incident, the teacher will do a check-in with them individually.”
As far as I know, Rosena still does not know about the Sandy Hook massacre or the Boston bombing. She is blissfully unaware. I think this is a good thing. Lots of kids don’t have the luxury of being shielded from tragedy and deprivation. Almost seventeen million kids in this country are hungry, for instance. Every hour in this country, eighty-four kids end up in the emergency room as the result of violence perpetrated against them. The picture is much worse outside of our borders—every five seconds, a child dies of hunger somewhere in the world. I want Rosena to know all of this someday. I want her to grow up compassionate and empathetic. I want her to work for justice and peace. I want her to be curious about people and empowered to help them. But, right now, I just want her to be a kid—innocent, lucky, happy, and mad about horses.
KIDS WILL BE KIDS: GENDER, SEX, AND RAISING GOOD CHILDREN
S eamus went to a University of Connecticut basketball game a while ago. UConn beat Yale, big time. He sat in the stands with his dad, uncle, and papa and was completely absorbed by the action below. “My son is a boy,” I thought. He is a handsome, strong, demanding, loving little boy whose favorite things are blocks and balls and Cheerios.
We did not know before he was born if we were going to have a boy or a girl. It was the first question everyone asked. “Congrats. What are you having?” When I said that we didn’t know, older people always offered additional congratulations. “Good for you! We never knew back when I was having my kids.” I thought it was strange that even people who thought not knowing ahead of time was good couldn’t help but ask. I also got a lot of speculation about the bump’s sex. “What do you feel like you are carrying?” I was asked. “A watermelon, a small sedan, or perhaps a large sofa,” I responded.
“You are having a boy!” was the informal consensus from women at the grocery store, on the street, and in my extended family. Almost no one thought I was going to have a girl, except Rosena who wanted a little sister.
While I was pregnant with Seamus, I learned about a new trend: gender reveal parties. Expectant parents throw a party where they learn if they are having a boy or a girl. They get balloons filled with pink or blue confetti, they get cakes with either pink or blue frosting inside, and the guests divide into Team Girl and Team Boy to suggest names and guess the baby’s stats like weight and due date.
“How do you know what color to paint the nursery?” asked the woman bagging groceries at Stop & Shop, when I told her I didn’t know if my bump was male or female. “White,” I said. “We have painted it white.” She looked disappointed. In truth, I painted all the walls white. I was not going to waste any time meditating over paint chips and variations of green with names like “Summer Moss” or “Old Toad.” I could not see how knowing the sex of our baby ahead of time would help us prepare for being parents. We had everything one actually needs for a baby—car seat, co-sleeper, high chair, and stroller. Friends with two boys moved back to New Zealand and gave us all their baby clothes, shoes, hats, diapers, baby seats, and swaddles. The clothes were mostly European and Kiwi, which meant lots of stripes and lots of red and white patterns with very few overly assertive boy markers, such as the ones you see emblazoned on everything at Target and Babies “R” Us: T-shirts with gorillas, trucks, or super heroes. Girl clothes have pink polka dots, dogs or cats with long eyelashes, and princesses. Sex education starts immediately.
Sex, gender, and children have gotten a lot of media attention in recent years. A couple in Sweden is raising Pop, a child whose sex is known only to immediate family. Pop wears all kinds of clothes and plays with all kinds of toys. As Pop grows and becomes articulate,
As far as I know, Rosena still does not know about the Sandy Hook massacre or the Boston bombing. She is blissfully unaware. I think this is a good thing. Lots of kids don’t have the luxury of being shielded from tragedy and deprivation. Almost seventeen million kids in this country are hungry, for instance. Every hour in this country, eighty-four kids end up in the emergency room as the result of violence perpetrated against them. The picture is much worse outside of our borders—every five seconds, a child dies of hunger somewhere in the world. I want Rosena to know all of this someday. I want her to grow up compassionate and empathetic. I want her to work for justice and peace. I want her to be curious about people and empowered to help them. But, right now, I just want her to be a kid—innocent, lucky, happy, and mad about horses.
KIDS WILL BE KIDS: GENDER, SEX, AND RAISING GOOD CHILDREN
S eamus went to a University of Connecticut basketball game a while ago. UConn beat Yale, big time. He sat in the stands with his dad, uncle, and papa and was completely absorbed by the action below. “My son is a boy,” I thought. He is a handsome, strong, demanding, loving little boy whose favorite things are blocks and balls and Cheerios.
We did not know before he was born if we were going to have a boy or a girl. It was the first question everyone asked. “Congrats. What are you having?” When I said that we didn’t know, older people always offered additional congratulations. “Good for you! We never knew back when I was having my kids.” I thought it was strange that even people who thought not knowing ahead of time was good couldn’t help but ask. I also got a lot of speculation about the bump’s sex. “What do you feel like you are carrying?” I was asked. “A watermelon, a small sedan, or perhaps a large sofa,” I responded.
“You are having a boy!” was the informal consensus from women at the grocery store, on the street, and in my extended family. Almost no one thought I was going to have a girl, except Rosena who wanted a little sister.
While I was pregnant with Seamus, I learned about a new trend: gender reveal parties. Expectant parents throw a party where they learn if they are having a boy or a girl. They get balloons filled with pink or blue confetti, they get cakes with either pink or blue frosting inside, and the guests divide into Team Girl and Team Boy to suggest names and guess the baby’s stats like weight and due date.
“How do you know what color to paint the nursery?” asked the woman bagging groceries at Stop & Shop, when I told her I didn’t know if my bump was male or female. “White,” I said. “We have painted it white.” She looked disappointed. In truth, I painted all the walls white. I was not going to waste any time meditating over paint chips and variations of green with names like “Summer Moss” or “Old Toad.” I could not see how knowing the sex of our baby ahead of time would help us prepare for being parents. We had everything one actually needs for a baby—car seat, co-sleeper, high chair, and stroller. Friends with two boys moved back to New Zealand and gave us all their baby clothes, shoes, hats, diapers, baby seats, and swaddles. The clothes were mostly European and Kiwi, which meant lots of stripes and lots of red and white patterns with very few overly assertive boy markers, such as the ones you see emblazoned on everything at Target and Babies “R” Us: T-shirts with gorillas, trucks, or super heroes. Girl clothes have pink polka dots, dogs or cats with long eyelashes, and princesses. Sex education starts immediately.
Sex, gender, and children have gotten a lot of media attention in recent years. A couple in Sweden is raising Pop, a child whose sex is known only to immediate family. Pop wears all kinds of clothes and plays with all kinds of toys. As Pop grows and becomes articulate,
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