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Happy Halloween

October 27, 2009 by Sarah

When Sam was three, he was a fairy for Halloween. The pink gossamer wings on his back didn’t stand out as much as the sparkly tiara on his head, so many trick-or-treaters mistook him for royalty. “What a pretty princess,” they’d say as they placed candy in his tiny palm. “I’m not a princess,” Sam snarled back, “I’m a fairy!”

The funny thing was, no one considered that he might be a boy.

The next year, Sam was a character he made up—Gabriella Kitty Witch—his costume comprised of a purple lace dress, black pointed witch hat, and whiskers penciled on his cheeks. When he was five, he was a queen, regal in a burgundy velvet dress, holding a golden scepter. Last year, Sam startled us by wanting to be Luke Skywalker. Given that I’d never seen him express interest in a masculine costume, I really didn’t know what to think—except that Halloween is a time for experimenting, for being our truest selves or trying on new identities or being things we are not.

This year, Sam plans to be a vampire.

Each year, pink boys and their families wonder: Who do I want to be? If I dress as I want to, will the kids at school make fun of me? Can—should—we trick or treat somewhere where nobody knows us? There is no right answer; each family has to work out on their own what is tolerable for their family, in their community.

The Onion, America’s favorite satirical news outlet, recently posted a video: “How To Keep Your Fairy Son From Wearing a Girly Halloween Costume.” Because, you know, if we can’t know the answers, at least we can laugh about it.

Go Jonathan!

October 7, 2009 by Sarah

Yesterday, The Atlanta Journal Constitution’s Alexis Stevens wrote an article about Jonathan Escobar, a 16-year-old who attended North Cobb High School in Kennesaw, Georgia wearing feminine clothes.

The article reported that the school told Escobar he had to dress in a more “manly” fashion—or leave to be home-schooled. The assistant principal allegedly told Escobar that his style of dress caused a fight between students; on his second day of school, Escobar says, a police officer came to school over concern about Escobar’s personal safety. Two days later, Escobar withdrew from high school.

The school’s student handbook can be found on their website. The handbook states that students “will refrain from any mode of dress which is distracting to classroom instruction.” An utterly practical guideline. However, sometimes when the world changes, it causes a bit of distraction.

Until the 1850s, women were expected to wear skirts. When early feminist Amelia Jenks Bloomer developed the first version of pants for women—bloomers—the world was shocked and outraged. Women were much-criticized for even considering wearing such an indecent article of clothing.

It wasn’t until eighty years later that pants became acceptable for women, when Marlene Dietrich appeared in film wearing them. By the end of the decade, Vogue magazine was declaring, “Your wardrobe is not complete without a pair or two of the superbly tailored slacks of 1939.”

I am waiting for the Marlene Deitrich of pink boys to popularize wearing gold lame flats to school. If women’s history is any indication, it’s going to be quite some time before boys like my son and Jonathan Escobar make any headway.

In the mean time, we can think on a few questions. Like: should a pink boy change because other people are freaked out by him? Should he be asked to leave school because other students are so riled up that they pick fights with each other? Might we consider, perhaps, some anti-violence and anti-bigotry training for certain students, and perhaps even for certain key school administrators?

In addition to asking questions, we might want to consider taking action. Here are just a few ideas:

Join the “Support Jonathan” group on facebook.

Purchase a hot pink “Support Jonathan” t-shirt on the “Support Jonathan” facebook page.

Write to Jonathan’s school administrators and tell them you expect them to allow diversity of gender expression at North Cobb High School: Phillip.Page@cobbk12.org, Greg.Barilow@cobbk12.org, Traci.Blanchard@cobbk12.org, Shauntice.Bryant@cobbk12.org, Steven.Butler@cobbk12.org, Jose.Colon@cobbk12.org, Melissa.Faklaris@cobbk12.org, Jackie.Turner@cobbk12.org

Speak out at your own school in defense of boys who are different.

Bone up on the challenges faced by transgender students by reading GLSEN’s Harsh Realities for Transgender Students.

And, in addition to asking questions and taking action, might we simply take a moment to marvel that this particular battle is taking place in the Bible Belt?

Go Jonathan!

Learning from the Livingstones

October 4, 2009 by Sarah

Sam brought Adele Griffin’s Vampire Island home from his school library this week, and we’ve been reading a chapter every night. The book’s protagonists, Hudson, Maddy, and Lexie Livingstone, are hybrids: half vampire, half fruit bat. They live in Manhattan with their fruit-eating, rock-star parents.

As we all know, it’s tough to be a hybrid—the other kids just don’t get it. Nine-year-old Hudson can’t exactly tell his fellow fourth-graders that he spends the pre-dawn hours flying over Central Park, scattering fruit seeds. Maddy, eleven, has ideas about the suspected vampires across the street that even her family can’t understand. And thirteen-year-old Lexie is never sure how much of her bat-talents she can allow herself to show at school.

Sam is concerned about the Livingstone kids’ futures. “What will happen,” he asked me last night, “when they grow up and want to get married?”

For a self-proclaimed part-boy, part-girl hybrid, this is a concern.

I ventured: “Maybe they’ll find another hybrid to marry?”

“Or maybe,” Sam suggested, “they’ll just tell their husband or wife, and if that person loves them, they’ll understand.”

Kids like Sam need models of other people who are different— kids who succeed because they have people who love and accept them, kids who make a go of it in a world that doesn’t necessarily understand them. They make the connections themselves, once the adults in their lives—in this case, our school librarian—give them the tools.

When I hear Sam come up with ideas like successful hybrid marriage, I have a two-part (dare I say hybrid?) reaction. I hate to watch Sam learn things the hard way, as he so often does. But when I get a glimpse of the wisdom he is gaining as someone not-quite-like his peers, I realize that his difference is a blessing, too.

Happy Halloween

Go Jonathan!

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