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September 22, 2011 at 2:43 pm 
Greg Laden 
Huxley, imprisoned by Western heteronormative values.
Huxley is barely able to say the word “shoe,” does not yet know the word “pink,” has no clue what “gender” is, but last weekend somebody called him a sissy. He is not yet two years old.
This is interesting and it is a little complicated. And it involves multiple waves of offensive idiosity, so get ready for a longish story…
About two months ago I was putting Huxleys shoes on, and became frustrated because once again, they did not fit. He was growing past shoes faster than we could supply them, and since he almost never wears shoes anyway, that meant he was growing past nearly unused shoes one pair after another. Rather than squeeze his feet into too tiny sneakers, I popped him in the car sock-footed and headed off to the Mother Ship to reshod the child.
With Huxley in the shopping cart, we wound back and forth in the shoe section of the large department store until we found the general category of shoe that would go on a 1.5 year old, and I quickly determined that there were two choices. They were similar to each other, but one had the kind of Velcro strip that had quickly broken on an earlier pair he wore, and the other had a sturdier looking closure (still Velcro). The fist was about $35, and the second was less than $8, a price almost too low to be believed, perhaps a mismarked bit of merchandise. Putting aside the lower quality pair, I tried the $8 pair on him and they fit nicely. A little big, which is good.
"Don't look at the white shoes with pink trim!!!"
Now, I should mention that as I was fiddling with the shoes, a family consisting of two adults, one kid in the kiddie seat of the shopping cart, another kid standing in the shopping cart, and one kid on foot, came along also looking for shoes. They were wearing crosses and had a glazed look, but were also tense and terse with each other, and looking around judgmentally. Church people, no doubt.
So there was this moment when I had one of the shoes on Huxley, was fetching the shoe box they came in, and gathering up the second shoe, and the family of church people was literaly rubbing against me and pushing Huxley’s cart aside because they needed to take up all the space as they moved tersely and tensely and judgmentally down the aisle, when I suddenly noticed that Huxley’s new shoes were pink and the model name clearly indicated a female gender association. (Well, actually, they were white with pink trim.) So, I said out loud.
“Huxley, these are girl’s shoes!”
The family stopped and stared.
“Cool!”
And I put the shoes in the cart and squeezed my way past the stern looking church people who were not approving. And that story was not worth the retelling at the time it happened. Until further developments.
The Twin Cities Trolley: A kind of sissified bus.
So now it is a couple of months later, Huxley’s rate of foot growth has slowed, and the pink girl shoes which were a little on the big size now fit perfectly and have thus been serving him well. And on Sunday, Amanda and Huxley went to an apple orchard for a few hours of seasonal recreation. While they were there, they saw the Twin Cities Trolley, a local tour bus, waiting near the apple farm, having unloaded a load of tourists. Huxley showed interest so the two of them went over to have a look. There was an older guy and a high school age boy with the Trolley. The older man invited the two of them to go into the trolley and have a look around.
And as they did so, the man said:
“Is that little girl or a little boy?”
“A little boy! Yeah, it’s kinda hard to tell sometimes.”
“Yeah. Especially with those sissy shoes he’s wearing!”
That guy called Huxley a sissy!
OK. I’m not going to tell you what Amanda said to him, or what she later wanted to have said to him, or what she said to me. When I heard about this I honestly felt three different emotions (other than confusion). First I thought it was funny that an adult would think of calling a toddler a sissy. Not funny haha. Funny strange. Funny pathetic. Funny OMG. Second, I was a bit mad because some stupid-ass old man who drives a Trolley felt he had to use my baby son to assert his heternormative patriarchal gender crapola. Third, I was astonished that there were still people in Minnesota who did not know, when it comes to issues of gender and I assume (in his mind) sexual orientation, that if they retain mid 20th century attitudes, that in the presence of other humans they don’t know, especially if they are in a service industry on the job at the time, to shut up. If all you can say is something like
“Hey, you’re wearing sissy shoes!”
… to a 20 month old, then just… shut. up.
