I have a little boy...
A little boy who likes to wear tutus. A little boy who likes to dance. A little boy who loves to paint and a little boy who hums happy tunes all day long.
A comment came.
A comment too riddled with prejudice for me to repeat. A warning to me to be careful. A warning to not encourage such things or I'll regret it later.
And so to this person I say nothing. For my words to her will change nothing. But to my little boy I say this, for my words can change everything.
I say dance. And not just hip-hop dancing -- wear that blue tutu that you love and twirl and twirl.
I say wear whatever clothes you want. Wear blue because you like blue, not because it's a boys' color. And if you like pink, well, wear pink. And if you want to wear your sister's dress, then heck, go ahead and do that too.
What's that? Well of course you can wear fairy wings. Oh, and a firefighter's hat too? Sure. And you know what? I'll wear one too. And we'll all head out for a walk, dressed in our glad rags, laughing and giggling.
Shall we play with clay today, Mommy? Sure. Shall we add some sparkly beads? Sure. And why not? Are pretty things that sparkle only to be enjoyed by girls?
Do you want to play soccer, Mommy? Sure do, buddy. But let's play it because it brings you joy, not because it's a boys' sport. And maybe after we finish we can go inside and finish that tea party we were playing this morning?
I have a little boy.
He is a boy. He is a child. He likes to play. He builds blocks and plays house. He plays soccer and dances on tippy-toes.
He really couldn't care less if he uses a pink toothbrush or a blue one. And neither could I.
And neither should you.
I have a little boy.
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