The Lesbians and the Sissy

by adminwp in Ruth Hackford-Peer | 0 comments

Bear with me in this column. I’m working through some gender and parenting issues. And I’m bringing you with me.

The arrival of summer has been nothing short of disappointing to me. Spring rains have drizzled into June and the things I remember about summer — luxurious afternoons at the pool, the slowing down of time, and relaxing at every turn — have not happened. In fact, my life has only gotten more managed — the details more important. Things have gotten more complicated because school is out for the summer and childcare has become the issue-of-the-day to juggle: summer school, art camps, sports camps, etc.

This year, in all the juggling, we still had a week where we didn’t have anything to do with Riley. Since he’s only seven, I wasn’t totally comfortable with him staying home by himself, so we invited my 14-year-old nephew to stay with us for a week and take care of Riley in the day. Riley loves hanging out with teenagers, and he sure can get sucked into the world of video games and electric guitar.

And food! Everything about the week they spent together revolved around food. The highlight of that week was fruit sorbet served in the half shell. Riley loved the lemon sorbet served in a half-lemon shell. His cousin loved the coconut sorbet in the half coconut shell. Riley insisted on keeping the coconut shells to drink water from later. I assured him that we had perfectly good cups, but coconut shells, he insisted, are apparently more fun. The week passed, and Riley’s cousin left. The next week started summer school and after-school play dates with friends.

The other day, Riley was riding his bike at a friend’s house when a neighborhood kid on his own bike moved out in front of Riley, cutting him off. Riley swerved to miss the kid and ran smack. Dab. Into a tree. I told Riley that next time he ought to just run into the kid, but this time instinct, poor planning, or whatever led to him running into the tree instead. Of course, the tree won. And poor Riley racked himself in his precious parts. This is the first time Riley has ever had an injury THERE beyond a tiny bump. Until his run-in with the tree, Riley had no idea how painful his privates could be. I’m told that as soon as he was able to take in a breath of air, he promptly screamed an obscenity. Later he told me, “You’d say that word too, Mamma, if you had a penis.” (Indeed, I would.)

He also tried to strip down naked right there in the middle of the sidewalk, bike and self still smashed against a tree. The dad of the friend who Riley was visiting ran outside to make sure that Riley was okay. This dad is a real sweet guy, and we adore him. But he’s got a big voice and a big presence. Physically, he’s a very big man and he’s not quite used to boys like Riley. You know, sissies. Riley was wailing. Carrying on. As I said before, Riley was also stripping. Right there on the sidewalk to assess the damage.

Friend’s Dad said, “Dude, you gotta take care of your junk in private, man. Come on. Let’s go inside and I’ll get you a wet towel, and you can gather yourself back together.”

Riley, through sobs of drama: “But. I. Can’t. Walk.”

Friend’s Dad: “You gotta be a man, man!”

Riley, through DEFENSIVE sobs of drama: “Boys can cry. Men cry, too.”

Friend’s Dad: “Of course we do, son. But we don’t do it in the street.”

Riley: “When we get hurt in the street, we do. I want my MOM. NOW!”

This was a sort of epiphany for me. This was one of the moments where I expected Riley to want, indeed need, the care and support of a man. I’m usually one to assert that a person needs the love and care of a parent, and that parent’s gender doesn’t matter. And I still believe that. But in moments like these, I sort of expected Riley to want to deal with “male” things with other males, and I was shocked that Riley didn’t want that. His life experience is in getting a very “mothering” kind of support. He’s used to getting a “feminine” kind of care, and this made the care he was getting from his friend’s dad both unfamiliar and too “male.” His friend’s dad was providing care and concern, but even with an injury like this, he wanted his moms.

So the dad drove Riley home and we promptly started mothering our son. He took a cool bath and then stripped down on the couch to watch a re-run of The Golden Girls with a bag of frozen peas on his lap. He also insisted he needed to go directly to the emergency room. Knowing very little about the need for emergency care when it comes to these injuries, I had no idea from whom to get this support. I felt so helpless. I also saw how Riley was trying to understand his body in a way where I couldn’t help him. What shocked me most is that Riley, in all his pain and bewilderment, could articulate his need to counsel with a man (“Can you call Papa and see if I have to go to the doctor?”) while being supported by his moms. Meanwhile, Riley can’t pee. (It hurts.) He can’t eat. (It hurts.) He can’t cough. (It hurts.) Apparently, getting sacked in the sac feels a lot like a C-section. Except with a C-section you get a baby. And with this injury, you just might never get a baby.

In any case, Riley carried on all night. We even had to let him ride in the wagon for our nightly walk. Because, that’s right, it hurt to walk. The next day Riley awoke and seemed to be in good spirits. He got up and got dressed for school. He acted like nothing was wrong. I was afraid to mention anything because I didn’t want it to remind him that he got hurt. I couldn’t help it, though. As we got ready to leave for school and work, I asked him if he felt better. He replied that he did.

And then he leaned over and whispered that he was wearing the coconut shell he saved from the sorbet.

He was wearing the coconut cup from his sorbet. And no convincing to do otherwise could have gotten it off of him. I looked right at him and simply said, “No more drinking water out of it.”

“Of course not, Mamma,” he replied. And I sent him to school.

I’m in awe of the joy I get in parenting boys. Simply in awe of Riley’s creativity and his personality. And I wish the word ‘sissy’ had more positive connotations, because it’s the only word that truly fits this kid. We made it through his first penis crisis. I love him so much, and after this I just might be ready for the next big milestone, whatever it may be.