When I was seven, all I wanted for Christmas was an American Girl Doll. You know, the dolls that come with a series of books describing their particular characters and correspond to a certain theme of American history. It was all the rage in the 90's, and I thought the doll named Samantha was a real bad-ass.
Aside from this, I was greatly influenced from by female cousins, with whom I would be spending Christmas morning. The grandchildren on my mom's side of the family consist of me, my brother, Trent, and our six girl cousins. Every single girl in the family was getting an American Girl Doll as their number one gift. I think after being caught in the middle of endless conversations about names, stories, accessories and absolutely no talk of sports, the estrogen took Trent down like a cold, black wind. Peer pressure will fuck you up.
Trent had just turned five at the time, and though he had a season of T-ball under his belt, there wasn't a whole lot he could do to assert his masculinity at the time. This didn't make my father's face cringe any less when Trent told my parents that he, too, wanted an American Girl Doll for Christmas.
My dad tried his hardest to shut this operation down from the very beginning, but as a man, you are perpetually at the mercy of your wife, and my mom had the final ruling. Now it was just a matter of logistics. I'm sure my mom sat in her desk chair for many hours with the phrase "How do we prevent this from being the gayest Christmas ever?" replaying in her mind. As it turned out, I don't think receiving Brokeback Mountain in his stocking could have made this a fruitier holiday for my brother. Here's why.
Nana, my maternal grandmother, was more than on board with Trent's wishes to be like everybody else in the family, and grabbed the bull by the horns. She purchased Molly, the doll whose character was closest to a tomboy (but still wore braided pigtails) and took the inanimate object to the beauty salon, where the two of them proceeded to get their hair done together like old friends. When Molly came home, she looked like a little boy with short, brown hair to compliment the long, thick eye-lashes and fully-developed breasts. I'm kidding about the breasts. The dolls are pre-pubescent.
Ah, but what to wear? It would do no good for Molly to wear dresses and jumpers with her new short hair cut, unless she were imitating Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. No worries, my paternal grandmother was all over it. A talented seamstress of many years, she made several "boy" outfits for Molly to wear- jeans, slacks, button-down shirts, the works. As far as looks were concerned, Molly was officially a female-to-male tranny.
Molly didn't get any accessories, but that wasn't really a problem. The only accessories I had requested for Samantha were food-related, and food knows no gender, so that was covered.
Though I was only seven, I understood perfectly well that the fact my brother was opening anything other than a truck or a ball on Christmas morning was worth everyone's attention, and the fact that his present made a trip to the beauty salon with my grandmother before it was wrapped was nothing short of hilarious. My dad actually left the room when we all opened our presents. My mom was pissed, but it was probably for the best.
Trent is twenty-one and in the Air Force now, and there is no questioning his preference for the female population. I guess childhood toys really don't make you or break you. However, this will in no way stop me from giving my brother a Barbie next Christmas, even if it's just to see the look on my dad's face.
Aside from this, I was greatly influenced from by female cousins, with whom I would be spending Christmas morning. The grandchildren on my mom's side of the family consist of me, my brother, Trent, and our six girl cousins. Every single girl in the family was getting an American Girl Doll as their number one gift. I think after being caught in the middle of endless conversations about names, stories, accessories and absolutely no talk of sports, the estrogen took Trent down like a cold, black wind. Peer pressure will fuck you up.
Trent had just turned five at the time, and though he had a season of T-ball under his belt, there wasn't a whole lot he could do to assert his masculinity at the time. This didn't make my father's face cringe any less when Trent told my parents that he, too, wanted an American Girl Doll for Christmas.
My dad tried his hardest to shut this operation down from the very beginning, but as a man, you are perpetually at the mercy of your wife, and my mom had the final ruling. Now it was just a matter of logistics. I'm sure my mom sat in her desk chair for many hours with the phrase "How do we prevent this from being the gayest Christmas ever?" replaying in her mind. As it turned out, I don't think receiving Brokeback Mountain in his stocking could have made this a fruitier holiday for my brother. Here's why.
Nana, my maternal grandmother, was more than on board with Trent's wishes to be like everybody else in the family, and grabbed the bull by the horns. She purchased Molly, the doll whose character was closest to a tomboy (but still wore braided pigtails) and took the inanimate object to the beauty salon, where the two of them proceeded to get their hair done together like old friends. When Molly came home, she looked like a little boy with short, brown hair to compliment the long, thick eye-lashes and fully-developed breasts. I'm kidding about the breasts. The dolls are pre-pubescent.
Ah, but what to wear? It would do no good for Molly to wear dresses and jumpers with her new short hair cut, unless she were imitating Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. No worries, my paternal grandmother was all over it. A talented seamstress of many years, she made several "boy" outfits for Molly to wear- jeans, slacks, button-down shirts, the works. As far as looks were concerned, Molly was officially a female-to-male tranny.
Molly didn't get any accessories, but that wasn't really a problem. The only accessories I had requested for Samantha were food-related, and food knows no gender, so that was covered.
Though I was only seven, I understood perfectly well that the fact my brother was opening anything other than a truck or a ball on Christmas morning was worth everyone's attention, and the fact that his present made a trip to the beauty salon with my grandmother before it was wrapped was nothing short of hilarious. My dad actually left the room when we all opened our presents. My mom was pissed, but it was probably for the best.
Trent is twenty-one and in the Air Force now, and there is no questioning his preference for the female population. I guess childhood toys really don't make you or break you. However, this will in no way stop me from giving my brother a Barbie next Christmas, even if it's just to see the look on my dad's face.
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