Sitting at our local park on a lively October afternoon, I’ve been here over an hour, and I’ve spotted at least 45 kids running around, laughing, and swinging. Two little girls skip by, singing sweetly while holding hands. The autumn air is crisp, filled with the swirling remnants of sand and dust. Nearby, a brother and sister duo, both about four, blow raspberries at each other while their dad, glued to his smartphone, half-heartedly tells them to stop. They don’t listen. I can’t help but relate to his sense of defeat.
As I soak in the park’s chaos, I spot an unattended toddler, a snotty mess with a whistle stuck in his mouth like a pacifier. He alternates between blowing the whistle and shouting, “I not going home!” Where’s his parent, I wonder? And why is he so adamant about staying? To my left, a petite woman in her thirties carries a sleeping toddler in a baby carrier. I’m struck by how this giant child is snoozing—she must be exhausted!
Lost in these observations, I suddenly remember why we’re here. My 10-year-old son, Alex, is eager to enjoy a day at the park—a day brimming with possibilities, potential new friends, and imaginative escapades. Clad in bright yellow sweatpants, a colorful “girls” T-shirt, and funky sneakers, he’s perched on the monkey bars, surveying the other kids who seem blissfully unaware of the challenge he faces.
Every visit unfolds the same way: Alex approaches various kids, all around his age, with his signature, “Hi, I’m Alex! What’s your name?” His appearance can be confusing; he looks like a boy but carries the occasional girl’s voice and mannerisms. Sometimes he gets a friendly response, but often, he doesn’t.
Today, I’ve watched him get rejected four times. Each time, kids give him a once-over before either walking away without a word or saying a curt “no” before turning their backs. I wonder, where have manners gone? Each rejection seems to chip away at his spirit, yet he picks himself back up and tries again.
Eventually, he finds a group of girls singing and doing a hand jive to a Jackson 5 classic. He integrates himself, giggling and chatting, but soon, the laughter takes a turn. One girl shouts, “Alex? Are you a boy?” Their laughter floats away on the breeze, but the sting lingers. I think, where are those kids’ parents? Why aren’t they teaching their kids to be kinder? It takes everything in me not to rush over to defend him, but I remind myself that he needs to learn to stand up for himself.
Alex wanders off again, this time observing a different group. I can see them talking to him, but he remains silent, lost in thought. Suddenly, he runs off, pretending to be a character from his favorite game, Minecraft, but soon returns to me, whispering, “I have fun, but I hate it when they ask.”
“Do you mean, ‘Are you a boy or a girl?’” I clarify.
“Yes,” he mumbles, staring at the ground.
“What did you say?” I urge, hoping for the confident retort we’ve practiced.
He doesn’t answer. “You could say, ‘Does it matter? I’m just a kid who loves to play,’” I suggest.
“I’ve tried that,” he replies, “but they always say, ‘yes.’” With newfound determination, he runs off to join another game.
Watching him, my heart sinks. With my other two kids, I could relax at the park, glancing up occasionally to ensure they weren’t seriously hurt or abducted. With Alex, I’m on high alert, watching how other kids react to him, holding my breath with every interaction.
Occasionally, I catch sight of a child who plays with Alex without a second thought. Those moments are bittersweet; they remind me that kindness does exist but also highlight how rare it is. I often wish I could thank those wonderful kids for their acceptance, but I hold back, fearing I’d get emotional and come off as strange.
Wouldn’t it be lovely if kids could simply see a fun, friendly child without the burden of gender expectations? What if, after a baby is born, the first question was, “How are the mother and baby?” instead of “Is it a boy or a girl?” Why are we so fixated on this dull, binary view of the world?
As I ponder this, I glance over at Alex one last time, mentally preparing for my excuse to leave. To my surprise, he’s swinging high alongside a girl his age, both of them engrossed in a discussion about Minecraft. She’s smiling, relaxed, and not caring about labels. I feel warmth wash over me, and I can’t help but smile, letting out a long, relieved sigh.
Maybe today at the park will turn out alright after all.
In Summary
Navigating the park with a gender-expansive child can evoke anxiety, stemming from societal norms and the fear of rejection. Despite the challenges, moments of acceptance shine through, reminding us that kindness still exists. For more insights on parenting and inclusivity, consider visiting resources like Women’s Health or checking out this article for other parenting topics. If you’re interested in tools for home insemination, this site has you covered.