He came out of the bathroom, bubbling and delighted, his hair held in its pigtails with sparkly beaded elastics.  "Don't you like my hair!?" he exclaimed, more a demand than a question. One adult gushed.  The other glared, but said nothing.

And "nothing" echoed.

He tore around the house, chasing his brother, overexcited and rambunctious.  "He's all boy, that one!" said an affectionate relative.  His mother argued the point - that speed and exuberance aren't inherently "boy" traits, that not all boys are like that, and that's okay.  The affectionate relative rolled her eyes, smiled, and said nothing.

And "nothing" echoed.

He chose his school clothes carefully for picture day: his favorite purple shirt, the jeans with heart-shaped back pockets, Darth Vader underwear, and the purple sneakers with glow-in-the-dark patterns.  Standing in line for their turns behind the camera, a little girl in his class asked why he was wearing purple. "It's a girl color.  You can't wear it." The teacher may or may not have heard it. The photographer may or may not have heard it.  The other children probably did hear it.  But everyone was busy, and nothing was said.

And "nothing" echoed. 

Every day, children are socialized into our culture. From before their birth, they are surrounded by gendered expectations - that little girls will be sweet and little boys will be tough. A quick perusal through any mainline childrens' retailer will show the stark difference, even in the newborn section.  "Sweet" and "tough" aren't words one should apply to a newborn.  "Fussy", "hungry", "poopy", "tired", and "beloved" - those I will totally give you.  Ones that don't correlate a not-yet-developed personality with gentalia.  But we tend to use words that seek to conform the child's personality to their genitalia, right from the beginning... up to and including giving a crying infant girl more eye contact than a crying infant boy.  

Children, even very young ones, are smart enough to do whatever makes the adults in their lives pay attention to them.  

Adults, even wise ones, are foolish enough to mistake learned behaviors for innate capacities.

And a child who does not conform to the categories that adults have set up make those adults very uncomfortable.  

But here's the thing, wise adults: it is not up to the children to make you comfortable. 

It is not the responsibility of the child to alter his or her preferences so that you don't have to rethink the categories that you're comfortable with - rough-and-tumble boys, helpful and polite girls. It is not the responsibility of the child to conform to your artificial social norms, which suggest that our genitals, or our chromosomes, should have a massive impact upon our day-to-day likes and dislikes. It is not the responsibility of the child to make choices that will keep him from getting bullied, or teased, or hurt. It is not the responsibility of the child to uphold the culture that was imposed on you, comfortably or not, when you were that child's age. 

It is not the responsibility of the child to make you comfortable.

It is, however, your responsibility - O Wise Adult - to keep the child safe, no matter what decisions he or she makes. It is your responsibility to take some of that hard-earned wisdom and use it in self-examination: ask yourself why it is that a boy in pink makes you uncomfortable?  Or why a girl with an obsessive fascination with beetles makes you run out for the most enticing tea-set you can find? 

Ask yourself why it is that, when faced with a joyful child, you choose to say nothing, rather than to share in that joy?

Because "nothing" echoes.  It resonates down through the years, a vacuum in memory, a void in the heart, a fracture in the spirit. It speaks, insidiously, of disapproval, of discomfort, of disgust - cancerous growths in the soul of a child.

"Nothing" echoes when the bullying begins, or the choices become harder, or the silence grows too oppressive.  It is the response that bounces back when the child, tired or fearful or confused, asks himself which adult he might confide in; which adult might give him the courage to go on being himself. The echo, years later, tells him that there is nothing out there for him, no one who will hear him, no response possible but silence.

"Nothing" echoes in the high percentages of homeless LGBT* youth.

"Nothing" echoes in the horrifically high proportion of gender-nonconforming people who attempt suicide. 

It is the responsibility of all of us, the adults in the lives of these children, to create a safe place for them to be themselves. It is our responsibility to say, even in the midst of discomfort, that we will love and support these children no matter what, throughout their lives.  

He came out of the bathroom, bubbling and delighted, his hair held in its pigtails with sparkly beaded elastics.  "Don't you like my hair!?" he exclaimed, more a demand than a question. One adult gushed.  The other glared, but said, "I love you no matter how you wear your hair."

He tore around the house, chasing his brother, overexcited and rambunctious.  "He's all boy, that one!" said an affectionate relative.  His mother argued the point - that speed and exuberance aren't inherently "boy" traits, that not all boys are like that, and that's okay.  The affectionate relative rolled her eyes, smiled, and said, "I don't know if it's nature or nurture that makes him how he is.  I just know that I love him when he's energetic, and I love him when he's quiet."

He chose his school clothes carefully for picture day: his favorite purple shirt, the jeans with heart-shaped back pockets, Darth Vader underwear, and the purple sneakers with glow-in-the-dark patterns.  Standing in line for their turns behind the camera, a little girl in his class asked why he was wearing purple. "It's a girl color.  You can't wear it." The teacher may or may not have heard it. The photographer may or may not have heard it.  The other children probably did hear it.  Everyone was busy, but one child said, "Colors are for everyone, let him wear what he likes," and the teacher heard this and said, "That's right.  Thank you for saying that."

Thank you for saying that. Because that, too, will echo.