Yin yang boy

yinyangboy

The Tonka truck: a holiday gift from his special cousins. (Who?) In it were a clutch of dollies, which, so far, he has given a bit more attention to. Though he loves the truck.

The dress: mooched from his sister for the day. He said it made him look like “Nina,” whoever that is. Off and on he claimed “Nina” was one of the fairies who accompany Tinker Bell on her Pixie Hollow peregrinations. I’m not so sure, but he stuck to that story all day.

Over the course of a busy day, he also found time to (a) listen over and over again to the sweet, tinny sound of the hits from The Wizard of Oz as they emanated from a spiffy kid’s book, also from his special cousins (his fey Grampy sang harmony, and we can only imagine what it might have meant to this man, whose coming out was so hard-won, to sing “Over the Rainbow” to his abundantly loved, dress-wearing grandson), and (b) punch his sister in the gut in the midst of some random, insignificant dispute.  Okay, not so she’d double over, but still. I wouldn’t cross him on the playground. Definitely wouldn’t tell him the empire cut isn’t as good a look for him as a nice little T-length number.

4 thoughts on “Yin yang boy”

    • Yes! Left to its own devices (as much as such a culturally mediated thing as “gender” and its trappings can be its own device) the human animal has so much more range than we ever imagined.

      What a very fascinating tour you give this whole topic. (Okay, you reader: hop over there right this instant).

  1. Fascinating stuff. My mum didn’t believe in barbie dolls because a) they couldn’t be moved. The stiff arms and legs and the fact that barbie can’t stand up on her own doesn’t make for much creativity. Apparently I loved bending my brothers action men, making them do slow motion acrobatics. b) the limited pallette of pink. She told me that seeing only pink all the time stunted my development or something. This upbringing, and my two older brothers, well I suppose it’s textbook isnt it 😀 I wore a dress only twice in my life. Age four, I was forced into one so my parents could a nice picture of me for my grandmother, and age sixteen at the prom. I wish, wish, wish I had gone to the prom in a girl-tux but I wasnt feeling controversial enough. I think my school would have self destructed. I’ll just have to wear a tux on my wedding day.

  2. Wandered my way here from the Women’s Colony. I have a son around the same age as yours, and have been astounded by the relentlessness with which he can listen to the same song, sound, or watch the same 11 minute episode of Fireman Sam over and over again. But then I listened to Sammy Davis Jr.’s The Candyman endlessly on my close and play record player (yes, I am over 40) as a child so who am I to talk. I am enjoying reading your blog. Glad I wandered over.

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