All Boy By Lisa Cianci

This essay appeared in The Orlando Sentinel on Feb. 7, 1999

In my other life -- the one before child -- I had strong opinions about kids. First of all, I didn't like them much. Especially the boys. They were loud. They were rude. They were -- well, there's no way to be polite here -- obnoxious.

While my friends' little girls would play quietly - perhaps having a civilized tea party with some imaginary guest - the boys would invariably race around, knock things over and dig in the dirt.

I blamed the parents for a double standard. In the wisdom that only a non-parent can have about children, it was clear to me that they were raising their baby girls to be polite and sweet, while the boys were allowed, even encouraged, to rampage and destroy. I vowed if I ever had a child, it would be a girl.

Of course, just to spite me, my husband's boy sperm muscled the girl sperm out of the way on their mad dash to fertilization. So I regrouped. I offered my son, Christian, gender-neutral toys. I gave him a thousand hugs and kisses every day. I made sure his tender eyes and ears weren't subjected to anything worse than Barney on PBS. It didn't matter. None of it. I am now the proud mother of a 2-year-old. And, oh boy, is he all boy!

He picks his nose. He plays too hard with other kids. He searches for worms in the back yard. He wrestles his father for the remote control. When I ask him if he's mean or nice, a wicked grin spreads across his face and he yells "MEAN!" But most of all, he is Truck Boy. He loves trucks. Any trucks. All trucks. Big trucks, small trucks. (Can you tell I've been reading too much Dr. Seuss?)

"Vroom, vroom!" he shouts as he pushes a 3-foot-long firetruck around the house. "Come here, Christian," I say sweetly while holding a Teletubbies puzzle. "Let's put this together."

"Nooooooooo!" he screams as he reaches for the black battery-powered 18-wheeler that I swear makes more noise than the real thing. As I look around my house littered with trucks of all sizes and noise levels, I can barely remember how this all started. And then Christian demands to watch his truck video. Ah yes, that's how.

Months ago, a co-worker was raving about a truck video he bought his toddler. I picked up a copy for Christian. Big mistake. Now, his two new best buddies are Trucker Dave and Trucker Becky, the actors on There Goes a Truck. The video, I'm convinced, was made to drive unsuspecting mommies and daddies OUT OF THEIR MINDS.

There goes my sanity, I mutter as my son asks to watch the truck video for the third time in one day. For the next 30 minutes, we get to watch the goofy antics of zany Dave and Becky as they explore the wonders of tow trucks, semi-trucks, monster trucks and garbage trucks.

Don't even get me started on garbage trucks. Twice a week, when we hear the garbage truck rumbling through our neighborhood, Christian races to the window and stares, transfixed, as the huge truck stops at each house. The garbage collectors are unaware of the little boy with the big brown eyes staring at them, and they don't hear his whispered "Bye bye" as the truck pulls away. But for Christian, the sight is as entertaining as the parade going down Main Street at Disney. (Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. Christian has seen both, and the garbage truck wins hands-down.)

So how did this happen? Is my son's behavior innate? Could it be that I was wrong all along, and that boys are just born that way? Not so fast, says Dr. Jackie James, a psychologist who is a national expert on gender. The entire issue is "much deeper than dolls and trucks," James says. "Especially for little boys, the pressure not to do things that are associated with girls are phenomenal."

James, co-acting director of the Murray Center at Radcliffe College, says we may not even realize that we encourage boys and girls to act differently. "We do it all the time," James says. "We perpetuate what's acceptable male behavior, and we don't see behavior that goes against it."

And it's even tougher for boys than it is for girls. "The pressure for boys to be boys is pervasive in our society," James says.

As James talks, I sheepishly think back to Halloween, when I wanted to dress my son as a Hershey's Kiss. My husband said no way -- because his little boy would have to wear tights. And what about at a recent family reunion, when I was horrified to watch Christian lie on the ground and eat a mouthful of dirt. "Don"t worry about it," my sister-in-law said. "He's just being a boy." And I have to admit, ever since we discovered Christian's love of trucks, we have been reinforcing it. How else to explain the all the trucks he got for Christmas?

So I've given up the fight. Christian is all boy, all right. And that's OK. Because as I put him to bed, he gives me the biggest hug and sweetest kiss a mother could ask for. When I check on him later, he's sleeping soundly, no doubt dreaming of big rigs and tractor trailers. On his sweet face is a half-smile. And in his tiny hand is a toy truck.

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