where oh where has my pretty boy gone

 My pretty boy has disappeared. In his place is a boy running about on the soccer field or playing video games with other boys. I should be relieved, shouldn't I? But I am not. 

Fifth grade. 

The year started out OK. The school offered a subsidized after school soccer program. Nearly all of the boys in the grade signed up. "I don't really like soccer," said D. "I'd rather join the art program instead." (In the end, he was accepted into an advanced art class during school hours instead.) He also expressed interest in dancing, but it was too expensive. 

As time went by I noticed that D. was spending more and more time by himself, reading. The boys were cliquing around soccer and computer games, but the girls weren't including him in their activities either. I tried to speak to his teacher about it, but she didn't get it. "A child who loves to read? Wonderful!" "I'm fine, Mom," said D.  "I like to read." 

Then, a little over a month ago, active ostracism started. By a group of four boys, 2 of whom D. used to be quite friendly with. At one point, they bordered on physical bullying, but D's little brother came to his defense, an unbeatable team of brotherhood (I was so proud!). I knew I had to nip it in the bud. 

I began to check out a new arts school for next year, specializing in in music, dance, and visual arts, where hopefully kids would be less likely  to sex segregate themselves, but even if they did, he'd at least find boys who shared his interests. 

But something had to be done now. So despite my hesitations about computer games, I let him download the game that the other boys were playing. 

He began to play the game with them and all of a sudden everything changed. The 4 boys received him back into their company, and invited them to their homes and activities. 

Next thing I knew, D. began playing soccer nearly every day after school. "I like soccer" he says now. 

The group is multi-age- and he is one of the smaller ones, but he doesn't care. He's been accepted. 

A classmate of his isn't so lucky. Her name is Danielle and she is actually a better athlete than my son. She sometimes plays on the soccer field- the only girl- but lately I see her more and more sitting next to her dad in the park, far away from the group. "Danielle says she's a boy," my son informed me casually. But saying that she is a boy hasn't got her a place in the males group. 

My body shakes and my eyes tear as I am suddenly transported to another time and place, when I was a girl staring at boys playing basketball, longing to be part of it. 

My heart aches for both of them. 

For my son, who must cut off a part of himself to be accepted. 

And for Danielle who must deny herself to be herself- and even that is not enough.