Real men wear pink.
Growing up, I played with Barbies. Having a sister just shy of three years older, I looked forward to times when she was gone and I could go into her room and play with her stuff, most memorably her My Little Ponies and her Jem and the Holograms dolls. And when I visited my grandparents, I always cherished the extensive collection of Barbies and the two-story, wooden doll house my grandmother kept in her bedroom. I spent countless hours as a kid playing with that doll house and the Barbie dolls and also looked forward to breaking out the toy tea set and having "tea" with my grandmother. She would make tiny finger sandwiches and serve me sparkling grape juice and I was overjoyed! When I reflect back on my many visits to their home in Florida, I count more fond memories of playing with "girl" toys than "boy" toys. And of my grandmother playing right along with me. But I also relished my "boy" toys as well. G.I. Joe and He-Man were two of my favorites and just as often as I pulled out my grandmother's Barbie dolls, so too did I pull out the He-Man castle and action figures.
My grandmother never told me I couldn't play with Barbies and I can't recall a time when my sister caught me playing with her Jem dolls and threw a fit. But deep down, I instinctually knew that I wasn't supposed to be doing it. It felt like I was breaking some unspoken rule, a rule neither my father nor mother ever verbalized to me nor demanded I adhere to but one that made me feel shameful. And yet, I was fortunate. I grew up in a home that allowed me to "do me" without scold or reprimand for acting less this or needing to be more that. So whether I was wrestling with my younger brother and running around the house in cowboy boots and a hat catching bad guys or donning my mother's high heels, my parents never said a word. At least not to me.
Why the reflection? I attended a lecture on campus last night by Laverne Cox. If you don't know who she is, she's most currently well known for her role as the transgender prisoner, Sophia, on the hit Netflix show Orange is the New Black. Cox is not only a transgender actress but also an advocate for transgender rights and her talk last night focused on her upbringing in the deep south in Mobile, Alabama, her struggles with her family, schooling, and church who "policed her gender", and her own journey of self-discovery, shame, love, and worthiness. Powerful stuff! I was amazed by her authenticity and transparency in sharing her own journey. And when she quoted Brene Brown a time or two, my heart smiled.
Cox stated there is a need for a "gender revolution" in this country and that often bullying and harassment stem from issues of gender, not sexual orientation, though that is to what we attribute it. It made me reflect back on my own upbringing and the number of times I was called "sissy" or "fag" or "gay" -- not because I tried to kiss or hold hands with any boys but because I wasn't manly enough. I wasn't macho, good at sports, and I preferred to be on the stage than on the field. My gender expression wasn't as masculine as most of my peers. And because I was perceived as more feminine, I was an easy target, especially in junior high and as I entered high school.
Throughout my adolescence and teenage years, I never identified as masculine or feminine. My understanding of such things as gender identity and expression didn't exist until well into my mid to late 20s and my understanding of my gay identity didn't come about until early college. As an adult, I identify as cisgender, my gender identity and expression are congruent with my sex. I've spent a great deal of time in my work with college men helping them unpack and break down the stereotypes and social pressures of what it means to "be a man" and to "man up" and I cringe just as much when I hear someone utter those words as I do when someone doesn't think before calling someone else a "retard" or "fag". It has the same impact: to produce shame and feelings of marginality and unworthiness.
As a man, I cry in sappy movies (Nicholas Sparks gets me every. single. time), sing show tunes, know a thing or two about fashion, express my emotions, am a good listener, a good communicator, and love an afternoon watching HGtv or going antique shopping. Helping someone redecorate or shop for a new place? Right up my alley. But I also hit the gym hard most days, hold doors open for others, enjoy sporting events and drinking beers with my friends, and love Marvel and DC comic films. Are any of these things any more feminine or any more masculine? Says who? The thing about policing gender and labeling behaviors as being reserved only for certain genders means that we're desperately trying to put people in a box. And why is that? Because it brings us comfort? Helps us make sense of the world? Is that more important than making sure others, especially when growing up, feel valued? loved? worthy? Doesn't seem like it to me.
