pretty princess
Growing up with a little boy in the house always meant a lot of energy. There was no denying that I was the older sister, and loved the "dictatorship" that came with it. It was common that my father would come home from work only to be introduced (by his daughter) to his toddler son--dressed as a princess. Of course my brother went along with my antics, simply following the lead of his "sissy."
He wasn't the doll that I would pick up and put in my toy stroller and push around the house. Rather, he was a living being that would pick up a nearby doll and follow closely behind me, pushing a stroller of similar sorts. (Better than a doll, right?)
It is incredibly interesting to note how easily he would pick up my (culturally stereotyped) "girl" games--the pink, the poofy, the glittery- when around me. Yet, if I walked by his room I would often find him sitting alone on the floor surrounded by a non-exaggerated upwards of 40 matchbox cars.
His development showed that he didn't personally enjoy the barbies and butterflies, for, if he did, I would have walked by his room to find him sitting and playing with the plastic, blonde, anorexic toy himself. However, this wasn't the case. As a little boy he always independently sought out the dumpster trucks and dinosaurs.
Readings about approval-seeking force me to believe the notion that he partook in my games simply as a means to my ratification.
He wasn't the doll that I would pick up and put in my toy stroller and push around the house. Rather, he was a living being that would pick up a nearby doll and follow closely behind me, pushing a stroller of similar sorts. (Better than a doll, right?)
It is incredibly interesting to note how easily he would pick up my (culturally stereotyped) "girl" games--the pink, the poofy, the glittery- when around me. Yet, if I walked by his room I would often find him sitting alone on the floor surrounded by a non-exaggerated upwards of 40 matchbox cars.
His development showed that he didn't personally enjoy the barbies and butterflies, for, if he did, I would have walked by his room to find him sitting and playing with the plastic, blonde, anorexic toy himself. However, this wasn't the case. As a little boy he always independently sought out the dumpster trucks and dinosaurs.
Readings about approval-seeking force me to believe the notion that he partook in my games simply as a means to my ratification.