Earlier last month the BBC ran another episode of the series ‘Child of our Time’. For those of you not familiar with the format, the programme has followed a dozen or so families in the UK since the birth of their children in 2000. The children are from a variety of backgrounds and most of them are 8 or so now. A recent episode was about gender; a subject frequently in mind for some of us. 🙂 Various tests where set up although the tests where more demonstraitions of how certain children interact or to show how boys and girls differ.
In one test, the children where shown six blocks with words written on them. They were asked to put one in the bin until they were left with just one (or two in a few cases) words that they would like to be when they grew up. Interestingly, all the girls picked one word and the boys all another. Well, all except one lad who seemed unafraid to plough his own furrow. If you’re curious the words, there were: clever, famous, healthy, kind, pretty/good looking and rich.
If you want to pick one, feel free. I’ll let you know who picked what later in the week if you like. Oh and if you’ve seen the programme, fingers on lips. Shhhh! 😀
Looking at the programme made me realise how far away my own childhood now seems. I remember thinking – years ago (Ed: 25? 30?) – I wonder what it’s like to be an adult? Yet here as an adult, my childhood memories are just that, memories. The emotion and the passion (both good and bad) associated with them has gone, eroded by time and the rough worn smooth. I can look back, but it’s not the same. I struggle to connect to see things through a child’s eyes. I now find myself saying the things said to me, to my son (School’s, not so bar or the parental favourite: It’ll be fun once you get there! 😀 ).
I do remember dressing up for the first time. Clearly it wasn’t the full monty with dress + lippy 😀 I was young, perhaps 6 or 7 and my Mum had put the laundry away in the airing cupboard. On looking in to get a fresh pair of pants, my hand landed on a pair of tights instead. Curious, I took them out and tried them on. It felt both right and wrong. Right in that they didn’t feel alien although clearly they were as far away as any of my boy clothes. Wrong, as I knew that other boys didn’t do.
There was this fear – almost a witch-hunt among the boys at school – that any sign of femininity meant you were a softie… or gay. In fact, showing any emotion – anything other than anger – was against this unwritten male code. This, as we know, is complete b*ll*cks. 🙂 Perhaps that’s why I didn’t fit in. I may have wanted to be one of the lads, desperately so at times, but looking back now, I know that it was never in my heart to be like them. You know what? I find that it doesn’t bother me. I’m happy as I am; a smug bloke in a dress. 🙂
Have a good weekend,
[ Today’s Lyric: She Bangs The Drums by The Stone Roses. ]
ps: I drove by a blue beamer today and I’m sure there was a T person driving. I would have waved by she had her head down and seemed to be trying to hide behind the wheel.
pps: Emma’ tagged me with a blog meme. So here’s the reply….
What knocked Razz flat, crumpling her unexpected, unrecognised body into a heap on the expensive Persian rug, was a simple shock: cocaine-pure and twice as cold. Okay, so the person in the mirror was young, maybe a good thirty years younger than Razz was and the body was really hers. Razz realised though she’d always thought of herself thinner at that age. ~ Lucifer’s Dragon, J C Grimwood.
The game is to find your nearest book – not the phone book! 🙂 – and open page 123. Find the fifth sentence and post the next three. After that, tag five more folks and say who tagged you. So, here’s five people and thanks, Emma!
I could only pick five folks. Sorry!