I don't have children. Maybe one day. But if (or when) I do, I know that I wouldn't fret if my son wanted to play with dolls or take dancing lessons or if my daughter enjoyed hunting with her uncle or grandfather more than wanting makeup. Because it all seems so trivial to making sure they feel loved and supported to pursue any interest or hobby they have. And to making sure I create a space where my child (or any child) feels safe to be authentic and be themselves without fear of shame. Imagine that world. Wouldn't it be something? That's the kind of father I want to be. Hope to be. That's the kind of man I am.
Cheers.
My grandmother never told me I couldn't play with Barbies and I can't recall a time when my sister caught me playing with her Jem dolls and threw a fit. But deep down, I instinctually knew that I wasn't supposed to be doing it. It felt like I was breaking some unspoken rule, a rule neither my father nor mother ever verbalized to me nor demanded I adhere to but one that made me feel shameful. And yet, I was fortunate. I grew up in a home that allowed me to "do me" without scold or reprimand for acting less this or needing to be more that. So whether I was wrestling with my younger brother and running around the house in cowboy boots and a hat catching bad guys or donning my mother's high heels, my parents never said a word. At least not to me.
Why the reflection? I attended a lecture on campus last night by Laverne Cox. If you don't know who she is, she's most currently well known for her role as the transgender prisoner, Sophia, on the hit Netflix show Orange is the New Black. Cox is not only a transgender actress but also an advocate for transgender rights and her talk last night focused on her upbringing in the deep south in Mobile, Alabama, her struggles with her family, schooling, and church who "policed her gender", and her own journey of self-discovery, shame, love, and worthiness. Powerful stuff! I was amazed by her authenticity and transparency in sharing her own journey. And when she quoted Brene Brown a time or two, my heart smiled.
Cox stated there is a need for a "gender revolution" in this country and that often bullying and harassment stem from issues of gender, not sexual orientation, though that is to what we attribute it. It made me reflect back on my own upbringing and the number of times I was called "sissy" or "fag" or "gay" -- not because I tried to kiss or hold hands with any boys but because I wasn't manly enough. I wasn't macho, good at sports, and I preferred to be on the stage than on the field. My gender expression wasn't as masculine as most of my peers. And because I was perceived as more feminine, I was an easy target, especially in junior high and as I entered high school.
Throughout my adolescence and teenage years, I never identified as masculine or feminine. My understanding of such things as gender identity and expression didn't exist until well into my mid to late 20s and my understanding of my gay identity didn't come about until early college. As an adult, I identify as cisgender, my gender identity and expression are congruent with my sex. I've spent a great deal of time in my work with college men helping them unpack and break down the stereotypes and social pressures of what it means to "be a man" and to "man up" and I cringe just as much when I hear someone utter those words as I do when someone doesn't think before calling someone else a "retard" or "fag". It has the same impact: to produce shame and feelings of marginality and unworthiness.
As a man, I cry in sappy movies (Nicholas Sparks gets me every. single. time), sing show tunes, know a thing or two about fashion, express my emotions, am a good listener, a good communicator, and love an afternoon watching HGtv or going antique shopping. Helping someone redecorate or shop for a new place? Right up my alley. But I also hit the gym hard most days, hold doors open for others, enjoy sporting events and drinking beers with my friends, and love Marvel and DC comic films. Are any of these things any more feminine or any more masculine? Says who? The thing about policing gender and labeling behaviors as being reserved only for certain genders means that we're desperately trying to put people in a box. And why is that? Because it brings us comfort? Helps us make sense of the world? Is that more important than making sure others, especially when growing up, feel valued? loved? worthy? Doesn't seem like it to me.
I don't have children. Maybe one day. But if (or when) I do, I know that I wouldn't fret if my son wanted to play with dolls or take dancing lessons or if my daughter enjoyed hunting with her uncle or grandfather more than wanting makeup. Because it all seems so trivial to making sure they feel loved and supported to pursue any interest or hobby they have. And to making sure I create a space where my child (or any child) feels safe to be authentic and be themselves without fear of shame. Imagine that world. Wouldn't it be something? That's the kind of father I want to be. Hope to be. That's the kind of man I am.
Cheers.
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