The recent warm weather and burst of spring showers had prompted my son into a desire for puddle jumping. Of course, the rubber boots he donned last year were far from fitting onto his now three-year-old toes, so off to the store we went to get a new pair.
Not thinking and trying to multi-task, Dad came along and so did little sister. With the plan to get groceries, a baby shower gift and a new pair of boots, we had to visit three different stores. Food was first, as it keeps the toddler snacking and amused, and Dad likes the illusion of getting things done as he fills the cart and checks items off his invisible list.
With our double stroller holding our coats, diaper bag, water bottles, wet wipes, rattle for the little one and new Dora video for the bigger one, Dad and I had to meander as best we could onto our next errand. Of course, he has the cart with all of the food, 25 rolls of toilet paper, Kleenex boxes, bleach, diapers and even more wipes, so we proceeded like a convoy.
I knew exactly what I was getting for a gift, so Dad stood outside with the crew as I zoomed in to quickly check off another thing on my list. Of course, the store was busy and the sales girls did not really notice as I stood patiently (yet impatiently) waiting to pay. Finally, I asked for help as I heard my baby start to fuss. Dad is never good with the fussing, he usually lets it go for too long and it passes the point where you can amuse her again.
I paid as fast as I could, glancing back at my husband and son eating Japanese oranges, my husband oblivious to the fusses as my son flicks stringy bits of orange at his sister.
With two errands down and one to go, I amused the baby with a granola wrapper crinkling in her hands, then made the dreaded mistake of removing my son from the stroller as we took over the small space in the shoe store.
On the shelf I saw a perfect pair of navy blue rubber boots. Dad had his cell in his ear as I looked for my son's size and told him to remove his old shoes. The two seconds when I had my back turned resulted in my son running to a different shelf and, with the thrill only a three your old can exude, he shouted, uninhibited, "Mom, I want these ones!"
Happily, I turned to see him holding a lovely pair of Dora the Explorer rubber boots, all in pink with lavender soles. A moment passed before I could respond, while he kicked off his shoes and wiggled into the boots.
Now I know that his attraction is to Dora, the famous cartoon character every kids loves, and these boots represent adventure, friendship and exploring. But the boots just happened to be flamingo pink. I immediately and without thinking pointed to the Diego boots (denim blue and orange)--they are more masculine, of course.
"No, these one Mommy," he insisted, as he stood to admire them in the mirror.
It was one of those moments where one has to think before they speak. How do I say no to something he so obviously loves, and what is my reasoning for not allowing his choice? How can I say it is the wrong colour, or it does not look right, when the smile on his face is what every parents wants? My pause went unnoticed as my son put his old shoes in the stroller and walked to the register to pay. As he stood waiting for me to hand him some money, I stared, unsure and confused if I should do something to try and change his mind.
Then I thought to myself: What the heck, why not? He's three. Who'll care? His friends are too small to make fun of him and if he is confident enough to wear them, then I should be confident enough to let him.
All of my childhood issues over my own parent's judgments and rules crept to the surface. Then and there, I decided that I would not teach my son gender labelling and would not diminish his confidence.
I reached for my wallet, now willing to pay.
There was a momentous song playing in my head, and it came to a screeching halt as my husband, now off the phone, asked me, "What the hell are you doing?"
Before I could begin my liberation and free rights speech, my husband had my son on his lap, pulling off the boots and tossing them aside. In a flash, the calmness of what was once a happy toddler erupted into the screams and kicks of a child not capable of understanding the reasoning and rationale behind daddy's disapproval. Needless to say, mall security might have been called in to make sure that the screaming, hysterical kid actually belonged to us, and that the ear-shattering crying wasn't from pain, but out of determination to get his own way.
The car ride home was not pleasant as my husband and I debated the issue. Why not pink for boys? Girls wear blue.
"Colour is not a billboard, and wearing pink boots doesn't say, 'I am girly'," I said.
"You should have chosen blue one--that's what he's supposed to wear," my husband countered.
Maybe it is extreme to allow a boy to wear pink boots when society, commercialism and the entire baby clothing market has invested millions into conditioning us to associate that girls wear pink and boys wear blue. It's the norm, the cog that keeps moving season after season in the retail market. Yet as parents are we even responsible for saying that this 'norm' should be different or challenged, changed around or eliminated?
In the 20 years that I have been aware of social issues I have seen numerous social customs and traditions obliterated on the heels of change, acceptance, recognition and enlightenment. Girls play hockey, rugby and lacrosse--all sports unavailable to me when I was a child. But although we are changing and evolving, we still start our kids out in pink and blue, perfect in their assigned colours. Then we teach them that there is not a barrier, that boys and girls are equal and can do the same things. They can vote, and play sports, be presidents and defend countries, but (of course!) they should do all of that wearing the right colours.
Possibly, I could have fought a little harder to let him have the pink boots. Definitely, I should have been prepared to fight for those pink boots, known what it was that I stood for and where my opinion laid. Most importantly, I would have liked to have avoided the scene, the confusion and the extremeness in which it happened that seems to have stayed in his mind.
"Why not pink, Mommy?" he asks in his innocent way.
"I don't know why," is all I can reply for now. Let's hope that change is working on this one.
Until Next Time, JB
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