|Proving that boys do sing|
Boy Three is something of a music fan. From behind me in the car he will yell his approval or otherwise of whatever choons Radio Two is pumping out on our journey to nursery.
He often asks who’s doing the singing. Perhaps he compares notes with his little chums over snack and juice.
This time we were rolling along to the sound of It’s Raining Men by The Weather Girls.
“Who’s that singing?” he said.
“The weather Girls… It’s raining men, hallelujah,” I warbled.
“But girls don’t sing,” he said.
“What?” I considered screeching to a halt.
“Girls don’t sing,” he was very definate.
“Yes they do. I just did,” I thought I’d try some logic before we got into gender politics.
“Ok, girls who don’t live in our house don’t sing,” I think he meant girls who aren’t his mother.
“Girls are rubbish,” this time I did screech to a halt, or stopped with as much of a screech as I could muster from 25pmh on a back road.
“Girls are not rubbish, and anyway I’m a girl,” I was shocked.
“Other girls,” he said.
“Why? What’s rubbish about girls?” I tried not to get shrill.
This time he paused, picking his nose and thinking.
“Girls don’t wear red t-shirts?”
“They like pink. That’s why they’re rubbish.”
What followed was The Lecture. Probably the first of many.
I was dismayed by this exchange. He’s only three, where did this idea come from? OK he lives in a house dominated by boys and but, rest assured, they don’t get away with sexism of any kind. And I am setting the most egalitarian example I can, whenever I can.
Sure, there’s pink at home but still…
How can I teach my boy that girls aren’t rubbish… singing or otherwise?