Holding Out For a Hero

"Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods? Where's the street-wise Hercules to fight the rising odds?" -Bonnie Tyler

Now that Super Bowl XLVII is over, we are finished with the Ray Lewis farewell tour as well. Lewis is the linebacker for the Baltimore Ravens, arguably the best at his position ever to play the game. He has received a lot of fanfare since announcing that this season would be his last. There has been no shortage of bouquets thrown his way, including a victory lap around the stadium at his final home game last month. A victory lap that was replayed ad nauseam the next day. Lost in the celebration of a football career in our sports-crazed society, many forget or choose to forget that Lewis was accused of murder not too long ago.

Lewis pleaded guilty to a lesser charge and avoided jail time. He paid an undisclosed settlement to the victims' families, but the murder for which he was charged was never solved. His "image" has undergone such a meteoric rehabilitation that he now endorses several products and will serve as a football analyst on ESPN upon retirement. Lewis even cited that it's, "time to be a daddy" to his children - six of them with four different women - as his reason for retiring. Excuse me for not being overjoyed with his newfound commitment to fatherhood. No one is arguing that Lewis is an outstanding football player. As a football fan, a dad, and a human being I just have a hard time with the celebrating and hero worship.

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Knowing Your Roles

"Always be a first-rate version of yourself, instead of a second-rate version of somebody else." -Judy Garland

We all have a job as parents. Moms and dads. No matter how our families happen to be constructed. No matter which roles in the family we hold, we are responsible for teaching our children. Showing them the way. Whether we like it or not, they are watching us. Watching us for how to be and how to act.

My parents had traditional roles. My mom was a housewife for most of my childhood, before they opened their swimming pool business. Before that, my dad worked a lot to support us. There were a lot of late nights where I remember him coming home as I was laying in bed.

To a certain extent, My Director and I have turned those roles around. We both work. We divide cleaning evenly. The kitchen and bathrooms are my responsibility. She handles the finances and is even better than me at fixing certain most things. I do the cooking. We don't follow traditional roles for a mom and dad.

Two examples from Christmas, one past and one present, tell the story...

My Director fixing the tree.
(Me taking picture.)

A couple of weeks ago, our Christmas tree fell down while we were at work. My Director was the first one home and didn't hesitate to jump in and assess the tree stand situation. Meanwhile, once I arrived on the scene, I took pictures for the blog and attended to the more pressing matter of figuring out how to save Googily, our Elf on the Shelf. Googily was sitting in the tree at the time it fell. (The big thing about the Elf is if you touch him he loses his magic. You can read more about this hilarious and potentially catastrophic adventure HERE.) I was also concerned about how long this disaster would delay dinner.

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When Wilbur Met Henry

“You have your way, I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist." -Friedrich Nietzsche

Peanut's first lesson in what is a hot-button issue in this country (but shouldn't be) came as a result of another one of my ridiculous antics.

She was playing with some Lego stickers that were in the goody bag from the birthday party she had attended that day. As Peanut made little men and women on the page - bodies, heads, and hats - I began to line up her farm animal figures that were still on the floor from a play session earlier that morning. (I had also included Luna's lamb toy, "Lamba," for added comedic affect.) After all, Peanut needed a bigger audience:

Then, mostly because my efforts weren't getting nearly the attention they deserved (you can't interrupt Peanut during her creative process), I made the pig and goat kiss each other.

"Look, sweetie. They love each other."

Peanut grimaced. At first, I thought it was because a pig was kissing a goat. Then I realized that it could be because both of these animals are boys. (I knew she had named the pig "Wilbur," after the character in Charlotte's Web. And my years of zoological study brought me to the conclusion that the goat was also a boy because it had horns.)

So I asked her what the goat's name is, just to see if my ingenious hypothesis was correct.

"Henry," she answered.

I knew it. "Wilbur and Henry love each other," I said.

The happy couple

"But boys are supposed to kiss girls. Not other boys," she insisted. Uh, when did my sweet little Peanut become a homophobe?

"Sometimes boys and girls love each other," I explained.

"And they get married," Peanut interjected.

"Yes. Just like mommy and daddy. But boys can love other boys and get married. And girls can love other girls and get married."

Then I looked at My Director for reassurance. Not that I was correct, but that we were actually having this conversation all because I had made a pig and goat kiss. She gave me an affirmative nod.

We then gave Peanut examples of same sex couples we know, whose children she knows and plays with. She seemed satisfied with all of this and returned to her stickers.

And this concluded our first lesson in same sex relationships. The complexities of the politics can wait.

This instance reminds me of one of my all-time favorite posts, where I tackled the topic of gender. You can read it here.

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Gender Gap

"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind. " ~Dr. Seuss

When you found out you were going to be a parent, what was the first thing you really wanted to know? Boy or girl, right?  Whether you found out before the birth or at the birth, that's the one thing we are all dying to know. (I personally don't see any point in waiting - but that's for another post.)

Now imagine being so excited about your baby boy or girl, loving and nurturing that child for three or four years, then sending them to a school that refuses to identify your child by gender. Nobody - not the teachers, not the principal, not the other students, refers to him or her as "him" or "her." A preschool in Sweden is doing this. They're referring to the kids as a group, as "friends."

Sorry, friends, I just don't agree.

While I also don't agree with enforcing gender stereotypes, I can't support flat out ignoring gender. What about potty time? Will everyone have to stand to pee? Or sit for that matter?

My daughter is being raised in a house where her father does all of the cooking and most of the kitchen clean-up. Her mother pays the bills and is better at fixing most things. It's up to the parents to teach their children that it's ok for boys to cook and girls to assemble patio furniture.

