Contrary to Popular Belief, This Former Tomboy Did Not Become A "Gender Confused" Adult

I think a large part of having a blog involves reading lots and lots of other blogs. Two of my favorites are The Bloggess and Hyperbole and a Half. But I'm usually stumbling across new ones all the time.

Recently, I came across a blog entitled Raising My Rainbow, in which the mother of two young sons writes about raising her effeminate, gender creative 5 year old. It's a thought-provoking, funny and, at times, heart-wrenching blog.

The author has mentioned often the stereotypical roles that have been placed on children by society from the very beginning. Mainly, in the area of dress and toys.

Since I've been doing some reflecting on my childhood lately, I began to think back to what I and my classmates preferred to do on and off the playgrounds. And upon this reflection, I came to a revelation. That yes.....society has been trying to conform children for years to identify with the gender roles of their physical sex.

I know......this is the moment where someone needs to shout "DUH!" in my general direction. But keep in mind......I've grown up as a sheltered, small-town girl with a super conservative family. I didn't even know anything about gender studies until going to college.

I guess I never really thought about this until recently, after I've been dubbed as a Rebel Without A Cause by relatives. Which I find ridiculous. I'm actually a Rebel With So Many Causes She Isn't Sure Which to Tackle First.

This week, it's gender stereotyping.

In religious ed, I was friends with a boy ("Jake") who absolutely loved his American Girl doll and insisted on bringing her to church. At the time, I remember hearing snarky comments by old women about this. Obviously, something was wrong with this kid. The word "fruit" was tossed around quite frequently. Which confused my young sensibilities because he certainly didn't look like a kiwi or an orange. Plus, I thought it was okay to play however you wanted to. Jake and I had most definitely enjoyed an afternoon playing Wedding Day, with the union between his Furby and my Fern Gully Crysta being proudly officiated by my red Power Ranger in vestments of tissue and scotch tape.

I also played with a younger kid ("Anakin") who absolutely loved the Jewel Princess book series. I don't remember even blinking when he asked me to play princesses with him after helping him read his favorite book. Hell, why not? The books were cool and Anakin was a fun kid. But I remember the sad and embarrassed look on that little guy's face when some boys my age began picking on him about his choice of reading and games. I destroyed them with all the anger my limited cussing vocabulary allowed at the time. But nothing took away that look in Anakin's eyes.

Remembering the boys I played with growing up and hearing the stories of other children now, I see that I had it pretty easy. There's the argument that girls tend to have it easier than boys with the issues of nonconforming toys. I suppose this must be true. My parents certainly never argued with me about my choices in toys. When my favorite aunt spoiled me at the toy store, she never blinked twice when I insisted on the pack of Hot Wheels or the western cap pistols complete with holsters. I don't remember being steered towards the Barbies or puking/peeing/crying baby dolls.

But I do remember one of my cousins being concerned over the fact his young son was playing with my old baby carriage on one visit.

I do remember the public outrage over a male purple Teletubby who carried a purse.

I do remember being extremely upset at the age of 7 because I was mistaken for a boy when I dressed up as a ninja for Halloween (this was before I discovered that pirates were by far more awesome).

I remember being upset a couple years later when I was again mistaken for a boy on Halloween because I was dressed as an extraterrestrial ambassador as opposed to my best friend who had chosen to be a belly dancer. (btw, it sleeted that All Hallow's Eve. Guess who had the slightly smarter and warmer costume?)

I was even more upset at the age of 12, the last time I went Trick or Treating in my neighborhood, when some older teenagers made comments and laughed about whether I was a boy or a girl. I was Harry Potter that year. Because Harry (besides Dumbledore and Hagrid) was my favorite. Not Hermione (I thought she was an annoying know-it-all at the time), not McGonagall (I was a little intimidated by her originally) but Harry freaking Potter. I remember returning home shortly after that, entirely upset about what had been my favorite costume ever.

Even though I ventured out to demand candy in other towns with high school friends and later dressed up for the hell of it in college, that was the last year I dressed in anything but a specifically female costume.

And I find that rather sad. How many other kids have possibly done that?

