Bigotry and Barbies

I think the one thing I probably have the hardest time understanding in the world is bigotry. I even looked it up just now so that I could have an easier time explaining why I don't understand:

big·ot·ry
   [big-uh-tree]
noun, plural -ries.
1. stubborn and complete intolerance of any creed, belief, or opinion that differs from one's own.
2. the actions, beliefs, prejudices, etc., of a bigot.

I think the first four words really sum up everything. "Stubborn and complete intolerance". I mean, I believe in sticking to your own beliefs, and I stick to mine. That doesn't mean I can't listen to someone else's, can't appreciate their side of things. Honestly, the hardest thing in a while that I've had to accept is that a dear friend of mine doesn't believe in souls, and for some reason that's really hard for me, because I do believe in souls so vehemently and because I love this friend and somehow the thought of him not believing in souls makes me really, really sad. But I think me being sad about his belief is definitely not the same thing as intolerance of his belief. Anyway, I digress.

What started this whole line of thought is this blog I've been reading tonight called "Raising My Rainbow: Adventures in raising a slightly effeminate, possibly gay, totally fabulous son." I've read most of the blog entries by now, and it really makes me sad that there are people in the world who can't wrap their head around this little boy's desire to be a princess any more than I can wrap my head around bigotry. It just seems like a no-brainer to me. Kids are going to play with what they're attracted to. Most little boys want to play with guns, and no matter HOW hard PeaceLovingHippieMama (I use that term affectionately) may try to teach nonviolence and ban guns from the house, little boys will build weapons out of Legos and chew them out of peanut butter sandwiches. It doesn't mean they're going to grow up and go on a killing spree. It just means that gender typical boys love playing action hero bang-bang shoot-em-up games. And most people accept this.

People also accept little girls being tom boys. No one thinks twice when little Mary Sue dons jeans and sneakers and starts playing super heroes with the boys. In fact, she's usually applauded for being so tough and holding her own with the guys. Nobody automatically assumes she's a lesbian when she's climbing trees at four years old. Why is it different for little boys? And for that matter, why on EARTH do some people think it's FAIR that it's different?

When I was a little girl, I wore cowgirl boots and jeans and spent a lot of time in the cattle pasture with my daddy and big brother. This was, in fact, my favorite place to be. I made mud-pies, I climbed trees and was brave enough to jump down instead of calling for help when I climbed too high. I was plopped onto the backs of horses (and cows) before I could walk. I was fearless of spiders and snakes and bugs (except locust, which still creep me out). My family was exceedingly proud of my cowgirl ways and my willingness to get dirty, and I loved that. But you know what else I remember loving? Doll houses. Big, beautiful, real wooden doll houses we'd see at the craft store. And tea sets. And Barbie dolls. And oh, those ruffled dresses they sold at Dollywood that were insanely expensive, and the parasols to match...I still get a little teary-eyed over the thought of how badly my little five year old self ached for one of those dresses, and how my mama wouldn't get me one because it was too expensive (and, realizing now how talented she is at the sewing machine, I'm almost bitter that she didn't make me a knock-off copy). I have vowed to buy my children a beautiful doll house because I never got one - although don't get me wrong, I was very spoiled and well taken care of, I just wasn't always listened to when it came to my opinions.

The most hurtful thing my dear, sweet, kind Daddy ever said was meant to be a joke, meant to not even be in my earshot. He was talking to someone about me doing theatre, and he laughed and said, "Yeah, well, I'd thought sure I had myself a cowgirl when she was little." I had to slip off to the bathroom and cry so that Daddy wouldn't see he'd hurt my feelings, because I know he never meant to. He does a great job of loving me, and he and Mama both really try to support the fact that I do theatre and that it's something that obviously isn't going to leave my life. But it makes me wonder what will happen if I have a little rainbow princess boy someday. I see myself as embracing this child's preferences and buying him pink nail polish and creating dress-up clothes for him on my sewing machine, but what about my family? Would they fall into the same category of bigots that sneer at mothers who let their boys dress in pink lace? Would they blame me for buying him Barbies the way those mothers get blamed?

Something else that's seldom brought up is the way people force some little girls into wearing frills and doing girl things. It isn't addressed as much, the same way girls being tomboys isn't such a big deal, but I've seen it. I've seen girls who want nothing more than to play in the mud whose mothers force them into pink frilly dresses and fuss at them for getting sand in their shoes.

Will I buy my little girl frilly dresses? Yes, of course I will. I've waited my whole life for that. But will I keep putting her in those frilly dresses if it becomes obvious she doesn't like them? I hope not. Except maybe once a year. I can hear Scott now: "All right, (daughter's name), it's Mama's birthday, so put your dress on for dinner."

And will I deny my little boy frilly dresses if that's what he wants? Of course not. Will I support him in his gender and sexual identity as he grows older? It seems like a no-brainer, and yet there are people who say they'd rather have their son be missing his left arm than be gay. I just don't understand.

Been a while

Randomly felt like blogging tonight for the first time in a year and a half or so!

I wish for more time to do the things that really matter in life. Like watching the rain fall in the streetlights, or listening to crickets in the summertime, or dancing, or skipping down the streets as they glisten in the moonlight, or hanging out with people you love.

Granted, I do a lot of these things as often as I possibly can. It's just that sometimes, Monday is just around the corner, and I realize that I have to go to work and be responsible and all that jazz just so I can have money to live and eat and do the things that matter. I often play the "what if" game: what if we won the lottery? What would we do with that money? We have all sorts of crazy dreams, from owning a house in Montford for all our actor friends to live in to buying a horse ranch (or, Scott's personal dream, to own a helicopter).

Tonight, however, we were watching his favorite movie, which is Groundhog's Day, and I started playing the "what if" game a different way. What if my life were like that movie? What would I do with that day, over and over, if I knew everything would just start out the same way again tomorrow and there would be no consequences? I know after a while it would get boring, and I'm sure I would eventually just go insane. But just assuming that, in the end, February 3rd would finally come....I mean, it'd be unlimited time. I'd have time for everything. I'd go visit people I haven't seen in too long. I'd convince my friends, one by one, to play hooky from work so we could spend one entire day hanging out together. I'd do some of the things Bill Murrey does in the movie, like learn to play piano (oh, lord, would that I had listened to my parents and taken lessons as a child). And I'd do really silly things, too, like get a different haircut every day to see which one I like the best, since I have such a hard time changing my hairstyle (it's really been the same since I was eleven, except for one perm and one experiment with cutting it to my shoulders). I'd spend days just reading books that I've never gotten to. I'd search for my dream house here in Asheville in the hopes that once tomorrow finally came, I could at least know what I wanted, even if I couldn't afford to buy it. I mean, the possibilities are limitless!

It kind of makes me sad that I don't have the ambition to do some of these things even without unlimited time to accomplish them. But honestly, I'm just not that ambitious. I certainly don't just sit at home every day; anyone who knows me knows that I take every chance I get to get out there and do things with people. It just kind of sucks that the majority of my day, of all our days, have to be spent making money just so we can have the means to get by.

In a nutshell: I wish I had more time to dance.