Ryan holds up his new toy proudly. “It’s King Bee,” he says. “They have boy dolls now.” Behind the black and gold doll, Ryan’s eyes linger.
The first time I noticed just how blue they are was when he entered my kitchen wearing my daughter’s figure-skating costume. His eyes are round, almost like an owl’s, except they turn down ever so slightly at the corners. Against the aqua-sequined bodice of the costume, they sang.
Ryan was five or six at the time. With his hand on his hip, he smiled.
I didn’t know his mother well then. Though we’d been neighbours for a few years, our friendship was just beginning. So when she sat at my kitchen table and told him to take off the costume because it was for a girl, I stayed silent. No matter my opinion, which was grey and unformed, it wasn’t my place to speak up.
I look at the doll, his glittered shorts atop black knee socks, and smile at Ryan. I’ve known him for years now. He plays with my daughter twice a week and calls me by my first name.
I know his mother well now, too. She ran to my house at midnight when I was sick and needed a nurse’s opinion. She takes in my mail while I’m away; she invites me for lunch and talks over coffee. She is a good friend and a good mother.
Top Comments
I understand the mother is fearful but it won't be long before the son is picking up on that fear and will become even more confused about who he is.
It doesn’t matter if your friends intentions are good. All the boy will know is that he got bullied at school for being himself, and his mum sided with the bullies.