I grew up as a tomboy. I much preferred running around in the woods, pretending to fight invisible evil doers to playing tea time. I loved playing kickball or Legos with the younger kids in the after school program, instead of making jewelry or gossiping with the girls my age. When my younger cousin (hereafter called Lando) was old enough to play with, he was like a godsend in a playmate. He had tons of plastic swords he used to carefully store in between the couch cushions in the den. Our visits often broke out in epic lightsaber battles. Lando and I dreamed of having a fort to hide out in.

I was a grass-stained lanky kid with a backwards cap and a growing hatred for the color pink. My mother frequently told me that I should act more ladylike in public. Which basically meant, not muddying the dress I'd been forced into, not burping loudly and then laughing, not crossing my legs ankle to knee (I used to copy my dad like crazy), not spitting watermelon seeds all over the place, etc.

I replied that I did not want to be ladylike because "Ladies don't have any fun!" Hell, any classic character from Eliza Doolittle to Mulan could tell you that.

This is not to say I never did anything girly. I often played with Barbies and horses....although that playtime wasn't restricted to tea parties and household tasks. What usually happened were story lines to rival that of any common plot on All My Children or Days of Our Lives. I loved my dollhouse but that too resembled epic plots. More often than not a great disaster occurred that the family had to overcome or a simple vacation became a modern take on Swiss Family Robinson (I went through a period in which I was obsessed with shipwrecked stories).

My poor, ever-suffering toys and their daily emotional upheaval.

Starwars actions figures also often became a part of the larger stories. Obiwan became the rebellious teenage son who liked to ride motorcycles. Padme was a tomboy who particularly detested her mother's insistence on wearing "nicer clothes".

My cars were either specifically cars that I zoomed around (with or without accompanying sound effects) or skateboards for action figures/dollhouse dolls.

My favorites movies were The Little Mermaid and the Back to the Future Trilogy.

So I don't know if you could say I played like a girl or I played like a boy. I like to think that I played like a very creative child. From an early age, I think what playtime most indicated about me was that I was going to be a writer.

Today:

--One of my favorite movies is still Back to the Future.

--I still have a soft spot for Ariel but Belle, Mulan and Rapunzel have been more of who I've identified with over the past few years.

--I still think cowboys are more fun to be than cowgirls. Mainly because of my dislike of tassels.

--I still wear hats on backwards, on occasion.

--If you gave me a choice between a blue item and a pink one, I'll always head straight for the blue. But I'm accepting a little bit of pink in my life here and there. (I think the only reason I hated the color to begin with was because I was supposed to like it.)

--I like being girly now if the mood strikes.....I just think it's a waste of time and effort on a daily basis.

--I'd still rather play lightsaber fight or pirates than princesses with my younger cousins. However, tiaras? Totally awesome.

--I think I can rock a fedora better than my best guy friend can. Not that I'd admit it to him :-P

--I'm more obsessed with My Little Pony at 23 than I was at the age of 8. This is largely in part to the amazingness that is Lauren Faust.

See? I played with "boy toys", wore "boy sneakers", and sometimes even pretended to be a boy superhero and am I irreversibly screwed up? Am I gender confused? No. No, I'm not. And neither are the kids I grew up with. There's no confusion or so called "identity crisis". They know who they are and what they are about, whether they're gay, straight, bi or transgender, just like I know who I am and what I'm about.

I'm about equality and peace and love. I'm about shaking things up when change needs to happen and smoothing things over when calm is needed. I hate conforming to society. I'm comfortable enough in my own sexuality to call another girl attractive. I'm admittedly a hot mess but its actually due to societal and familial expectations and demands, not what I happened to be into at the age of 5.

And when I have kids someday , I will not only allow but encourage them to play or dress however they want. Because really, who cares? It's what makes them happy and I plan on raising happy, accepting and amazing little human beings.

And why do 6 year old boys with American Girl dolls or who dress in tutus and girls who love Superman or who wear "boy clothes" make society so damn nervous anyway? Who are they hurting exactly?

No one.

They're just breaking the walls society has boxed you in with for years. Let them crack, let them fall. When the dust clears, you'll see life for what it is: Something that's meant to be enjoyed by all.

So, join the revolution! Barbies and cowboy hats for all! WHOOHOO!

