Elephant Man

I was proud of myself the other day. I figured out how to post a video on Facebook. It's one of those annoyingly cute videos that people post of their children. In this case, Jericho is filmed "fighting" with mobile-tethered elephants while sitting in his vibrating infant seat. He looks very aggressive and cute, between yawns, as he swats at the tiny elephants. He wears a camouflage jacket that his aunt gave him, so he looks very boyish and tough.



Immediately after I posted the video on Facebook, Jade posted the following comment:

here is evidence of early maternal investment in tropes of masculinity and militarization. small brother, do not hit the elephants; honor their continued efforts at survival through threats of ivory hunting with tender caresses. and please someone take the camouflage off that child. are we cultivating a warmonger over here?!

I smiled at first, though I wasn't sure if she was joking or not. Then I thought: Can't I post a cute video of my baby without her deconstructing it?! (Did I mention that Jade is an editor at a publisher specializing in books highlighting academic theory, such as post-structuralist feminist criticism and gender theory. I am sure I just explained that wrong, and if she's reading this, she will be highly offended. I'm sorry.)

But I later realized that Jade had a point. I was invested in Jericho's masculinity as I'd never been invested in her femininity. I mean, in 1985, I never would have posted a video on Facebook (if Facebook and digital video had existed) showing Jade in a tutu doing some gendered female activity, such as baking cookies or tenderly caressing elephants. I was all about empowering her and teaching her that she could do anything she wanted, regardless of her sex. And she became a strong feminist woman, much to my delight.


But I find I am not as eager to fight the stereotyping of boy children. Jericho wears a lot of blue, albeit, most of it hand-me-down. (Why do baby boy clothes always have imagery of dogs, bears, cars, or sports?) We are already talking about the sports Jericho will play. One friend has prematurely signed him up for Mt. Airy Baseball. I go around bragging about how big and strong he is. And worst of all, I impulse-bought him a Chris Jericho action figure. Yikes.

Masculinity is my son's ticket to acceptance and participation in society (read: happiness). I guess my maternal desire for his success (read: power) is trumping my feminist desire to overthrow patriarchy ... just in his case. Of course, I will teach him to respect women and do the dishes, but even that presumes his dominant position vis-a-vis the other sex.

So I guess I don't want to deconstruct it too much. I assume I will be supportive if he grows up to be a Ferdinand, sniffing the flowers instead of fighting.



I'll try not to invest in Jericho's masculinity. But I'm not going to discount it either.