Orange in a Pink World
The Gender Spectrum
I remember an evening during my elementary school years. I don’t know if it was for science exploration or career day, but every room had a different subject, and we went from one to one, discovering the contents in classrooms we usually didn’t get to enter. I don’t recall what was in any of the rooms except for one — one that fascinated me. It was an entomology room — insects. I even remember what general place in the school it was — down the long main hallway, to the right, just before I would turn to go towards my first-grade homeroom. My mind reserves the memory in a sort of greenhouse caught in a cave, a spotlight glowing from within. The secrets revealed in that room amazed me — that there was a science devoted to studying and inspecting the very creatures I caught in my backyard intrigued me. The other girls in my class? They were horrified; I don’t know if they even went in the room, much less stuck around to investigate.
I didn’t try to stick out as an oddball. I tried to become part of the crowd and attempted to make friends with the girls. I puttered with the obligatory Barbie dolls, played house, wore dresses to church, looked at cute boys. But I never truly fit in. I was awkward; I wasn’t graceful (even though I took years of dance classes trying to counter my clumsiness). I was in many activities, and had groups of kids I was surrounded with, but whether they were honest friends or the result of my membership in the club, I don’t honestly know.
The girls in my classes and groups all wanted to be moms and fashion designers; I wanted to dig in the dirt and play with bugs! Their favorite color was pink — I liked orange.
In my younger years, I was led to believe that a girl was required to have certain traits, ones we view as feminine. Girls were passive, gentle, clean, polite, quiet, dainty, thin, graceful, nurturing, and accommodating. They wore lace and pink and dresses and make-up and had long hair. They wanted to be moms and cooks and didn’t mind cleaning. Women didn’t pay attention to the cars or finances or yard; they raised the kids and taught school. They always paired up with the perfect big, burly, strong man who could take care of everything. Ah, domesticity.
You ever notice Barbie’s accessories? They are ALL pink. Blech. And her feet were designed to fit into high heel shoes only. It was the Ken doll that had the muscles.
While some of the 1980’s did have bright colors, and there was somewhat of a feminist revolution going on in part of the world, it didn’t reach my little corner. Granted, I am a natural introvert, and that does contribute to the fact that I would rather walk away than pick a fight, I wonder if we girls were taught to be assertive and stand up for ourselves — that it is preferable to be solo and strong rather than passive and dependent — if it would have made a difference. But that’s a tangent; that doesn’t discuss what I’m here to reveal.
Well, if I didn’t fit with the girls, why didn’t I just join the boys? After all, some girls considered themselves “tomboys”. At that time, I was taught that boys were expected to hold certain masculine traits — they need to be mechanical, strong, confident, athletic, mathematical, aggressive, technical, bold, and able to solve problems.
Looking at those two sets — the girls and the boys — I didn’t fit into either. I wouldn’t drive a girly bright pink minivan, but I wouldn’t drive a loud red sports car, either. I was more of an orange VW Beetle type.
It’s kind of like asking “heads or tails” and you end up getting a big fuzzy paw instead. I wasn’t even on the checklist. But what if we aren’t all one or the other — what if it isn’t one or the other?
What if there is more than just “girl” or “boy”?
I read a book by Jacob Tobia that changed my way of thinking. In “Sissy: A Coming of Gender Story”, they describe their turbulent journey in discovering their identity, and make an observation that just floors me: What if gender is on a spectrum? What if we aren’t all one or all the other, but all settling or walking or floating somewhere in-between the two? Just as there are differing strengths of certain personality characteristics, why can’t there be a medley of alternate gender identifications? Sure, there might be the perfect pink girl, or the lacy pastel hued shy midge, or the frilly magenta individual. There also might be the navy-blue strong man, the royal blue boy, the teal human. Might there also, somewhere in there, be room for an orange being — one who loves being a mother, hates cleaning, only cooks once in a while, would rather be looking at critters and walking than putting on make-up, artsy and shy but can stand their ground?
I was asked what my favorite color was as an adult, and I couldn’t decide. I do like pink now — as long as it’s bright (maybe it’s my contrary self acting up), but I love so many colors, I just couldn’t decide on one specific color. I cheerfully said, “Well, then, ‘rainbow’ is my favorite color!” My daughter was there — and, knowing my somewhat liberal view on accepting all people, no matter their identity, she said, “Mom, that’s so gay”. We both laughed — because that is the point. The LGBTQ+ flag has it right: there isn’t one or the other, there is a spectrum of variety out there that is so vast, it’s wonderful. And if we didn’t have human beings that were all along the spectrum, just as light is scattered in a medley of wavelengths, this earth would sure be a boring place.
Perhaps that means we need to change our pronouns now — it frustrates me that we only have “he”, “she”, “it”, and “they”. No singular, gender-free pronoun for an individual. Any suggestions?
And because black is so boring and “yesterday”, at my funeral, please come in all shades of the rainbow. Maybe we could start a trend!
Julie S. Paschold
