Cultural cues

Its fascinating to watch general culture creep into P's psyche. And its equally fascinating to see what doesn't seep or creep. (Or hasn't, Yet.) For instance. P adores dresses. Always has. Cinderella has a special place in his heart, due partly to her fashion choices :) And he's been happy to sport a gown whenever the fancy strikes him.... until the other day. Swinging in his swing he sighed and said he wished he were a girl. Yah? Why's that, P? If I was a girl, he said, then I could wear dresses..... And so culture has crept. E and I have never said anything about this silly social limitation. I stand aghast at the thought of little girls forbidden to wear pants just a few centuries ago and am equally horrified that little boys are stigmatized in the dress category (all children innately love beautiful shiny things!). But P has finally put two and two together; it is a rare occurrence seeing a man all gussied up after all. Pity that, of course :)

But not everything insanely limiting that our culture ascribes to has yet to infiltrate the child's sweet little lovin' brain. As we zoomed through the park the other day a gentleman played his horn under an echoey bridge. P shouted out in excitement, "Mama! That man looks just like Grandpapa!" We were in a massive rush to get the kid to the loo, with the scooter enjoying a downhill surge, so I told him I'd look after our pitstop. As we scooted back through the tunnel, I slowed as P pointed at the musician and grinned. "Grandpapa! See! He looks just like Grandpapa!" And ya know what? He DID look just like my wonderful father in law. Except that he was African American. Otherwise, he was a dead ringer, I kid you not. But P didn't even notice the difference in skin tone. To him, people are like cats and dogs, they come in all colors, shapes and sizes, but they're all simply cats or dogs. Oh that this judge-free beauty will never leave him...

And love, to P, is equally equal. As are his toy preferences. Digging through my old toys in Kansas, P unearthed my Barbies. Still deep in his truck phase, he showed no interest whatsoever. Six months later, for reasons unbeknownst to me (and deep in a stuffed toy/doll phase) P wanted those Barbies. Bad. So the fabulous Uncle Cash mailed them, bringing the little man Great Joy this month. As he pawed through the miniature clothing and shoes, he devised a plot. (As most play occurs these days, P describes a fairly complex plot and then watches it unfold, directing each turn. I merely follow his lead.) And true to his fashion loves, he tossed aside the jeans and oxfords, opting for the wedding gown and fancy lace dress (both in like new condition as I always preferred the GI Joe clothes on my Barbies :). And what do you do with a wedding gown? Orchestrate a wedding, of course. So Barbie married Flower (despite the fact that I had a boy Barbie, dubbed Dexter by P) about a million times that day. They both walked down the aisle, said their vows, kissed and went to eat and dance. The dancing part was unbelievably adorable, as he took it so seriously, humming a tune, waltzing his newly married maiden, staring so strongly at the dancing girls - as if they came to life in his head. Then he had a brainstorm - plot twist. Barbie decided to give a hair-clip to Flower for a wedding present. Flower, of course, adored it and instantly added it to her ridiculously thick and long locks. Then, as they proceeded to the reception (thrown by our home-made P doll, watercolored by P, as seen in the background of the above shot, and little BB at their chateau) P plucked the clip from Flower's hair and dropped it. "Flower looses her clip," he stage whispered to me, filling me in on the new plot, "and Barbie goes to find it for her." This was added to the wedding ritual and re-enacted, with love, all afternoon. I can only hope that the world catches up to our children's innocent beliefs in love, equal love for all, someday soon....