I still remember the first video game system we had as a family. I was eleven. My five-year-old brother was in the hospital for the big whammy of little kid ear/nose/throat procedures: tubes were put in his ears, and he had … Continue reading
There is power in the written word. And as I kid, I was obsessed with that power. I was always reading. Books littered my room ever since I started reading (and before that thanks to an elementary teacher mom), and … Continue reading
My relationship with the color pink is a mixed bag. I’ve never been much of a “girly girl,” instead opting for more muted tones for much of my wardrobe (save for that period of neon during the late ’80s/early ’90s). … Continue reading
I feel like I’ve talked about this topic ad nauseam. I’ve written about it for my Mommie Dearest column over at The Frisky. I’ve brain dumped all over this blog about it: Here and here and here and here and … Continue reading
The other week, I received a comment on a post that went up a couple of months ago, “Love.” The post talked about the ongoing observations I have of my son and his understanding of himself within the world at large. … Continue reading
Today, October 25th, is Orange Day – part of a UN sponsored campaign to end violence against women. Today in particular calls for safe spaces for women and girls (bolding mine): Sexual harassment and other forms of sexual violence in … Continue reading
It’s a new year. 5774 to be exact. I spent yesterday in synagogue with my mother and son listening to the Rabbi’s sermon. This Rabbi is one of my favorites – he’s a storyteller, weaving in lessons of Torah within … Continue reading
If you’re a long time reader of this site, you’ll know that this is not a space that runs on sponsorships or advertisements. I don’t allow unsolicited guest blog posts, and the guest posts I do have are usually from … Continue reading
Apparently it’s guest week here at the Mamafesto! But no, that doesn’t mean I’ll now accept guest post requests for “hot beach bods” or “how to get your kid to eat broccoli” that seem to clog up my inbox. The ones this week are from people I respect and trust. Today’s guest post is from my Our Reality partner, Carrie Nelson. Carrie has a new side project that I’m hoping you’ll take the time to learn a bit more about and check out for yourself!
My Label is “LesbiAnders.” What Is YOUR Label?
I’ve been openly not-heterosexual for twelve years. In that time, I’ve changed the label that I use to define my sexuality no less than three times. Gay, bisexual, and queer have all felt appropriate at various points, yet none have ever felt “just right.” The most accurate descriptor I’ve ever used is “lesbiAnders,” the label I invented when I started to date my husband (Anders) after exclusively dating women for several years, but even that doesn’t always feel accurate or all-encompassing enough. Words are all we have to communicate our sexual identities to others; why, then, does it feel like they so often fail us?
In an effort to challenge the way we talk about sexual identity, I’m launching a photo project on Tumblr called What Is Your Label? I’m looking for people to submit photos of themselves while holding their sexual orientation “label,” as well as a description of what those labels mean to them. Have you used the same label since childhood? Do you switch between multiple labels depending on your environment or mood? Whatever your labels are, I want to hear about them. Ultimately, I want this project to start a conversation about the words that we use to describe our sexual orientations so that we can understand their limitations and explore new ways of communicating complex ideas about sexuality.
Stay tuned — I’ve got big plans for this project. For now, though, I’d be honored if you’d submit your label and join the conversation!
For the last 6 years or so, there have been many comments about my son’s perceived gender from others – mostly strangers. For the most part, EZ has either been oblivious to these comments, or has ignored them, in that way that little kids can sometimes so effortlessly do. But in the last few months, they seem to be sinking in and sticking.
Perhaps it’s because he is becoming so much more observant of the world around him, as well as trying to figure out what his role is in all of it. But lately, whenever somebody mistakes him for a girl (which happens on a weekly basis, usually), it really seems to bug him.
I continue to march the party line: There is no one way to be a boy (or girl). I remind him that maybe people aren’t used to seeing such awesome, long, blond curls on boys. He repeats the “colors are for everyone” mantra when somebody challenges his favorites of pink and purple. But still, it sinks in.
And it’s wearing on him.
We were away in Canada a couple of weeks ago so I could speak at a conference. At check-in he was mistaken for a girl, and then again, later in our stay an older woman wished us a “good night, ladies” as we got out of the elevator. He’s been bringing that up a lot lately.
And his solution? Maybe he should just be a girl.
And it kills me. This would be a whole different challenge if I thought my son was questioning his own gender identity. For now, he’s not. He loves being a boy and all that it encompasses. I look at him and I just “get” boy radiating off him, whatever that means. However, despite all his “boyness,” EZ still steps outside the narrow construct of what it means to be male in our society. His deviation, whether it’s his preference to keep his blond curls long, or for the color pink, or for things that sparkle, are just a few parts that make up the totality of who he is. But for some people, that’s all they see and they immediately default to girl.
The conversation above took place at bedtime, when we normally have our special heart-to-hearts. I understand his frustration. I can’t imagine hearing people call me one thing when I know I’m something else. I could see it turning into something so annoying that you’d just want to change things, especially at six. Since then, we’ve had many more talks about what it means to be ourselves, no matter what anyone thinks. He knows that he doesn’t need to change for anyone but himself. We’ve talked about how sometimes people can be thrown off by his beautiful hair or color choices, but that all he has to do is politely correct them and move on. If they seem stuck on it, that’s their problem, not his.
Slowly, he’s starting to get it. I’m sure this isn’t the only time we’ll end up talking about this, and as he gets older he’ll come across many points where he has to work through being true to himself while coming up against societal expectations. My hope is that we’ve created a foundation where he feels confident and comfortable in his changes. Just as I don’t think “becoming a girl” is the solution here, I also hope he doesn’t box away his true joys and preferences because they don’t fit a certain mold. So far, so good on that front. My guess is that his acquiescing to just “be a girl” is his way of working out how to enjoy what he does while still living in a society that has fairly rigid gender boxes.
We live in a rather progressive little bubble, where it’s not unusual to see boys with long hair or girls with buzz cuts (in fact, as I’ve mentioned before, EZ’s fathers hair is quite long…possibly longer than mine at the moment). It’s also not unusual to see folks who identify as genderqueer. This isn’t about who or what my son has been exposed to – he’s aware of differences. However, when it becomes about him and his identity? He’s still trying to figure it all out.
Earlier today, my beloved local radio station played Kingsley Flood’s “Sun Gonna Lemme Shine.” The DJ, Monte, told folks to make sure to check out the video. Not only did I check it out, but I went to learn more and found a great HuffPo piece from Kingsley Flood Naseem Khuri.
It felt like Khuri was speaking to me:
The whole thing is complex. Kids just want to be kids and do what they want, so why do other kids get to determine that they can’t? At the same time, difference — from funny names to boys in dresses — can be unsettling to an unaccustomed kid.
It’s complex for parents, too, who must weigh their desire to nurture a kid’s identity with their desire to protect. I’m not a parent (remember that musician thing — I effectively live in a van), but when I saw that boy wearing “normal” boy clothes, I felt sad. He didn’t feel like he could wear what he wanted and, in a real way, was forced to compromise his own identity.
So for now, here I am, weighing my desire to nurture my son’s identity with my desire to protect.