Mirror Mirror on the Ceiling

There was a time, not so long ago, that I would have fought tooth and nail over a pointless argument. My grandmother would say “don’t you want a little girl?” and I wouldn’t blink before shoving my foot down with a firm “no.”

That was that – I had boys. I’m a “boy mom”. I do dirt and Transformers, cars and dinosaurs. I love collared shirts and loafers, baseball caps and watching football. When you fall, you “shake it off”, you learn to pee standing up. These things are the definitions of a “boy’s mom”.

Of course, as we age we become either smarter, more adapted, or moronic, as I now think the idea of having a girl is rather appealing. This post is not about that though.

See, when my boys tell me about their dreams, it starts with things like outer space, pirate ships, 5-alarm fires or wearing combat boots in a jungle. Firefighters, astronauts, soldiers, or one of those crooks who actually takes over a boat (known as a pirate) off in the ocean – these are all obtainable life goals.

Yes, some are more easily achieved than others – but none are far fetched.

At least, not as far fetched as my male children dreaming of a land, Far Far Away, filled with servants and gold, crowns and dates coming to court them with a white horse and a kingdom, and a title.

In this article, titled Cinderella Ate My Daughter, the complex societal choke-hold of the entire Disney/Barbie/Fairy Princess theme is torn down to the basic idea that we, as parents, are asking our daughters to dream of a life they are very, very (VERY) unlikely to obtain.

For Halloween, my boys dress up in the costumes of heroes, in some rare cases, of superheros – but in all honesty, heroes exist. Those doctors, the firefighters, astronauts and the occasional ninja (who doesn’t need a ninja?).

There is no instance in my recollection of a girl kissing a toad, the RIGHT toad, and becoming a princess. Last I heard, if a beast of a man locks you away in a dungeon, you are probably being sold as a sex slave. Evil step-mother on your back? Only way out of that one is either age or emancipation (but a little Visine in her coffee should make for a few giggles on your end).

We let our daughters, the ones I don’t have so I have a slightly different view here, dream of becoming Cinderella. We let our boys dream of having gainful employment.

What’s wrong with this picture?

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