My chivalrous little Viking

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not really big on gender definition.  I grew up with an amazing father who never used the phrase "when you grow up and get married", opting instead for, "when you grow up and find the right person for you".  When you grow up in a house where being a good person and being happy are the focus, where homosexuality is explained with a shrug of the shoulders and "some people love men, some people love women, some people just love people depending on who they are and not what's between their legs" then you tend to have a different view than those coming out of homes where bibles were thumped and fears about the death of humanity were espoused.

To me kids should be allowed to define who they are.  That means they choose what they want to wear, they choose what hobbies and sports they like and I don't use language that implies what they should or shouldn't be doing and especially not linking those phrases to gender.  So a crash course on my kids.

Charlotte is a girl.  She does not do pink and frilly. Unless it's teemed with some sort of punk goth arrangements.  This is a typical Charlotte outfit combined with typical Charlotte activity:

She's into rock climbing at the moment.

And Hello Kitty but only when it's "cool" and not "pretty".

Previously it was martial arts.  Particularly weapons.

But she's gone off that a little bit lately because it got boring.  So this week she's starting training for competition sparring to try and spice it up a bit for her again.  Oh yes.  She also likes to do Mama stuff.  Specifically.  Renovation.

My nicname for her is Lara.  As in Croft.

Then there's the little Viking.  I wrote previously about Mama addiction.  At age four it shows no sign of abating.

My son loves dressing up.  Especially in my and his sister's stuff.

He might do pretty but he's also, fundamentally, a Viking.  He does not eat and drink.  He scoffs and quaffs.  Sometimes he gets so hungry he doesn't even bother with hands.

He's also big on renovating.

And martial arts.  Which he calls "tikey-won-do".

Oh yes.  And they are both big on cooking.  Or, more specifically, licking the bowl.

So you can see that my kids have sort of decided for themselves what they do and don't like without a whole lot of influence from me.  The thing that I find curious is the strong chivalrous streak my son has developed in the absence of any instruction or modelling.

James only plays with girls at his daycare.  He has about four of them who have consistently been his friends for a few years now.  He joins in with them, invites them to his birthdays (no boys) and in general just sticks like glue to them.  He looks after these girls like a mother duck.  I watched him recently at his little friend Livvy's party.  He showed her how to swing the stick at the pinata, patted her and told her how well she'd done when her turn was over and, after she blew the candles out on her cake he said, "You did such a good job Livvy and I'm so proud of you."  He also insists on choosing their birthday presents online for them - actually going so far as to pick out dresses that would suit their "style" not just things he thinks are pretty.  I'm pretty darn proud that my boy hangs out with kids he likes and is a good friend, regardless of gender.

The trouble is that he won't let any of the other little boys near them.  Girls are okay.  But not boys.  After the carers pointed this out to me I asked him if it was because he gets jealous when other boys play with his friends.

"No," he said, "but the boys play really roughly and they always wind up hurting them and it makes them sad and they cry.  The other boys wouldn't listen to me and play nicely so now they're not allowed to play with them at all."

And then there is the way he is reacting to my separation from his Dad.  About a week ago he brought me a frame that contains a photo of me and his Dad together.

"Mama," he said, "Can you please put a different photo in here?"
"What photo would you like in there buddy?" I asked, assuming he wanted a particular photo put up.
"I don't mind," he said, "As long as it's not Daddy."
That got my attention.
"Not Daddy huh?  Why is that?"
He looked at me very seriously then and he said, "Mama, Daddy wasn't very nice to you.  He didn't look after you and he doesn't live here any more.  I don't want photos of him here."

This floored me.  I'd always been so careful to cover Charles' behaviour around the kids because I knew it was his depression talking.  But obviously James still picked up on it.  I tried to explain to him that Daddy had been having a hard time and it wasn't the way he normally is but James stopped me by patting my hand again and saying, "It's okay Mama, I know that and I still love Daddy but I don't like the way he treated you and I don't want photos of him here in our house."
When I got all teary my small son cuddled me hard and reassured me that it was okay, Daddy isn't allowed to yell at me any more and he, James, would look after me always.

The thing about it is this.  Without prompting, without anyone saying anything, my small son has assumed the role of protector for the women and girls in his life. It isn't a role that's been demonstrated for him.  It isn't something he's been told to do.  He has just forged his way forward and decided who he is.  A gentle boy who loves to wear pretty things, play hard and look after his friends and his Mama.