“MAMA! STOP!” These were the words spoken by my then
one-and-half-year-old son, Wyatt when we were driving home one day. My heart
about stopped. I thought I had just run over a squirrel, or ran a stop sign, or
did something horrible because the shriek in his voice was so urgent that you
would have thought Wyatt was going to die if I didn’t stop. I quickly realized
that nothing terribly wrong had happened; we merely drove by a construction
site. Nonetheless if we didn’t stop and take a look at all the big machines
driving around in the mud, Wyatt was going to start WW III with a world-class
temper-tantrum.
I pulled the car over, got Wyatt out of his car seat, and in
the rain (it’s always raining in Hood River, OR), we walked over to the fence
line to see dirty – rusty – loud machines backing up, “beep, beep, beep, beep.”
Going forward. Backing up, “beep, beep, beep, beep.” Leveling dirt. Backing up,
“beep, beep, beep, beep…” I rolled my eyes – boring. Surely Wyatt felt the
same, but when I looked down at Wyatt: his eyes, his face, his
open-mouth-with-drool-coming-out look said it all – he had never seen anything
so cool in his life. Dump trucks, skid steer loaders, forklifts, crane trucks –
Christmas had come early! The site was a one-year-old gold mine!
Wyatt tugged on my shirt, insistent I sit down so he could
curl up in my lamp and watch the amazing spectacle before him. Wyatt didn’t
move and this was unheard of. He’s normally bouncing off the walls. If I’d let
him, he would have sat still for hours watching these machines.
Visiting the construction site became part of our daily
routine and I started getting into it. Wyatt would get his “big machine” fix
while he sat in my lap so transfixed and so subdued that you would have thought
I’d drugged him, and I would have about 15 minutes to check my email and
social/media news sites on my phone – win-win for both of us.
Soon our house was FULL of toy construction equipment: the
books we read, the music we listened to (Truck Tunes – check it out, “Forklift
Boogie” is my personal favorite), Wyatt’s clothes – everything had a dump truck on
it. And I didn’t think twice, I embraced the construction toddler obsession
phase with open arms.
That is until one day at the construction site one of the
workers came over to talk to us. Wyatt started quivering with excitement – you
would have thought this guy was Santa Claus. I was going to have to get him to
autograph our copy of Good Night Construction Site. Our conversation went like this:
“I
see you guys here every day,” the big construction worker said.
“Yes,
my son thinks you and your machines are the coolest thing ever.” Wyatt is still
in my lap trembling with excitement.
“Well,
tell your son to stay in school so he doesn’t end up like me,” and the big
construction worker turned around and walked away.
Wyatt, not really understanding the English language, merely
kept watching. I on the other hand sat rather dumb founded. My initial reaction
was: that was really harsh, I doubt he’ll sign Wyatt’s picture book. But as I
sat there, I started to agree with him. If I could choose my son’s career, a
dump truck driver was not in the top ten. Mind you, I believe machine workers
have a legitimate career. They are the backbone of our society – they build our
roads, our schools, our firehouses… But, its grueling work that probably takes
a heavy toll on one’s body. We packed up and drove home.
Since that interaction I’ve often thought about Wyatt’s true
obsession with dump trucks. He created this obsession. I did not. Dump trucks
were one of the very first things he ever cared about. If his plastic dump
truck was comfortable, he would use it as a pillow. And yes, I encouraged it by
our daily visits to the construction sites and purchases of dump truck toys
galore. But his obsession with big machines was all him. Which got me thinking
about what I was obsessed with as a toddler.
I didn’t have to think long: princesses! When I was Wyatt’s age I wanted to be a princess. And
believe me, my Mom did NOT embrace this obsession, or encourage, or create it.
My Mom was a gym teacher, an original supporter of Title IX, and a proud tomboy.
She cried with joy when I didn’t make the cheerleading squad in 6th
grade – trust me – she hated everything pink and princessy.
And despite my mother’s beliefs, I claim that my princess
obsession (present tense, I still have it) is healthy. As a girl, when I was a
pretending to be a Princess, I wasn’t just prancing around in a pretty dress –
I was kicking butt and taking names as well! From my top bunk while wearing my
rhinestone tiara, I was leading the free world! I was giving speeches that made
grown men quake because I was going to take over the world and make it a better
place! What were these speeches about? I don’t know – but that rhinestone tiara
I wore made me believe my words were powerful and bold and were going to
inspire millions to fight with me to save the world and then some. And as a adult,
It has inspired me to worship amazing leaders, who whether or not they have a
Princess title, are royal: Princess Diana (with grace and poise required
by her British Royal Title, hugged children and adults infected with HIV at
a time when most wouldn’t be in the same room with an infected human. She got
in the mud and helped unarm numerous landmines littered across Angola), Michele
Obama (regardless of one’s political beliefs, is an amazing leader who is
using her title and power to attack childhood obesity), Sylvia Earle (A true
queen of the oceans nicknamed, “Her Deepness,” has used her powers to
accomplish numerous environmental achievements) – the list of outstanding royal
women is endless.
And yes I agree with my mother, these obsessions can quickly
become unhealthy – buying everything “princess” Disney makes is not good, and
buying everything “dump truck” that Amazon sells is also unhealthy. Peggy
Orenstein, an amazing writer, does an excellent job documenting how toxic the
princess world can be. Please click here to see her blog. And she’s right, so
many “princess” toys are awful.
But as mothers, we have the choice not to buy that stuff. We have the choice to
guide our daughters’ princess obsessions to real princesses who are amazing.
Just like I have the choice to guide my son’s dump truck obsession, by refusing
to buy him every dump truck toy he sees.
The point of this post is: toddler obsessions are crazy. I
have no idea why my son loves dump trucks, but he does and no matter what I do
when we drive by a construction site he is going to scream to stop, and
sometimes we stop and sometimes we don’t. And when I was a toddler, regardless
of my mom’s persistent desire for me not to be a princess, I wanted to be a
princess and rule the world.
A lot of girls want to be princesses, and a lot of boys want
to be dump truck drivers, and is that so wrong? I don’t think so. I’m a proud
adult that still wants to be a princess so I can use that title to save the
world. And as an author, I write about an amazing eleven-year-old princess who,
I hope, will inspire other young kids to become world leaders that fight for
our dear planet.
So this Halloween I ask you not to roll your eye at every
girl dressed as a princess. One of theses little girls you see with a tiara on
her head might one day stand in a beautiful suit in front of Congress giving a
speech that will for generations be thought of as some of the most powerful
words ever spoken. But if you can’t help yourself, and you truly hate the
princess obsession, then I ask you to only be fair and also roll your eyes at
all the little boys who would be dressed up as a dump truck if their mom’s
could figure out how to make such a costume.
Happy Halloween Everyone!
Big Smile,