DADWAGON

By rights, I should let my colleague Matt answer the question posed in this headline. He does, after all, match his pink socks with his pink underwear, and he likes nothing better than being spanked on the ass by five-year-old boys.

But I figured he may be biased on the topic, so I decided to address it myself

First a little context. This question relates to a post in the blog, The Faster Times, and it a real issue.

Apparently, at birth some 70 percent of babies of both genders develop gynecomastia, a.k.a., “transient breast enlargement,” a.k.a. boobs (if my ex had developed this at any point in our marriage, I dare say we would still be together). The condition usual recedes quickly, and again, as Matt pointed out, no one can tell the difference between boys and girls at that age, it’s no big dea..

It does, however, recur in a small percentage of young men entering puberty. Again, it tends go away within 18 months, but still it’s traumatic for both the boy and the parents, brains get warped, dumb questions get asked of doctors, etc. Fine and dandy. Another medical condition I’ve never heard of. Is there a point?

Perhaps. One could say that making a fuss over difference in children can negatively impact their psychological health. Or perhaps as a society, concerns regarding variance in body shape should be reckoned with. I could make a cute little confessionary move about how I would feel scandalized if JP grew tits, then undercut that with a sensitive thought about how it all doesn’t really matter, that I love him either way, which has the benefit of being effective rhetorically, and in JP’s case, so long as he can hit the curveball in little league, true.

Or I can just answer the fricking question. No, if you have manboobs you don’t have to wear a man bra. Jackass.

As a guy who will admit not only to wearing pink socks but to matching them with pink underwear as well, I took a particular interest in this BBC story brought to my attention by TheAwl.com:

“If you’re a typical little boy, pink is viewed as girly, effeminate, unmasculine, and, in short, to be avoided.

And yet, a strange thing seems to happen to the modern British boy when they reach adulthood. Pink no longer seems to be so rigidly associated with female dress.”

Perhaps this means I am a modern British boy. (Indeed, for a year of my primary schooling I lived in England, and wore with no small amount of pride a hideous purple jumper and black-yellow-and-purple striped tie.) But the article goes on to describe (with minimal detail, unfortunately) how contemporary pinkophiles—often bankers, golfers, and other alpha-male types—remain reluctant to do Junior up in rosy hues.

Somewhat disconcertingly, I feel I have to count myself among them. Disconcerting because I’ve strenuously fought against letting my daughter, Sasha, get the head-to-toe pink princess treatment. With her short hair and outgoing manner, she’s already frequently mistaken for a boy. Correcting people is one of those parental moments where you get to feel totally superior: Um, she’s a girl. You just assume she’s a boy because of how she’s dressed. Sexist!

But actually, it’s pretty easy to be confused by a baby’s looks. They’re all kind of blobby and sexless, and often dressed in whatever Mom or Dad has deemed “clean enough” to go outside the house in. An outsider has a 50-50 shot at being right (or wrong), so if there are no “girl” cues in the kid’s appearance, why not guess boy?

Of course, if Sasha were a boy and strangers thought him a girl because of his pink outfit, I think I’d be much more upset. Maybe because of some latent castration anxiety I’d be projecting onto him? Maybe because a girlish boy invites sneers (even as a toddler!) so much more than a boyish girl? Maybe because pink has just been ruined by our culture, forever (or at least since World War II) given a girlish cast for arbitrary reasons?

The funny thing is, Sasha’s got this lovely Bonpoint wool hat she’s been wearing in cold weather for most of the past year, and it’s pink. And she looks damn cute in it—for a girl.

Note to Aventura Mall: I know you want to be upscale. This is Florida, after all, and everybody wants to be upscale. And I commend you for putting changing tables in the men’s room (complete with a sign saying “changing table” or somesuch). It even has a sink right next to it, which is a nice touch.

But granite?

Have you ever even seen a child before? They are  soft and warm and fleshy and kvetchy. Laying them down on one of earth’s coldest and hardest stones to change their diaper is just a bad idea.

And really, ever since Abraham laid his son Isaac on a stone altar to sacrifice him up to God, has any father felt really great about laying his bairn on naked stone?

Congratulations, Aventura Mall. Your changing table is the worst fancy idea since the $3749 Cinderella Carriage Crib.

From the Brooklyn Heights Blog (and just about everywhere else):

I was in the Montague St Starbucks at 10:20 am today, maybe 10:25. A man outside had a baby in an upright-type stroller and was speaking with a woman who seemed very concerned. It seems that his child was fussing in the stroller while the man ( who I will call “Dad”) was waiting for his drink. When the baby kept crying another man complained to Dad: when Dad did not leave and stayed to wait for his drink, the non-dad man slapped Dad on the back of the head.