her judgment, that she was some how only attracted by the shininess of the shirt, that it did not equate to a closet full of booty shorts and platform heels by first grade. I had not lost her yet, we were okay.
We passed through the ball aisle, I showed her tiny mitts and soccer balls and basket balls in all shapes and colors, and she turned her nose up at every one.
So next came the cars, nope, legos? not a chance, educational video game toys? mmmmmaybe...but only if they're pink...(what?) and then...she see's it, her eye lighting up at the neon pink glow emanating from across the store, my nightmare, Barbie, babies, bottles and fairies.
"Mom, I want to see!" she shrieks, tossing the board book on animals of the barn yard to the floor.
"What harm can it do?" little did I know. I let her down from the cart and she toddled as fast as her nearly two year old legs could carry her to the nearest baby doll and toy vacuum cleaner. She cleaned, she cuddled, she said the words I had hoped I would never hear "Mom, I want the GIRL toys".
Oh the shame. The humiliation. The failing grade in Women's Studies.
"Honey," I said gently "These aren't just for girls, boys can play with babies, and girls can play with trucks, toys are just toys! And wouldn't you rather look over here at the jump ropes and explorer sets?" I smiled and nodded, picking up a toy magnifying glass and butterfly net to reinforce my point. "Mom, those are for boys!" she said with a look of disgust on her face. "I want a BABY!" Oh God.
And she never went back. After discussing it with my husband, my friends, my sisters, and my mother, I came to the conclusion that if the kid wants a baby, whats the harm in letting her have a baby? Well, I'll tell you, babies are gateway toy's. They lead to unicorns, fairies and that plastic bitch herself, Barbie. (Which I have manged to keep out of her hands successfully for the time being) Which bring on the princesses, the tea parties, the dress up clothes, the fake make up and the plastic purses and cell phones, all pink, that color I so firmly hated and rebelled against in my own awkward youth.
Its not just the toys either, her room went from cheerfully gender neutral, to pastel pink and purple in a matter of months, her shoes, once awesome flamed converse, are pink sandals with Dora stamped on the front. I hear every day "That's what boys do mom" or "I want the girls to win" and while I try to encourage a healthy sense of female unity, I worry that this whole "boys vs. girls" dichotomy she is setting up will create such mystery and fear surrounding the opposite sex that she will either be terrified or fascinated by them during puberty, and frankly, I'm not thinking either choice is a good one.
So, as I pushed and pushed for my pink haired sparkle princess, tea party daughter to embrace the world of sports and bugs and puddle jumping I started thinking.
"What really is the harm?" And though I had said this before with disastrous results, this time, I remembered something that I gleaned from on particular Women's Studies class so long ago, that Feminism, is about choice.
That's right boys, as much as you could have SWORN it was about oppressing men and taking over the world with your balls in our hands, that just isn't how it works.
To be a feminist yourself, and in particular a feminist parent, you have to realize that at the very core of this movement, Third Wave Feminism in particular, is the ability to choose ones own destiny, and that forcing a non-conformist or alternative point of view on a child that just doesn't want it is as equally oppressive and stifling as forcing them to conform to the traditional definition of gender roles and identity.
We truly want a world where our daughters can play sports, be good at math and science, not be forced to take Home EC, be the president of a company, or even the US, and have all the opportunities that are extended to the boys of our culture without the oppression and double standards that have traditionally accompanied any sort of progress.
But we can't forget that there are some girls and women out there that really LIKE baking pies, really want to stay home raising babies, and feel good about themselves when they wear pearls and pink sparkles, and may do all three while playing basketball or running a fortune 500 company. And that does not make them any less of a feminist than it does any other woman, in some ways, isn't that what the fight is all about?
I resolved that if Lily wanted to play babies and dolls I was happy to let her express her imagination and nurturing side, but would avoid the ones I really felt strongly about (like Bratz, seriously, those bitches need jobs) And when she spouted those antiquated notions such as; "I want to be a princess because they are pretty and being pretty is what makes people like you"
I would respond with something other than a ranting speech on the merits of brains and threatening to burn her video collection. Instead, I say "being pretty is really fun Lily, and you are super pretty, and look at what a good friend Cinderella was to the little mice, they were so ready to help her when she got locked up! You're a good friend too, remember how you helped Adam find his Sponge Bob toy? or Look how smart and independent Jasmine was not letting her daddy tell her she had to marry someone she didn't like, I'm so glad you're smart and independent too." and I think it might be starting to work.
She still likes to vacuum in her pink sparkle heels, but sometimes she wants to play baseball in them too! We have started playing more games and watching fewer movies and television shows, and talking more about the shows and movies we do watch, hoping that with constant dialogue, and opportunities to correct what we see that we don't agree with, she will be able to spot those in equalities and untruths for herself one day.
I have no idea what she will be like when she's older, she could throw me for a complete 180 and be a white faced black haired goth demon, or she could bleach out her hair, join the dance team and start speaking valley girl (kill me) but, at least I will know that if she does, it will be her choice and she will be able to own it. How much more feminist can you get?
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