Much like my fondness for my faux leather jacket (seen
here,
here, and
here, and probably on two dozen other posts), Micah plays favorites with a particular item in his wardrobe: his rain boots. He insists on wearing them everywhere all the time—to the grocery store, to the playground, to the bathroom. I didn’t really understand why he wanted them on his feet all the time and because I’d be ready to throw a tantrum if someone told me I couldn’t wear my beloved jacket anymore, I stopped trying to understand. As a parent, I’ve learned to pick my battles. Acting out at school? Unacceptable. Bed time? Non-negotiable. Wearing rain boots even though it isn’t raining outside? Fine.
So a while back when I heard the story about 5-year-old Dyson Kilodavis—dubbed Princess Boy—who insists on wearing tutus and princess dresses, I felt…well, I actually don’t know what I felt. I mean, there are a million opinions out there about Dyson, his parents Dean and Cheryl, and his frilly frocks (if you don’t believe me, head on over to Google or YouTube—after you finish reading this, of course), but being the mother of a 5-year-old boy makes this story all the more intriguing to me.
Even as I type this, there are so many thoughts running through my head that I can’t even process them. Some people applaud Dyson’s parents for accepting him and his nontraditional attire (which they say makes him happy), while others condemn them and think they’re doing major long-term damage by allowing him to go out in public wearing dresses, heels, and jewelry. My thoughts are conflicted because I can kind of see it from both perspectives.
On one hand, I want Micah to be happy, but he’s 5 years old. His definition of happiness probably equates to eating donuts for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, taking 3-hour long baths, and wearing those damn rain boots 24/7. So do I agree to let him do those things simply because they make him happy? If I don’t agree to those things, does it mean I don’t love him or accept him?
The reality is, we live in a society that is pretty intolerable of others’ differences. You can teach your child about tolerance within the confines of your own home, but once you step outside your front door, the “rules” of society are different because not everyone was taught open-mindedness. I mean, tomboys used to be acceptable, but it’s reached a point where parents are catching flack for allowing their daughters to wear boys clothing. (See Shiloh Jolie-Pitt and Brad and Angelina.) So what do you do? Give your child free reign and tell the critics to kick rocks—or try to steer them toward what’s ‘right’ according to society?
As a woman—and the epitome of a girly-girl—trying to “think like a man” when it comes to raising Micah is damn near impossible. He’s the quintessential 5-year-old boy: loud, rowdy, rambunctious, energetic. (I have to down multiple cans of Red Bull on a daily basis just to keep up with him. I’m kidding. I don’t drink that stuff. Anymore.) Because I’m raising Micah alone, I can’t help but steer him towards traditionally male things because that’s all I know how to do. If he happens to mention Tinkerbell, I maneuver him towards Tonka trucks. If he brings up Dora, I say something about Diego.
Like many parents, I don’t see the harm in letting my child be semi-independent and wear his favorite item of clothing, even if it’s out of place with the rest of his outfit. I mean, it’s not like he’s asking for the keys to the car. But at the same time, I highly doubt that I would be too thrilled about the idea of Micah wanting to wear attire that is normally reserved for those whose sexual organ doesn’t dangle between their legs.
For the Kilodavis family, allowing Dyson to wear dresses and tutus is about acceptance—accepting Dyson’s unconventional wardrobe, accepting what makes Dyson happy, accepting Dyson as a person. His story has also spawned a children’s book--self-published by his mother and titled My Princess Boy—meant to serve as a tool to teach acceptance, happiness, and anti-bullying, which I think is timely and appropriate, especially considering the fact that we’re in the midst of an anti-bullying movement.
If I were in the Cheryl Kilodavis’ shoes, I can’t say for certain what I would do. There’s a big part of me that wonders if this deserves the attention that it’s getting. I mean, I try to keep my nose out of how other parents raise their children. Unless it affects me or Micah—which it usually doesn’t—it’s none of my business. And who’s to say that Dyson isn’t going through a phase? If he’s not wearing dresses 10 years from now, will it matter? Even if he is, will it matter?
Obviously, the whole thing has left me a bit discombobulated because it involves so many things: parenting, sexuality, acceptance, happiness, fashion (you had to have known I was going to throw that one in there), gender roles. Whew. My head is still reeling. So if you’ve managed to make it through this lengthy jumble of thoughts, I’d love to hear your opinion…