If you want to have your mind blown with the hypocrisy of Dr. Phil or just lose even more respect for him, go here: http://www.drphil.com/articles/article/258

Also, seriously, check out any of the blogs I mentioned. They are awesome and well-written by some truly amazing women ^_^

Adventures In the Nude or Things You Never Questioned Until Breaking Up

They say that love is blind and I'm starting to think that this statement is true. Of all the ridiculous sayings about love that have been made famous:

--Love means never having to say your sorry (Yeah, okay, if you WANT to break up)

--All's fair in love and war (So what? Both suck? Is that what you're trying to get at here? Yeah, ok, Jordin Sparks, "love is a battlefield" and so on)

--You only hurt the one you love (Isn't that the other way around? You only really hurt the one who loves you?)

--She's my kinda rain/like love in a drunken sky (What are you on, Tim McGraw? Seriously? Can I have some of it? Maybe then I'd understand what you're talking about.)

Out of all of them, "Love is blind" is the one that is probably most true. At least, in relationships. Until you know better. Or at least grow a little as an individual.

I've technically had four boyfriends, but today I'm going to be talking about boy number three because that was the longest relationship, as well as the one where all of these weird things occurred.

We were together for four years. And lemme tell you.......that was about three and a half years of the most blinded love you could ever dream of.

I know, I know. After a break-up, those involved are always pointing fingers and exaggerating things and making the other person sound like a total asshole. So here's a little disclaimer:

--Yes sometimes I exaggerate for comedic effect. However, this time, I am not. Every single thing I am about to tell you is true. It happened or was said. And I'm not saying he (let's call him "Thor") was a monster. I'm just saying that things were not okay with us and there was some weird stuff I put up with for whatever reason at the time. Call it unsure of how to act in a relationship. Call it submissive personality. Call it love-blind.

And any of you who've been in a long-term relationship has no doubt put up with weird or aggravating things from time to time. So, let's begin:

1) The Nekkid Rules

First off, once a relationship progresses into the sexual phase, things are never really the same. Sometimes better, sometimes not. No matter what, your relationship evolves in some way. Especially in the bedroom. My first and clearest memory of the weird things occurring then would involve what I called The Nekkid Rule.

It happened one afternoon. I'd ended up over at Thor's house. His room was in the finished off basement and we naturally spent quite a bit of time down there. On this particular occasion we were about to settle in for movie watching and I started to sit down on his bed. Only to be held off by one hand.

"Whaaaat?" I asked, laughing and confused.

"Take your clothes off."

"Uh....I thought we were actually going to watch a movie this time."

"We are." Thor grinned up at me. "But you have to be naked."

"Uh....what?" and I tried to sit down again. But that wasn't going to happen.

"No. You're only allowed to be here if you're naked." He smiled cheekily up at me and tried to pull my top off. "That's the rule."

Now, the girl then and the one now are two very different people. As odd as that sounds. If I was told that now, I would say, "Fine" and turn around and leave. However, the girl I was then thought this behavior was adorable and endearing. And obeyed.

And therefore, never really got to see large sections of the damn movies. Seriously. I finally just watched Shooter tonight. That is so violent but a really good movie. I can't believe I missed Marky Mark flexing his muscles and being a badass sniper for some horizontal cha-cha.

2) Food and Drink: Open Game

Thor used to make me feel like Dora the Explorer in a never ending episode, yelling "Swiper, no swiping!!!!"

I mean, we had meal times worked out into a kind of nice little diplomatic arrangement. I hated onions and peppers in my salad, so he got them. He abhorred olives to an amazing degree, so I got them. But then he would break our treaties and invade my plate to seize my food. That I was actually eating.

Seriously, I know I'm a skinny chick so you obviously believe I don't eat that much. I know I can be a picky eater sometimes. But when I'm actually eating something, you do not need to reach onto my plate and take something off of it. You could always ....I dunno....ask.

Plus, I have a thing about sharing food directly. Candy bars or sandwiches.....maybe I can handle it. Lollipops, chewing gum and ice cream however makes me physically ill. And it didn't really matter if Thor and I were regularly swapping saliva. Something about him stealing a mouthful of my ice cream cone would have me relinquishing it immediately. I never said why though. I just said "Oh I'm full." Or "Wow....now I'm really cold. You can have the rest."

