By: Andrew Johnson
Date: December 8, 2015
Image: Franckreporter / iStock
As I sat on the couch beside my 8-year-old son, engrossed in a Pokémon episode, he sighed deeply and confessed, “Dad, I like pink.” His gaze was fixed on the floor, indicating that he viewed this preference as something shameful. I couldn’t help but reflect on my own childhood experiences.
My father and I never had a close relationship; he left when I was 9. Before his departure, he began to suspect that I might be gay. Growing up in the early ’90s, I didn’t fit the mold of traditional masculinity. I wasn’t drawn to sports or trucks, and I certainly didn’t favor blue. It’s possible that I even mentioned my fondness for pink, which seemed to trigger my father’s discomfort. To him, my lack of traditional masculine interests was a sign that I needed to be “man-ed up.” He enrolled me in wrestling at the local community center, believing that this would straighten me out.
Dressed in a green leotard, I was expected to grapple with other boys, a scenario that was far from enjoyable for me. While some might have reveled in the experience, I found it to be a nightmare. It felt as though my father was more invested in molding me into his idea of a man rather than accepting me as the good-natured, gentle boy I was.
I still recall his watchful gaze from the sidelines, a mix of compassion and concern, as he feared I might become “one of them.” Wrestling was his misguided attempt to ensure I grew up to be “straight as a board.”
Now, as a father, I don’t worry excessively about my son’s sexual orientation; I’m not troubled by his fondness for pink or his disinterest in traditionally masculine activities. However, the way he hesitated to share his love for pink made me wonder if he perceived me in the same way I viewed my father. Did he think I would judge him for his preferences?
Clearly, somewhere along the line—perhaps at school or from societal norms—he had absorbed the idea that liking things traditionally associated with girls was unacceptable. This was evident when he expressed fascination for the movie Frozen, yet quickly dismissed it, insisting, “Only girls like Frozen.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t like it,” I replied.
“Yes, it does,” he insisted.
I had hoped that by now, society had moved past these outdated notions, allowing boys to embrace pink, Frozen, or dolls without fear of ridicule. Yet, as I sat there waiting for my response, it became clear that we had a long way to go.
Instead of worrying about his potential orientation—like my father would have—I found myself reflecting on how my reaction could inadvertently reinforce gender stereotypes. Faced with a choice, I pondered whether to encourage him to proclaim his love for pink boldly at school, potentially risking his status among peers, or to uphold an antiquated belief that pink was solely for girls, thus reinforcing a damaging norm.
Ultimately, I chose a more subtle approach. As he continued to look downcast, he mentioned, “Sam said he likes pink too. He’s the only other boy I know who likes pink. Most of my friends say pink’s for girls.” I seized the moment to respond in a way I wished my father had.
“I like pink too. Now you know three boys who do,” I said.
He snuggled closer to me on the couch, and we resumed watching Pokémon together.
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In summary, embracing our children’s preferences and breaking down societal stereotypes can pave the way for a more inclusive future. It is essential to foster an environment where all interests are accepted, regardless of gender norms.