We were at a birthday party. Full of little kids. Both boys and girls.

And there was a candy necklace contest. Where each kid got a string and a HUGE pile of miniature candy donuts to decorate it with.

The ladies coordinating all the fun walked around the room, handing out the string. My youngest was delighted to get one. They skipped my oldest, who grumbled, “Why did HE get a piece of string and I didn’t?” Because if you got string, you were one step closer to making jewelry and then one step closer to EATING jewelry. I told him: I don’t know and be patient.

Big brother finally got his string. Along with the rest of the boys. And that’s when I noticed the pattern in the room. Big brother got BLUE string. Little brother got PINK. The ladies had distributed all the pink first – to my son and the girls. Oh, um, that’s interesting.

Little brother LOVES pink, so naturally he didn’t protest when he got it. But it became a bit awkward when you looked around the room. All the girlies – AND MY SON – with their pink necklaces. All the other boys with their blue ones.

Because my youngest has long, blond, rock-star hair.

Not transgender

He gets called “sweetie” and “darlin'” a lot. (We live in the South.) These titles don’t phase him because little kids are often labeled with cutesy names. But I know these are gender-stereotyped phrases. Because I’ve gotten these titles, too – his #RockStarDad, who tends to sport a man-bun, not so much.

Whenever this happens, I subtly correct the individual, before they break into, “What’s HER name?” I’ll say, “HE and HIS brother really had a great time today” or some other nonsense. Sometimes the person gets it, sometimes they don’t. Like maybe they think the “s” is silent and I’m actually saying “SHE.”

That’s when my youngest finally figures out what’s happening. He strikes a power pose and puts on his most masculine airs and declares, “I’M A BOY!”

I smile at the person and we go on our merry way.

My kid KNOWS he’s a boy. And not because I’ve told him this his entire life. Well, I don’t know, maybe I have. But did I mention pink is his favorite color? I never told him he couldn’t love pink. I never denied him the chance to prance around the house in my costume jewelry. And he delights in ponytails.

My kid is not transgender. He just likes some “girly” things. And his long hair throws people for a loop. It’s easier on everyone ELSE if we cut his hair. Then they don’t have to get to know him, to discover who he is.

I can’t imagine life as a parent of a transgender kid. That’s parenting at a whole ‘nuther level of grace. The things those folks have to deal with: educating others about who their child is, explaining what’s valuable about their kid, and forcing other people to go beyond first glances to find out what their child thinks and loves. Wow, that’s got to be HARD, love-filled work.

But it’s been interesting watching my self-proclaimed boy weed through the societal messages about pink and long hair. As in, his favorite color is now orange.

The hair cut

A few weeks ago, he said two things: “I hate myself” and “I want a hair cut.” Heartbreaking statements. And I wondered if they were connected somehow. Like he was tired of fighting against the first-glances of the world. Like something is wrong with him because his hair is an inconvenience for other people. And living life as an “inconvenience” can’t feel good. That’s gotta make your soul weary.

The first statement, I ignored. Because he had a slight smirk on his face when he said it. He was trying on the words and waiting to see how I’d react.

The other phrase, well, I also brushed it off. Only, he hasn’t let go of it. He’s kept up his hair-cutting campaign.

And today’s the day. I’m taking him to get a mohawk. Because that’s what he wants. Because what’s more manly in his mind than fierce Native Americans riding on warrior horses and throwing brightly colored spears and donning proud, spikey hair. Because now everyone will see that he is who he says he is.

Gender stereotypes

So here’s my message for all of you lazy folk out there who want to lean on stereotypes: I get it. Our brains like patterns. We don’t have to think if everything we encounter fits the patterns we’ve had knocked into us since birth.

And I’ll be honest, I can’t always tell right off the bat if I’m talking to a gender-normative kid or a gender-nonconforming kid. But why should I talk above them and say HE or SHE when I can just talk TO and WITH them, learning their likes and dislikes, discovering how they spent their day, and maybe gaining new insight into life because perhaps they approach things a bit differently than I do?

In the meantime, I’m excited about my son’s hair cut. He’s trying to figure himself out. Maybe he’ll miss his blond locks. Maybe his mohawk will inspire him to topple great obstacles. I don’t know, but I’m willing to walk with him into this unknown, hair-itory (see what I did there?) Because he’s worth it, with all his unique talents and dreams and ideas about who he truly is – inside and out.

At least for the next birthday party, he won’t worry they’ll make assumptions about him that may or may not be true. (On the other hand, they can definitely assume he’ll happily eat the candy necklace, regardless of color.)

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