At her school, there is a boy whose favorite color is pink. There's nothing wrong with that. There is another boy who loves dance class. I find nothing wrong with that, either. Nor is it wrong that I carried my baseball cards in a purse when I was a boy. You can read about that here. Those kids are busting the stereotypes, and I'm pretty sure they're doing it all by themselves.

Even the inflatable pool is princes themed

But sometimes, the stereotypes find the child. We tried to avoid the whole princess craze with our daughter. Didn't introduce her to them, buy her any toys or books or show her any movies with princesses. We weren't making a political statement. We just felt like they were a little cheesy and a lot cliche'. Well, guess who is fascinated by princesses anyway? We've got the nightgowns and the books and we watch the movies all of the time and when she plays dress-up daddy has to be the prince or the king.

Her choice. Naturally.

This past weekend, we were headed to a birthday party for one of her classmates. The boy had chosen a Spiderman theme for his party. As we drove there, my daughter volunteered, "Daddy, I hope there are girl superheroes at this party, like Wonder Woman."

My Feminist Superhero

Our little women's libber, perhaps? We probably won't know for a few more years. But she did get a pink Batman painted on her face at the party. Sorry... Batgirl.

These are her politics, not her parents'. Not that we disagree with them. During dinner one evening late in October of 2009, my wife and I were discussing the race for governor in New Jersey, and we asked our daughter, "Are you a Democrat or a Republican?"

Halloween 2009



"I'm a cupcake," she answered, because that's what she was dressing as for Halloween a week later.

A cupcake. A princess. Wonder Woman. Sweet, strong, independent. All words that describe my daughter. All things she chose. Based on gender? Probably. Based on nature or nurture? I think mostly nature, with a little bit of unintended nurture.

Because I knew she was going to be a princess the minute I found out we were having a girl.

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Pretty in Pink

"Yes, a purse. I carry a purse!" -Jerry Seinfeld

A smattering of pink and yellow

I'm looking in my closet, and I see a smattering of pink and yellow... and it's not coming from my wife's side of the closet. Shirts, ties, shorts (it's spring)... what does it mean?

It means I'm a trendy guy. Some may even say a trendsetter. More on that in a moment.

The "outrageous" JCrew ad

A debate is raging on the internet and the cable networks over a boy with his toenails painted pink. Oh, the horror. J.Crew used the image of a mother painting her son's toenails in an ad. Some people were offended and concerned that we're blurring the lines of gender identification in this country. "This is an attack on traditional family values," they said.

Give me a break.

Straight guy, yellow pants, pink tie

Take it from a straight married guy who, if you need to label, is a "metrosexual" who can't wait until Memorial Day so he can break out his pairs of orange and yellow pants: Sexual orientation is color blind. You can dip me in pink and it doesn't mean I'm gay... not that there is anything wrong with that. And so what if a kid - or adult for that matter - is gay?

What is wrong with people?

I admit it... I watch "Grey's"

Yeah... I wear pink. And pastels. I also enjoy manicures and pedicures, get my hair cut at a salon, and watch Grey's Anatomy (with my wife). I also cook, am bad at fixing things and have no problems sharing my feelings... in this blog. Should my parents be concerned?

Maybe it's their fault. I remember my mother being emphatic about dressing me nicely for school. Button-down shirts tucked into dungarees. Always a belt. Never jeans or sneakers. Did she make me this way? Did she make me love clothes? What the hell did she do to me?

Gastineau: definitely not gay

One day when I was in second grade she let me dress myself. It was a Friday. I wore a Mark Gastineau jersey untucked, jeans and sneakers. She was mortified, but allowed it. That is me... on the weekends. During the week, I'm all about finding the right shirt-tie-pants combo and matching my socks to my tie, my belt to my shoes.

I dress well and look good. Thank you, mom.

I also distinctly remember carrying what could only be described as a handbag when I was a little boy. You read that right. A handbag. You know what I carried in it? Baseball cards. I needed something to carry baseball cards in... and that's what I found. Like I said... trendsetter. I was the first guy to carry a man purse. It was 1981 and I was 6. But I also remember it not being so manly.

Shortly thereafter, I recall my parents getting me a football-shaped bag for me to carry my stuff around.

Loved Mr. Do

Were they worried I was gay? Or were they pretty sure I wasn't, but didn't want anyone else to think I was? Who knows? Who cares. It was a different time. And if a little boy wants to look fabulous carrying his man purse full of baseball cards while he rides his bicycle to the deli to play Mr. Do, then dammit... let him. He'll figure things out eventually.

Now, I'm pretty sure my parents would have never painted my toenails pink... and I think that's ok too. I also don't think I would endorse my wife painting our son's toenails any color... if we had a son... unless he asked. I would still be hesitant... but on second thought... why the hell not?

After all, my daughter's favorite color is blue... but I'm pretty sure that does not make her a lesbian.

Frank Sinatra sings a line in Soliloquy that is poignant yet may apply here in a troubling way:

"You can have fun with a son, but you've got to be a father to a girl."

Maybe I'm reading too much into that lyric, but I do notice a trend among some parents of boys. It may be inadvertant, but they treat their children differently based on gender. Girls need to be handled delicately. Boys we need to toughen up. I frequently hear baby boys and toddler boys being affectionately referred to as "my little man." How about we let boys be boys?

She swings a mean bat... while wearing a tutu

You never hear "my little woman." The peanut is my little girl. She loves princess dress-up, Calico critters, dancing, and pushing her babies in her toy stroller. All her choices. We've also given her soccer balls, footballs, basketballs, baseballs, and golf clubs. She likes to play with all of them too... during the appropriate seasons.

It shouldn't be our job to dictate who our kids are and who they will become. It's our job as parents to recognize the path they are leaning towards, and help them navigate it.

They're looking for us to help them figure it out... no matter what color their toenails are painted.

I mentioned above that I'm bad at fixing things. Well, that's not entirely true, as I wrote here.

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