Kathy and I had a glorious time shopping this afternoon at Southridge Mall in Milwaukee . . . something we don’t get to do very often. And the mall was crawling with people, which would normally be a pain because it means fighting crowds, standing in line, etc. – but it was actually quite a relief to see so many people there, given the gloomy statistics about consumer spending and the like. There’s no question that we’re in a climate right now where for most of us buying anything feels a little bit wrong . . . but the thousands of people at the mall apparently didn’t get the memo. And it felt just fine to be in the midst of all the craziness.
So we braved the crowds in hopes of finding Christmas presents for friends and family. . . and succeeded splendidly, especially in finding some things for our nieces and nephews on the Berg side of the tree. But one thing became abundantly clear- that Sexism is alive and well in the world of children’s clothing, where all girls appear to be interested in princesses and ponies and flowers – and all boys appear to be interested in sports and nothing but sports. At first it didn’t even phase me because it’s so pervasive, but at one point as I was looking for something for my nephew Henry, it suddenly hit me that the last 75 items of clothing I had looked at had some sort of sports theme – a football, a basketball, a soccer ball, a baseball and bat. . . and everything in bold primary colors . . . not a pastel shade in sight, nor any images outside of the sweaty world of sports. I realize that this is a business and smart decisions have to be made about what will sell, but there’s something wrong about a world where there seems to be so little acknowledgment of the possible that a little boy might favor music or cooking over sports – or like both . . . . or that a little girl might be more excited about dump trucks and trains than ponies and cosmetics.
I speak from experience. I was a little boy who had zero interest in sports – and zero ability to boot . . . and even in as civilized and progressive a community as Decorah, I felt woefully out of step with my peers. Most of my childhood I was a shy, bespectacled klutz – and even though I was an exceptionally gifted musician, that wasn’t always enough to make me feel completely okay about myself. It especially was not enough one afternoon when I was in junior high and I went to the corner barbershop in downtown Decorah for a haircut. One of the two barbers there was a big, muscular guy who looked like he had been an all conference defensive end. I can still remember sitting in that chair as he tried to make conversation by barking at me “do you play sports?” It felt like he wasn’t asking out of genuine interest- but I’m guessing that it was more of a rhetorical question where he already suspected that the answer was an emphatic NO. But I could not bring myself to answer honestly, so instead I said “I did until last year, when I hurt my knee.” I have no idea how I managed to think up such fiction right on the spot, and also have no idea if the guy believed me. (If he did, he was incredibly gullible.) I look back on that moment now and feel bad that my self esteem was so porous that I needed to pretend to be someone I was not. . . or that it wouldn’t have occurred to me to say, “actually, music is more my thing.”
I can’t remember if I’ve shared this story before in my blog- but in fourth grade I suffered a particularly rough day in gym class – and on our way back to class, we were lined up at a drinking fountain – and I overheard some kids behind me talking about how awful I had been with whatever we had been doing. I abruptly ended my drink, rushed back to my desk, opened up the lid and pretended to look for something, but in fact started to cry and hoped against hope that none of my classmates would notice. My teacher, Mrs. Ronken, was very sharp – and she had seen and heard the whole thing . . . and the next thing I know, I feel a tap on my shoulder – and it’s her, standing over me, saying “I told those boys that they had no business making fun of someone who’s good enough to play the organ for church.” – or words to that effect. She belonged to Good Shepherd, so she knew that I had been playing the organ there since I was eight, and she also knew exactly what to say to boost my battered sense of worth in that moment.
Looking back, I was fortunate to have another talent that offered at least some compensation for my athletic ineptitude . . . and fortunate, too, to have parents who could have cared less whether or not I liked sports . . . and a best friend, Marshall, who was in roughly the same boat. (We were so lucky to have each other’s company.) And now, at the age of 48, most of those hurts from the distant past have healed over nicely- although every so often, they reassert themselves, and seeing all that little boy sports apparel did it. In some ways it’s not a big deal because Henry looks like he has all kinds of athletic talent . . . and actually, so does Kaj . . . . but I am glad that both of my young nephews are growing up in households with parents that are nurturing them in every way and honoring all of their gifts- – – not just the gifts which involve throwing a football or hitting a home run. It looks like Henry and Kaj will both exhibit talents in both sports and music – a combination which fascinates me and makes me more than a little jealous. In fact, if these long-ago hurts have any lingering effect on me, it is in the special interest I have in my voice students who are gifted in both sides of the aisle. Lots of my voice students play or have played sports, and maybe it’s a sign that it’s more and more okay for boys to do both.
I just wish the clothing companies would catch on and manufacture an occasional boys’ shirt with a violin on it instead of a football. But I’m not holding my breath.
pictured: two of the hundreds of items of sports-related boys apparel I found at Boston Store.