I was all about sparing him my little eccentricities since his mother was extremely OCD and irked him constantly with everything she was particular about. My little annoyances about food? Not that big a deal, I told myself.

However, I did get to the point of snarling like a rabid dog when Thor would steal my drinks.

I am not kidding about the snarling either. He looked taken aback for a couple seconds, blinked a lot and then started laughing and telling me I was adorable and DRANK THE REST OF MY DAMN DEW. You don't touch a woman's Dew. You just don't.

Thor also was fond of taking the alcohol I was nursing and chugging it down. What was that? Were we in some kind of drinking competition that I was unaware of?

What it most likely was about was the fact that he didn't want me drinking around other people. If we were alone, it was okay. If we were hanging out with my friends, nope. Don't let her get too drunk. She overshares, leans on people, and occasionally flashes her bra. Which again, I took to be sweet on some level. Protective.

But at the same time, I was beginning to get pissed. That was something I actually talked with him about. Asking him to not steal anything I was drinking because it was mine and I would get thirsty and then have nothing. Because Thor didn't just take a sip or two. No, he chugged. And he kept chugging, apparently thinking my request was something else that was adorable about me and not to be taken seriously.

Maybe I should have snarled more maliciously?

3) What's Yours Is Mine and What's Mine Is Also Mine

This kind of goes along with the above section. Thor had this tendency to make himself at home. With everything.

What I mean is that when he was over at my house, sometimes he would just disappear and I would go looking for him and find him for some reason in my bed. And again with the stealing of food and drink.

Now, I'm all for sharing. However, when I was at his house, he didn't always share everything. When Thor felt like playing video games, he didn't share the controller. Even when there was the option of two person games, he wanted to play and expected me to sit and watch. For like two hours.

And again, the drinking thing. Stealing my alcohol but not letting me have his. Not that I really wanted it most of the time. He drank peppermint schnapps which I'm convinced is the foulest drink on the planet. Might as well just swig mouthwash.

4) The Desperate Nights. And Days. And Mornings, Afternoons, Random Minutes, Showers, Road Trips, and etc.

Any of the above times were an opportunity to screw.

I know....that urge to do it almost constantly in random places is a part of a developing relationship. You just look at each other in a certain way and then the next thing you know the two of you are doing it in your dorm bathroom. Or at the drive in. Or a rest area. Virtually anywhere. It's like you've lost your mind and all common sense and thoughts of decency. All that matters is having your hands alllllll over each other. RIGHT NOW.

It takes two to tango obviously. And at the time I thought this was exciting and amazing and I felt so free and rebellious. Even now, I might share something like this in a joking manner. Because on the one hand, it's hilarious and risque. On the other hand, it's very embarrassing. And I took a long time to wake up and think wow.....you know....I'm not really into this. It was crazy and fun but this whole exhibitionist thing ain't me. At least, not a sober me.

And I'd try to discourage the random sex in random places. It didn't always work......which brings me to the next thing.

5) No Actually Doesn't Mean No

Apparently.

When things began happening and I wasn't feeling it, I would say "no" or "Not now" or "I'm not in the mood tonight." I'd gently push Thor away or step back. But he wouldn't always listen.

He would pull me back or continue, laughing a little and trying to be sweet. He thought I was kidding. Even when he would stop, he'd go "Aw reaaaaaaaally?" in this dejected voice. And then he'd try pushing my buttons a few minutes later. Always checking to see if I'd changed my mind.

Eventually I would give up and give in. And there were even a couple occasions where I was incapacitated and "no" was completely ignored.

At the time.....I don't know what I was thinking. Happiness that I was so obviously wanted. That I was so obviously needed. And the feeling that, why should you deny an expression of love when you're in a relationship? Isn't that mean? Isn't that ridiculous?

I had some twisted kind of idea of how love is supposed to be expressed.

6) I Want to Take Care of You and other lies

I'm not saying this is always a lie. I'm just saying there is a fine line between someone genuinely wanting to take care of you and someone ruling your life.

Walking between the rainy road and you so you don't get splashed is nice.

Hanging all over you when you stop to talk to a guy friend is not.

Sending you messages on Facebook is cute.

