Tonight, my husband mentions that next year, if Adam goes to sixth grade in public school (rather than homeschooling) that he will not be able to play the flute. Apparently, that would be just asking for him to be taunted because middle-school boys don’t play the flute without other middle-school boys taunting them and calling them “gay.”
I remember one of my husband’s friends joking years ago, way before we even had kids, about “flute-playing boys.” My husband and all his college friends are jocks. My husband played every sport in high school and then intramural college sports. He loves to watch football and baseball. He’s just a jock with two sons who are completely the opposite. Our twin boys have little coordination, no drive and complete disinterest in sports. They played baseball for a while, but it was boring and torturous. They took judo at the YMCA, but that eventually became drudgery. So, my husband, The Jock, counts on Zach and Grace to inherit some of his athletic skills and interests.
When I was in school, I was the girl in the library who thought jocks were stupid. I hated them for their bullying, for their cockiness, for their attitudes, for their stupidity. I did not have time for idiots like that. I went to one football game in all four years of high school. I thought that partying and drinking and being wild and crazy was just pointless. I thought the adulation of boys who were coordinated was sickening, especially when their IQs were lower than their jersey numbers.
And yet, here I am, married to a former jock who is warning me that my flute-playing son will be a target of other boys–the very kind of jocks I hated when I was in school–next year. Apparently, he was already called “gay” this year because of his flute.
So, I said, “Well, that is just stupid!” And then while my husband answered the phone, I moped on the couch and started to cry.
I either need therapy or a vacation! Or I need to slap the stupid boys in sixth grade who would make a flute-playing boy feel like a freak.
My husband says with incredulity, “Are you crying? Why are you crying?”
And I wipe my eyes and say, “Because I am a woman and I have hormones!” Sniffle, sniffle.
We discussed it more and I agreed that Adam should have other musical lessons and continue playing the flute at home. He’d like to play guitar and I’d like him to play the piano. He shows musical aptitude and I’d like to help him develop it.
As for me? I should be locked in a closet until this mood passes.