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.