I was watching an online video titled “Boys Will Be Boys” recently (that was more or less just a collection of boys punching their siblings), when I realized that I’ve never seen my 9-year-old son throw a punch. Not once.
I’ve seen him frustrated. I’ve seen his face turn red. I’ve seen him yell at his younger sisters because they went into his room unannounced, or broken one of his toys. But I’ve never seen him react to something with physical aggression. I’ve never seen him clinch his fists or talk about fighting someone. He’s never been sent home from school for fighting. This isn’t to say that he hasn’t been faced with confrontation at school. I know that he has. But he’s never reacted with punches and kicks.
And when I thought about that, I wondered what it meant. I remember getting in a few fights by the time I was his age. Not many, but a couple. I can’t recall if I won or lost. I can’t recall there being any blood shed or if I landed any punches. But I do recall not liking it. I didn’t get a thrill from fighting like many young boys did. I found it frightening — enough so, that I remember trying to find ways not to fight. This doesn’t mean that I was a push-over; I don’t think that was the case. But I did find ways to get along with people. I did what my mother always told me to do, the same phrase we often tell our children: use your words.
I didn’t get a thrill from fighting like many young boys did. I found it frightening — enough so, that I remember trying to find ways not to fight.
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When I think of my son Tristan, and his interactions with kids at school and church, I wonder if he does the same. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing. There’s a lot of pressure on boys to be the biggest, the fastest, the strongest — and to prove that, a boy often feels he needs to throw a punch. In fact, in boyhood, it often feels like you always have to be proving yourself as a man. It’s all part of masculinity; the competition.
Or at least that’s the way I understood it growing up. I often told other boys that I’d been in fights. I told them that I’d punched some kid at the park, or whatever, just so they would think I was tough. I lied about a lot of things like that, rather than just say that I didn’t enjoy confrontation, because admitting to that meant that I was a wuss (or something else more derogatory).
I’m much more interested in teaching him the skills of compromise, understanding, and conversation. The ways I learned to use my words rather than my fists have been some of the most beneficial skills of my life. And I see other men struggle with hyper-masculinity and intimidation every day.
So when I think about the fact that my son isn’t particularly aggressive — that he’s never thrown a punch or raised his voice to argue his point — I don’t get nervous like a lot of men might.
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This isn’t to say that being a bully doesn’t work out for some people. (Just look at the U.S. political climate right now, and I’m sure you can see a few examples.) But more often then not, I’ve watched men who spent a good deal of their youth throwing their weight around, and coming at everything with violence and aggression, only to find themselves blowing through marriages and isolated socially. No one wants to put up with their hyper-masculinity and inability to compromise.
I don’t want that for my son. I want him to have lasting friendships based on love and compassion for others, not a fear that they might get scolded if they speak up. And I want him to be in a rewarding marriage that is based on partnership rather than domination. So when I think about the fact that my son isn’t particularly aggressive — that he’s never thrown a punch or raised his voice to argue his point — I don’t get nervous like a lot of men might. I feel comfort in knowing that he is learning to communicate in other ways that will ultimately benefit him in the long run.
Not long after thinking about all of this, I was sitting on the sofa next to my son, watching Pokémon, when he let out a long breath and said, “Dad, I like pink.”
He wouldn’t look me in the eye when he said it, as though it were a very shameful thing. And as I looked at his little head hanging low, I suddenly realized I was faced with a few choices. I could tell him that liking pink was okay and that he should go to school and announce it. Perhaps he could help create a culture shift at Johnson’s Charter School, one where all the boys liked pink, even if it meant him potentially turning into an outcast. Or, I could confirm an age-old, stupid, and outdated status quo: react with anger, like my father would’ve, and tell him that pink is only for girls and then spend the next several days fretting about my son and trying to find ways to “man him up” by teaching him to throw punches.
What I ended up doing was something much more subtle.
My son was still looking down. I hadn’t spoken yet. “Rick said he likes pink, too,” he continued. “He’s the only other boy I know who likes pink. Most of my friends say pink’s for girls.”
Then I said something I wish my father would’ve said in a situation like this:
“I like pink. Now you know three boys.”
He leaned into the couch, snuggled up next to me, and we finished watching Pokémon.
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This article originally appeared on Babble. For more like this from Babble, try:
- The Problem with Telling Our Sons That “Big Boys Don’t Cry”
- I Would Rather My Child Be Bullied Than Be the Bully
- 6 Ways We (Accidentally) Teach Our Kids Rape Culture
Photo credit: Getty Images
Takes a man to understand a man….clearly this article isn’t written but a man…because it seems the author has not idea of masculinity,am surprised this article has been posted to this site which is supposed to be about men
Congratulations, Clint, for the example you set as a father of a non-violent kid. Or, as Albert Schweitzer said, “Example is not the main thing in influencing other, it’s the ONLY THING.”
Great article.
It’s clear that you don’t have any idea what “masculine” actually is.
“It’s all part of masculinity.”
None of the negatives described here are any part of masculinity, but a stunning lack there of redefined as such by those that have no understanding of what masculinity is.
Why are these boys acting out, trying to “prove” their manhood? There is no one teaching them what that is.
Read, Lord of the Flies, and begin the understanding of what masculinity is and is not.
And it has nothing to do with pink,
Many of the negatives are viewed as masculinity by American culture and taught and gets reinforced in sports, TV, literature, films, and at home.
The thing with white people’s utopianism is that it isn’t very utopian. Why would you want to live in a world where people lack group identities, or worse, are equals? Sure, not every boy is going to be traditionally masculine. But a standard should be set for them, so that it’s there as a measure for judgment. We must first discuss the utility of gender inequality, without succumbing to compassion for individuals. So in your case, him loving pink isn’t important. The most important aspect of masculinity is the ability to discriminate, and be open about it. Women already do… Read more »
Whaaaat? Standards have already been set, so judgements are already there. Who set the standards, and are they even viable at all? So what you’re saying is that all individuals should be judging themselves and feeling good or bad for being in the standard zone. I think that’s already well established. I think the standards are great for the meat business but should not be applied to humans at all.