Freaking out because you left your computer open and your friends posted statuses on your profile as a prank is not.

Bringing you blankets and cuddling with you when you're sick is sweet.

Cuddling to convince you to have sex later while you are sick is not.

Know the difference.

7) PDA: When Your Life Becomes Reality TV

I know for a fact that none of my friends wanted to see Thor and I sucking face like vacuum cleaners. I'm sure the people in Wal-Mart didn't either.

8) You Dyed Your Hair?: When your Body is No Longer Your Own

When you reach a certain age, you feel like you do not need to ask permission for anything anymore. Like, getting your ears pierced, getting a tattoo, dying your hair......

I died my hair fuschia at the age of 18 because I wanted to and because I figured.....hell, I'm a legal adult. I just graduated from high school. Who really gives a shit anymore?

My parents just gaped at me for a few moments and then started laughing. And then made sure it would wash out in a couple months.

Thor was not impressed. At all.

He lifted up strands of my brightly colored hair and went in this dejected voice, "You dyed your hair?"

Um. Duh.

But I was very anxious about his reaction at the time. "What....you don't like it?"

Thor eyed it with this pained look on his face. "Well....I just liked your hair the way it was. I think it's pretty the way it is." Translation: I hate what you did with your hair.

I was kind of crushed. "I just wanted to do something different with it......"

A month later he had his hair cut extremely short and asked what I thought. I shot the same words back at him. And he said "Well you never asked me about your hair before you dyed it."

We were at an impasse.

When I wanted to pierce my ears the following year, Thor wasn't so sure about it. So I didn't. Until this summer.

He liked my hair really long so when I eventually got it cut shorter, it was a necessity. It got caught in everything and was really annoying to wash, brush and took forever to dry. Thor wasn't sure what to think about it but I said it had been annoying. Plus, I donated it. How could he argue with that?

The point is, I felt like I had to ask permission to change things about myself. When all I really need to do was ask myself.

Maybe what blinds you is the thought that this person, this one person, is so wonderful, such a beautiful soul.....that you can't help but see only the good in them. And that results in placing them on this high up pedestal.

And that's nice and all.....but it's not the truth. It's not real.

What's real is seeing that person, seeing all of that beautiful person (the good, the bad, and the ugly, the flaws, the imperfections, the things that drive you absolutely bonkers that they do or say), seeing all of those things and not erasing them or excusing them away.....but loving them anyway. Loving them despite all of it and for all of it.

And if there is something you truly cannot live with or some way they are mistreating you, then you need to see it, truly see it, acknoweldge it, and let them go. Love is a wonderful thing, a beautiful thing, but don't let it blind you to the truth about people. Never let it keep you in the dark about serious issues.

"I love you and because I love you, I would rather have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies." --Pietro Ariteno

That's real love.

When You Really Know

Rings are symbols. Their circular shape carries a lot of meaning, symbolizing a bond and the love that goes on and on with no end.

Engagement rings are the same, complete with a promise for the future; a foreshadowing of what is to become. Normally this is a very good thing. It's a very happy time.

But not always.

Some say that everything rests in the actual proposal. Some say what really matters is the ring itself.

Personally, I think what truly matters is your relationship. The rest of it is, as they say, window-dressing. Then, an engagement is a happy time or...a mistake. Quite possibly, the first sign of true trouble you'd been trying to ignore.

When I was proposed to, I had actually been asleep. Or half asleep. I was woken by a cool ring being slipped onto my finger. Note: I was asleep, we were in a car driving back to my college after a break, and the ring was placed on my finger before I ever said yes. Before I had even been properly asked.

He was really assuming a hell of a lot.

Then again, some of that had been my fault. We'd talked about getting married for a long time. We'd been together for about four years. I suppose it was assumed.

I had also assumed.....

Until the moment I opened my eyes to this diamond on my hand.

I hid my head in his arm as he asked, "Hey.....will you marry me?"

I hid because the ring and the question did not make me excited. I didn't immediately scream YES! and then throw my arms around him. I didn't cry tears of joy (at that point, I hadn't even experienced those yet.) I didn't even look up at him and grin.

Instead, I found myself staring down at this gorgeous, sparkly ring....only filled with apprehension. A shaky sense that something was not quite right.

