Learning to love princesses
I never loved princesses. Though I always loved costumes, and would be just as happy to wear a grand satin gown as the scrappy duds of street-urchin, I can't recall ever having a fondness for princesses. I was never particularly moved by any Disney beauties, and certainly, NEVER created elaborate fantasies where I imagined myself one of them. As a kid I was in a children's musical called "The Near Sighted Knight and the Far Sighted Dragon" where I played a princess who wanted to be a Civil Engineer. This was more my speed.
Somewhere along the line I have developed my queer sensibility enough to appreciate the fact that some folks think satin gowns are just fabulous. I have been able to grasp this in an intellectual, open-minded way - enjoying the fact that people are turned on by the darndest things. But until that little tyke with the Oedipal affection fell in love with princesses, I really didn't get it. I'm not sure I get it still - but I am beginning to see more.
Eliot and I like to play "Princess DeLila" - he's the princess and I'm her mom, "Queen Poinsettia." I can see that in playing "Princess DeLila" Eliot has access to a whole world of play-domestic-drama that was never denied me as a child, a kind of play that I never imagined life without. He helps me remember a bit about what was there to be learned in the dressing up of dolls, or in the dressing up of myself. And not just that - he helps me reexamine a way of being in the world as a child that I totally took for granted as a girl. Though I didn't love being a girl, and often found the limited expectations of girls annoying, I don't think it pinched me as much as being a boy who likes to wear dresses would pinch.
I had a lot of options growing up as a girl in the second-wave of feminism. The range of appropriate girl-behavior was pretty darn wide, actually. I could have short hair (like Dorothy Hammil or Mary-Lou Retton), I could play sports (though my desire to play tackle football was on the edge), I could wear pretty much anything (though I did at times HAVE to wear dresses and I was expected to exhibit at least some femininity at regular intervals), and I could imagine myself in pretty much any profession or role, from nurtuing mother to football star (okay, well, I could imagine that, even though I knew it wasn't likely, it was still within the realm of imagination).
At a recent family party - where Eliot decided to wear not one - but two of his fanciest dresses - more than one of the gay men in attendance pulled me aside to say how amazing it was that we let Eliot wear dresses, that their moms hadn't let them though they'd always wanted to, and what good parents we were for celebrating our kiddos for who they are. And you know, it was good feedback - becasue it is hard. Eliot's appreciation for princesses has really pushed the envelope of appropriate gendering - and he's only three! You'd think there would still be a lot of room for innocent play at that age - but I've come to discover even more gender policing of the toddler set than I could have imagined.
As long as gender-bending play is well contained - as in a limited time-frame, or in a specific context (the costume corner) it's a little unusual, but basically okay (at least in this major metro area). But if that play leaks over into regular life (despite the fact that, for a three year old, play and imagination are a 24-7 part of regular life), well, that's just too much - it's a pretty firm line, you're not supposed to let little boys wear dresses, especially not in public, and especially not in non-costume contexts - this is what all the looks in grocery stores, and comments in the park communicate.
I was with the kiddos at an indoor playland one day, and Eliot was wearing pink sweatpants. I overheard another parent comment on him saying, in reference to the pants, "That better not be a boy."
But it is, my little boy in fact, and if I was a queer activist before hand, this has made me into a raving-queer-mama-bear with huge swiping claws ready ready to defend my cubs with every last ounce of snarling intimidation. And not just my cubs, but every little queer kiddo who wants to wear a dress but doesn't have parents with enough information or courage to let him. That better not be a boy, huh? You gonna tell on me? Rat me out to the gender police? Bring 'em on, lady! I'll call in all the little boy princesses, and all their big sisters and big brothers and the few raving-queer-mama-bears out there and we'll whip up a playground version of Stonewall in a second.
But you know - I don't blame those parents. Because to let your little boy wear dresses in public is a queer decision. It's easy to just not let him. There are a million random reasons we say "no" to our kids, so its easy to just add another without feeling guilty or like you're squelching you're child's true self. I have had moments of feeling lazy and tired and like I don't want to be that queer on this particular trip to the grocery store. And sometimes I have to think about three other parents and chosen family and extended relatives who may not want to be that queer either (not to mention his older brother, who seems, more than anyone to appreciate and enjoy Eliot's feminine gender play, because it seems to reinforce his own GARGATUAN masculine-indetification). So I don't blame folks who don' have a raving-queer-mama-bear in their family to stand up for the little-boy-princesses, because that's just about what it takes. And I had no idea, until I found myself here. Despite years of queer resistance and gender non-conformity, I had no idea it could be so hard.
