John Demartini said something very interesting during a workshop, which I attended. “Whatever you repress, your kids will express.” Upon reflection, I agree.
We all know what happens to the preacher’s kid. The son or daughter of the preacher will do, with matching gusto and fervor, all the things daddy condemns from the pulpit.
When they made Thing 1, they went straight into the box marked “Girl – Stereotype”. She loves Pink, knows all the Disney princesses, and the occupations of all the fairies of Pixie Hollow, not just Tinkerbell. She is deathly afraid of bugs, and only approves of tiny dogs.
She moans every Tuesday when she’s supposed to play soccer, because it’s for boys. In fact last week she “ditched” soccer, and used that very word when she defiantly informed me about it.
I had a complicated relationship with my femininity growing up. One day we were getting ready for one of our family fishing weekends, when I was told that I wouldn’t be camping overnight as usual, since none of the women were sleeping over.
This is how I found out that I was one of the women, in a moment of deprivation when I was refused access to fun, and this is what I came to associate with being a woman – limited choices, no fun, smaller world. My response was to shun femininity.
It follows that I would birth a girl-child who loves all the things I rejected. In the beginning I fought it. I banned Pink, Barbie dolls and fairytales featuring distressed princesses, but eventually I gave up and joined in on the Pink fun. Interestingly, once I started getting into it, she became less extreme in her girliness.
Which brings me to what I really want to talk about, Thing 2. She is a kicker and a hitter. I am a very peaceful person. Even though I am far from being a doormat, I generally avoid fights and arguments. Even my name means peace.
Thing 2 thrives on conflict. She is extremely aggressive, pretty fearless and regularly attacks Catdog and Thing 1 with very little provocation.
Nursery school time is nearing. I dread that we will be those parents who are regularly called in because our kid is a bully. We won’t get invited to playdates and parties. I have friends like that. They have a son who used to hit and bite other kids. We called him Fine Young Cannibal, because you know, he was a good looking biter.
His poor parents were ostracized because of the Fine Young Cannibal’s antics. This may be my future. I figure that I must unleash my inner savage so Thing 2 can dial hers down.
So if I happen to head-butt you when a passive-aggressive stare would do, know that I am doing it for my kid.
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