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Today I made one of my feetball players happy. He was carrying a big blue vinyl backpack emblazoned with Barbie's smiling face. Yes, THAT Barbie. The Doll. Barbara Millicent Roberts. Blonde, perky, plastic. Her. Yes. The boy in question is a strapping 5'10" still-growing fellow. He's burly and broad-shouldered, just outrunning his baby pudge, with a merry smile and dancing blue eyes. He has a puckish sense of humor and knows how to use it. The backpack was his sister's. He was carrying it because she won a bet. She's seven, he's thirteen. He took a LOT of crap from his peers until he showed it to me, his incredulous friends looking on. "Oh," I said,"it's so nice to see a young man secure in his masculinity." I was rewarded with a huge grin, and endless repetition of that line all day, from various kids. Eighth graders are super-hyper-concerned with gender roles and sexual identity. I can't say the words "gay" or "queer" without giggles erupting. Talking about the Trojan War elicited titters until I made the kids TELL me why they were laughing. Four especially disruptive ones got to look up Troy and write me an essay explaining why a prophylactic company would choose this name for their product. (I cleared this with their parents first!) I spend lots of time explaining that Holmes and Watson were roomies, not bedfellows, and that Beowulf slept in a meadhall with his men because it was the manly thing to do, not because he was after some boy action. I swim in a sea of insecurity-based innuendo, all day long. It was just nice to see that Jay was more concerned about keeping his word to his sister than about stupid eighth-grade gossip, and that he didn't feel compromised by his girlish accessory. He also confided in me, at the end of the day, that five different girls asked him out today. Thanksgiving break cannot arrive soon enough for me! Half day tomorrow, then off to Maxi's house for Corbicated turkey goodness. |
 
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barbie boy