- Lisa
Somewhere along the line I have developed my queer sensibility enough to appreciate the fact that some folks think satin gowns are just fabulous. I have been able to grasp this in an intellectual, open-minded way - enjoying the fact that people are turned on by the darndest things. But until that little tyke with the Oedipal affection fell in love with princesses, I really didn't get it. I'm not sure I get it still - but I am beginning to see more.
Eliot and I like to play "Princess DeLila" - he's the princess and I'm her mom, "Queen Poinsettia." I can see that in playing "Princess DeLila" Eliot has access to a whole world of play-domestic-drama that was never denied me as a child, a kind of play that I never imagined life without. He helps me remember a bit about what was there to be learned in the dressing up of dolls, or in the dressing up of myself. And not just that - he helps me reexamine a way of being in the world as a child that I totally took for granted as a girl. Though I didn't love being a girl, and often found the limited expectations of girls annoying, I don't think it pinched me as much as being a boy who likes to wear dresses would pinch.
I had a lot of options growing up as a girl in the second-wave of feminism. The range of appropriate girl-behavior was pretty darn wide, actually. I could have short hair (like Dorothy Hammil or Mary-Lou Retton), I could play sports (though my desire to play tackle football was on the edge), I could wear pretty much anything (though I did at times HAVE to wear dresses and I was expected to exhibit at least some femininity at regular intervals), and I could imagine myself in pretty much any profession or role, from nurtuing mother to football star (okay, well, I could imagine that, even though I knew it wasn't likely, it was still within the realm of imagination).
At a recent family party - where Eliot decided to wear not one - but two of his fanciest dresses - more than one of the gay men in attendance pulled me aside to say how amazing it was that we let Eliot wear dresses, that their moms hadn't let them though they'd always wanted to, and what good parents we were for celebrating our kiddos for who they are. And you know, it was good feedback - becasue it is hard. Eliot's appreciation for princesses has really pushed the envelope of appropriate gendering - and he's only three! You'd think there would still be a lot of room for innocent play at that age - but I've come to discover even more gender policing of the toddler set than I could have imagined.
As long as gender-bending play is well contained - as in a limited time-frame, or in a specific context (the costume corner) it's a little unusual, but basically okay (at least in this major metro area). But if that play leaks over into regular life (despite the fact that, for a three year old, play and imagination are a 24-7 part of regular life), well, that's just too much - it's a pretty firm line, you're not supposed to let little boys wear dresses, especially not in public, and especially not in non-costume contexts - this is what all the looks in grocery stores, and comments in the park communicate.
I was with the kiddos at an indoor playland one day, and Eliot was wearing pink sweatpants. I overheard another parent comment on him saying, in reference to the pants, "That better not be a boy."
But it is, my little boy in fact, and if I was a queer activist before hand, this has made me into a raving-queer-mama-bear with huge swiping claws ready ready to defend my cubs with every last ounce of snarling intimidation. And not just my cubs, but every little queer kiddo who wants to wear a dress but doesn't have parents with enough information or courage to let him. That better not be a boy, huh? You gonna tell on me? Rat me out to the gender police? Bring 'em on, lady! I'll call in all the little boy princesses, and all their big sisters and big brothers and the few raving-queer-mama-bears out there and we'll whip up a playground version of Stonewall in a second.
But you know - I don't blame those parents. Because to let your little boy wear dresses in public is a queer decision. It's easy to just not let him. There are a million random reasons we say "no" to our kids, so its easy to just add another without feeling guilty or like you're squelching you're child's true self. I have had moments of feeling lazy and tired and like I don't want to be that queer on this particular trip to the grocery store. And sometimes I have to think about three other parents and chosen family and extended relatives who may not want to be that queer either (not to mention his older brother, who seems, more than anyone to appreciate and enjoy Eliot's feminine gender play, because it seems to reinforce his own GARGATUAN masculine-indetification). So I don't blame folks who don' have a raving-queer-mama-bear in their family to stand up for the little-boy-princesses, because that's just about what it takes. And I had no idea, until I found myself here. Despite years of queer resistance and gender non-conformity, I had no idea it could be so hard.
- Lisa
posted by L. Indra Lusero at 10:19 PM
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