“Dad, I’m taking a scrapbooking class!”
Eight years ago, when I found out I was having a son, glad tidings of scrapbooking were not exactly at the forefront of my mind. Baseball? Football? Maybe track? Absolutely. I played three sports a year when I was a kid and I just assumed any boy of mine would follow suit. Not All-American level or anything, but a kid who’d live, eat, and breathe sports.
But you know what happens when people assume.
Will hates baseball. He’s already well aware of concussion problems in the NFL. And having inherited his mother’s balance and lack of grace, anything involving running seems far-fetched. He does swimming and he just started Taekwondo, but team sports and athletic glory are not in his future.
In their place are things I never imagined.
Where I went to basketball and baseball camp during the summer, do you know what Will did last year? He went to Farm-to-Table camp. An entire week of learning how to cook, visiting local farms, and mulling over recipes using food they picked themselves. And cooking — this kid loves to cook. Donning his pink apron, he’s obsessed with ingredients and how everything comes together to make a meal.
And now scrapbooking. He knew he’d be the only boy in the class going into it. Even at almost eight years old, it’s clear there are “boy things” and “girl things.” On the first day, his well-meaning teacher unintentionally drove that point home when she asked him if he was comfortable, or if he needed material in colors other than pink, yellow, and purple.
You know, boy colors. A masculine blue or powerhouse red.
But Will looked her right in the eye and didn’t hesitate to tell her he was fine and there are no girl colors or boy colors. He simply went about his business, comfortable in knowing he was doing something he really likes.
I wish I had that strength and self-confidence at 27, never mind 7 years old. Will isn’t perfect, but his self-assured nature and ability to do what he wants to do no matter the consequences is astounding. He does what feels right to him, which sounds simple but is actually a ridiculously amazing trait.
Before Will, the only way scrapbooking could’ve stirred emotion in me is crying tears of boredom from the mere thought of it. But now? My eyes well with tears because I’m proud of my son. He identifies what he likes and he does it, even though he knows it’s not the popular (or traditionally manly) choice. Doing what’s right for him even in the face adversity? That’s remarkable no matter your gender.
As usual, my son continues to teach me more than I ever thought possible.