And that feeling terrified me.

Why didn't I shout yes right away? Why was I thinking only crap and what is everyone going to say about this now? But he was expecting an answer. I had to give one, the right one. But what was the right answer?

Well, I was trapped in a car which was currently speeding down the road for another hour and a half and there was apparently only one answer anticipated. So, I did what was expected of me. I choked out "yes" and tried to ignore the feelings of discontent lodged in my stomach. I pushed them away, trying to convince myself that they were just nerves and nothing more and then set about telling everyone we knew.

The ring never really fit.

That should have been a clear sign, an omen of sorts. But I was prone to sweeping bothersome issues under the metaphorical rug.

So I didn't really pay attention to those little telling signs around me. Like, that the ring kept falling off, being two sizes too large. Or that there never seemed to be time to get it re-sized. Or that the ring itself didn't even feel right.

It was not just the fact that I had to either wear it on a chain around my neck or hold it on my finger with a cheap plastic ring. It also managed to get caught or snagged on damn near everything. Or I'd almost scratch myself when resting my cheek on a fist. And, it just did not feel like....me.

It was sparkly, with gold bands and tiny diamonds on both sides leading up to a diamond in the middle, which was a bit bigger. It was beautiful, that much was true. But I felt like a fraud wearing it. Like a child playing dress up with Mommy's jewelry. It didn't belong with me, to me. It wasn't right.

And maybe, that was the clearest indication that something was not right with the relationship. A sign trying to show me what I already had secretly known and felt. I had known, about a month before, when one event shattered the pedestal I had placed him on. But I went on, sweeping it all into some dark corner of my heart and mind. Not something to think on.

And then, as if sensing my inner turmoil after the smoke cleared, the boy had produced a shiny ring. Which I accepted because I didn't feel as if I could do anything else. I didn't think that I really had a choice.

But the thing about life is....you always have choices. Every. Single. Day.

So time went by and I kept trying to ignore what was so obviously right in front of me all along. It took a sudden attraction for someone else for me to really see that yes.....something was obviously not right here. If it was okay, then why had I emotionally moved on without even noticing?

Still, I thought then that the something wrong was deep within me. That I was entirely to blame, that I was a horrible person. That I was a total flake, a stupid squiggle trying to fit into a square world and entirely incapable of having a long-term relationship.

I battled deep guilt. But all the while, the sense that this boy was most definitely not The One only grew as my feelings for another boy also grew. And the ring became a cumbersome weight around my neck.

My hair, somehow, became caught around the stone.

The metal hit my chest as I ran, reminding me with every step of its continued presence. That I hadn't escaped.

It smacked me in the face while I was bent over, drying my hair. A constant reminder.

The plastic ring I sometimes used to hold it on my finger suddenly snapped cleanly in half. My stomach dropped at blatant symbolism but I stubbornly tried to shrug it off as coincidence.

Then at last, another ring I had previously been given which I also tried to use to hold the diamond on with....suddenly vanished for a few days.

I finally stopped wearing it entirely. Because I knew. I knew deep in my heart, with every bit of me, that this was not right.

And I'd always truly known this. It had just taken awhile to see it for myself.

The final clue came in the form of a sweet old lady I'd met and talked to by chance at a dinner final for one of my classes.

We had been talking about life and she mentioned moving back to her hometown after her husband had passed away. She said she knew that was where she belonged and she'd known because something had felt off staying where they had built a life together. And she looked at me very seriously and said, "Because you always know, don't you, when something isn't right. You know when something just doesn't fit in your life and you need to change it.

Suddenly, I knew exactly what she meant. You always do know.

So I made a vow to myself....that the next time someone asks me to marry them (God willing that happens), I want to feel something. And not fear, nerves, apprehension, or dread. Nothing negative.

I want to feel so much joy it comes spilling out of my eyes as tears.

I want to throw my arms around the boy because I need to touch him.

I want to shout YES! even before he is finished asking, because I can't hold in that affirmation.

I want to know, deep in my heart and with every bit of me, that this is right. That he is The One.

And I want to say yes, not because there can't be any other answer, but because any other answer never even occurred to me.

And I'll only ever say yes if I truly know.