I Took the Gun Out the Transformer's Hand

Jack's third birthday party was this past Sunday. It was a good time. We served our favorite Jew food—bagels, lox, kugel—as Evan and I have at every party we've ever thrown together. We didn't stress too much over matching paper goods or a theme. 

Actually, the theme was a natural extension of Jack's best interest: music. His music teacher led a class for everyone, bringing her real violin and a ton of tiny instruments the kids went bananas over. None of it was particularly boyish. Jack's favorite part:  being covered in scarves and popping up like a jack-in-the-box. 

Like I said, not particularly "boyish".

But at this birthday party, it became painfully obvious that I will no longer be looked at fondly if I keep buying him lavender and purple camouflaged lunch boxes and pink Mr. Happy t-shirts (Anyone who knows Jack well knows that's his favorite shirt. He even wore it to this party.) It seems the three-year-old birthday is where gender becomes clearly defined in gifts. Until now, birthday gifts have been mostly unisex toys or books, with the occasional, mildly masculine sports material or blue clothing. For this birthday, though, there were definitive boy toys everywhere. If my introduction to gender were through these toys, I'd learn that boys make cars go really, really fast. Not the worst thing in the world—and don't get me wrong, I appreciate all the gifts. Some of them were even arts related, and Jack is excited to play with each one.  I can hang with that.

But...Jack also received his first toy with a gun. A transformer he calls "The Man." This transformer—unlike the ones of my childhood—does not, uh, transform into different machines or from man to machine or whatever it was they did back then to make the boys of my generation oooh and ahhh. This transformer just stands upright. A bulky piece of plastic that walks forward when you press that button on its remote control. It barks somewhat ironically, "I am fighter. I come in peace," when you press another. And the highlight? It raises its arm, points its gun at you and shouts, "Freeze! Drop It!" and makes what the remote refers to as "pistol sound."

Of course this is the toy Jack is most interested in. After the party, I brought in a few toys from the car to play with and left others for Ev to bring in later. Jack watched as I set down the cars, trains and Magic Doodle, looked me straight in the eyes and asked, 

"Where's The Man?"

I went and got The Man.

While The Man was pointing its gun at me, making "pistol sound," I became increasingly uncomfortable. I cannot have this toy around. It is not okay to pretend to shoot someone. Not cool at all. 

Yet, this is what's in store for us as the parents of two boys. We will constantly have to combat this image that boys are rough, do not wear pink shirts (one of my favorite fashion moments was when the hip hop movement reclaimed the male pink shirt), and like guns. I remember learning these What Boys Do/What Girls Do lessons when I was a child. I wanted to emulate my dad (play football! walk around without a shirt on!), but heard, "Girls don't do that!" from my mom countless times. 

"What do girls do?" I wondered.

And not long after that, I developed a decade-long eating disorder.

 

This reminds me of the cringes that come over me when people tell Jack and Benny who their "girlfriends" are. Hey, maybe they'd rather have boyfriends. And if Jack wants to be covered in scarves all day, everyday, that's okay too! 

And I've replaced the gun with a tiny maraca.

Now The Man raises its arm and points its maraca at us. Because it wants to play some music.