The thing is this: I not only don’t care if Huxley is wearing sissy shoes, I don’t care if he is a freakin’ sissy! I don’t care if he is straight or gay, not even a little tiny itty bitty bit. Or something else that’s not gay or not straight. Nor does Amanda. We are not “tolerant.” We are not “willing to accept him as he is.” We simply have no sense whatsoever that it matters at all as long as he does not run with the scissors. And as he grows up we want to teach him and guide him so that he treats all other people with respect. Or a Republican. We don’t want him to be a Republican.
The old man with the Trolley would not get that. Indeed, he does not even get that identifying someone as a sissy (or some shoes as sissy-shoes, to be exact) is stupid. He does not get that he might actually offend people with that kind of talk, and he does not get that the reason he might offend people could well be something OTHER than the offense of implying that someone is not straight. If I was there, as the guy-dad, I coulda said “Hey, don’t call my son a sissy!” and looked all tough and shit, but I wouldn’t have said that because what I would mean by that and what the guy would think I mean by that would be too far apart. Old guy with the Trolley could not even understand why I would be offended in a way that is utterly different than he thinks I would be offended!
Blaaa!
So, next time you are in town and need a Trolley, Twin Cities Trolley is the way to go. Just make sure your fashion choices are totally straight arrow or you’ll get called something.
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“We are not “tolerant.” We are not “willing to accept him as he is.” We simply have no sense whatsoever that it matters at all as long as he does not run with the scissors. ”
That is the perfect expression of that sentiment.
I’m fascinated by the question “little boy or little girl?” Does it really matter? The more I’m around babies and toddlers, the less it seems to make a difference. A child is a child is a child, whether they are wearing pink shoes or carrying a truck or trying to eat their toes. Or doing all three at once.
Well, at least you haven’t painted his toenails purple. That would make him gay for sure. Or at least so say the gender-thugs around here.
I painted the Spawns’ toenails regularly until they were around 7. It’s how I got them to hold still for toenail trimming. That’s probably why SonSpawn, now 15, just bought some magenta-with-real-silver-sparkle-threads sock yarn and requested a pair of hand knit socks.
But, until World War II, pink was the male color. Close to angry red, you know.
He’s not a sissy: He’s standing on hallowed tradition.
I miss Portland sometimes…
So when we first moved out there we quickly connected with my old drummer (as well as close friend) and his wife. Cay was getting towards the tail end of three and they have a daughter who is about his age – naturally we connected and Cay loves Ember, Ember loves Cay. Anyhow…
I ended up getting into a mutual childcare arrangement, usually at their house. Ember loved to play dress-up and Cay was totally game and so was regularly a pretty princess, or a pretty fairy princess – or occasionally a pirate. One afternoon we were in a hurry when we left and I just wasn’t paying attention. Turns out Cay is still wearing a pink tutu – which I don’t notice until we are well on our way into Powell’s Books for a reading we were running late for.
One of the staff there, someone we were acquainted with, asked Caleb if he was a ballerina. He got indignant that way that three year olds are uniquely able to manage and said huffily, “No! I’m a pretty pink PRINCESS!” Some random person wandering by bowed slightly and said “Your Highness,” barely breaking his stride. The clerk we were talking to asked is he would like a royal escort to the reading…No one even looked at us askance – nobody cared.
Suffice to say, that would not work out the same we here in Michigan.
“Actually, he’s not a sissy; he’s a socialist. His mother and I are very disappointed, but what can you do? Thanks, OBAMA!”
At 5 my son wanted a cindarella dress/costume, which was purchased for him without a second thought. He only wore it a few times because it was itchy. Now that he’s 9 he still like to wear nightgowns and buy Vera Bradley purses. Like you, we’re not tolerant, it just is.
Huxley is absolutely gorgeous.
and good for you for buying the less expensive shoes, bugger the color. Kids really go through clothing FAST. No reason to spend money on something the kid’s only going to wear for two months.
I still think having him wearing white after Labor Day is an injury from which he will never recover.
My daughter has so many pink clothes that we wash them separately from other colors. But we also don’t hesitate to put her in whatever (traditionally) boy clothes we have. What always surprises me, though, is when we have her out as heteronormally dressed as possible and someone says, “What a handsome little boy!”
