My son came home today with a scratch on his back. It wasn't anything major, big enough to need some peroxide and Bactine, and the peroxide bubbled a little bit, but not enough for much more than a Pacman bandaid and a kiss.
Had my son came home with that exact same scratch on his neck and had said it came from a boy, I would have been on the phone with the school and that boy's parents quicker than you can say helicopter parent (and with good reason, I think. See: choking at school; mugging at school) but since it was from a girl, and even better, a girl he and his frienemy have taken to calling Jim, I was totally unphased. Whatever. You'll heal. Stop calling girls you like Jim, you moron.
Because I am a hypocrite, and I have scratched my share of oh-em-gee-cute 13 year old boys, and gender issues are hard.
My son, this second one, has always brought the gender issues *cheer snap* When he wanted a Dora birthday party when he turned four, he got it. When he marched into preschool with his pink Dora backpack and I told him he was going to take crap for it, he said very calmly, "Mom, Dora is awesome. Anyone who doesn't think so is crazy." He changed his name to end with an i that year. He was super excited when he found out, the following year, that the baby in my tummy was going to be a girl, because he totally loved pink and figured now he could have a pink room, if he bunked with her. He wears bright blue shoes because bright blue is awesome. His cell phone case is bright yellow. He gets hot pink casts. We can hypothesize all we want about why he does these things, or what it means, but really I think the answer he that he is a very cool and interesting person. The end.
He is also now a goddamn Brony. NOT IRONICALLY. I think he just found my line.
It doesn't annoy me because My Little Pony is for girls, it annoys me the same way a 13 year old who newly-leaches on to any idea annoys anyone. HE CANNOT STOP TALKING ABOUT FLUTTERFUCKINGSHY. My 7 year old girl doesn't give as much of a shit about My Little Pony as this kid does, and I've heard all the 'it's so well written! and it just sucks you in! arguments, and they aren't working for me. He's completely fan girl over this crap and I have to be nice and supportive and interested while he talks to me about Pinkie Pie's most appealing character traits.
Pinkie Pie is a fictional horse. Who giggles. A LOT.
I am glad for him that he has a thing. I know it's important at that age (or any age, hell) to have something you really are just gonzo about. It's good that he has somewhere to focus his attention, something that he is so into that he learns it inside out and backwards, but honestly? I was pretty happy with the origami. I know how to talk to and with him about origami. I get origami. I really don't get pre-pubescent magical ponies.
Now this? This I get.
This makes me want to go to Bronycon myself and shake a FFF1987RETURNS' hand. This makes part of me think that if I ride this thing out, this god forbid I call it a phase, out long enough, it's going to turn into something epic and awesome. The rest of me, however? Most of the time, it kinda wants to disconnect the internet and lock him in a padded room with nothing but my complete Tick collection (complements of TwoBusy, winner of Best Gift Giving Blue Lobster, 2012). And I kind of hate myself for it.
Being a parent to human beings is hard. The end.