We’re not offended or anything. If the conversation goes on long enough that it’s worth correcting, we’ll do so gently. I just never really know what to make of it.
There’s also a double standard, I think. You can dress your little girl however you like, but if a boy wears a dress, that’s weird.
Anyway, what Lauren Ipsum said. As long as it fits and isn’t crap, buy whatever is cheapest. You can burn so much money on kids clothes.
My niece has a short hair cut because my brother and sister-in-law do not want to deal with trying to get tangles out of a bratty toddler’s hair. And my mom, a woman who taught me very much about my feminism, is horrified by this girl’s short hair. Considering that her favorite color is purple and her mom’s favorite color is pink, my niece’s clothes tend to be very gendered, but even if someone did mistake her for a boy, so what? I asked my mom what was the worst that could happen, and she couldn’t think of anything. She has been quiet about the issue since then so I hope she saw the reasoning and isn’t just humoring me by not bringing it up.
I don’t have kids, but I might have one or tow someday. A few years ago I decided that I would dress any kid in gender-neutral clothes. Since then I have changed my mind and I think it might be better to use clothing of all types, including both neutral styles and stereotypical styles for both genders. But while this is great in theory, I wonder how hard it will be to actually to do it. It’s one thing if I take a boy to the mall in a frilly pink dress where nobody will really know that it’s the “wrong” color, but family gatherings will probably end up with me explaining my philosophy over and over. I hope I have the patience and endurance to actually follow through with this plan.
I once heard some great advice that while you are expecting, you should tell 1/3 of people that you’re having a boy, tell 1/3 that you’re having a girl, and tell the other 1/3 that the sex is a surprise. Then you’ll get a nice variety of gifts to get through the first few months.
As friend said” ‘Call me a sissy and I’ll hit you with my purse. The one with a brick in it’. The immediate application of sharp but moderate pain tends to limit hurtful commentary. A quick dope-slap to the back of the head would be entirely appropriate.
A local lady dresses all her kids in pullover dresses for the first few years. Unisex makes dressing kids easier, Dresses also make diaper changes much quicker and as the kid grow it is far easier to let out the huge hems sewn into the skirts for just such eventualities than buy new pants or bunny suits every week. The dresses are sewn at home from durable, dark colored cotton cloth so they don’t show stains and launder well.
She uses simple leather moccasins for shoes. Both she and her husband work in leather and these are simple affairs with a single piece of leather and drawstrings so they accommodate a lot of growth before having to be replaced.
Works for her. As far as I can tell, based on her older kids they grow up well adjusted and healthy.
Many years ago, we were at the Toys R Us store waiting to pay for the items we were purchasing. Adjacent to the checkout line, there was a collection of balloons or beach balls (I don’t remember which). A boy, perhaps 2 or 3, was pointing to one of them. His mother was saying “You can have the blue one. You can have the red one. You can’t have the pink one. Pink ones are for girls.”
The mother remained firm. So did the child.
I wonder who that child is today.
I wonder whether, if there were a genderless pronoun applicable to individual humans, people would ask this question less.
In kiswahili the personal pronoun is gender-less.
My 5-year-old son’s favorite color is pink, and he knows he’s a boy and likes being one. Yet he occasionally chooses pink items for me, telling me that “pink is for girls.” The voice of his teacher/gender inculcator coming through.
Huh, just reading about it makes me angry at the older man. I actually think adults should speak out right then and there when that happens. It’s a horrible feeling as a child when the adults around you let the misogynistic and homophobic bullies get away with their insults, almost like they are validating the bully or tacitly acknowledging that it would be worse to say something mean to the bully than it was for the bully to be insulting in the first place. Better to show children that bullies can be stood up to and told off in no uncertain terms in my opinion despite the social unrest it can cause.
@Uncle Glenny:
People have tried to create one but they tend to not stick. The two that come to my mind are Xe/Xis and Shi/Hir. The former is basically dead, and the latter only really survives as pronouns for hermaphrodites in some SF circles.
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