But there's no boys...

Early in the summer my children signed up for a week at gymnastics/dance camp. They had a great time and both of them asked to sign-up for the second session, offered in August. Today we drove to camp and they were happily talking about learning “flips” and “dances” and “kick-overs.” But when we walked into the main building, we were met with about 60 boys, dressed for soccer camp, and ten girls dressed in leotards. My son’s dark skin blanched, nearly reaching the same pasty color of mine.

“Do boys take gymnastics and dance?” my son asked in a voice so quiet I could barely hear him.
“Of course,” I said. “C’mon, let’s see who else signed up.”

We approached the counselor and checked out the list: Fourteen girls, and Nate.

I really didn’t know what to do. He seemed so unsettled, I wanted to wrap him up and take him home, but I also wanted him to learn that he could follow his own interests and be his own person -- and I hated the idea of gender restrictions.

I left my son holding back tears -- him and me. I worried about him all day. Had I forced him into a situation of social ridicule? I felt awful. I ate a box of Lucky Charms. I didn’t even have milk.

At four-o-clock I met Nate camp where he stood among soccer players and gymnasts, wearing a smile that swept the room with sunshine.

“Did you have fun?” I asked. (I wanted to add, ‘even though there were no boys’!)
“I can do a back walk over!” he proclaimed. “And we learned the beginning of a cool dance.”
“Did any other boys come?” I asked, hesitantly. I just couldn’t let it go...
“No. But I don’t care. I was crazy to think that boys can’t do this. Neil ( ‘So You Think You Can Dance’ contestant) does gymnastics AND dance, and I want to be just like him.”

He munched his crackers and sang along to the music on his iPod, and for the first time ever, I said a prayer of thanks for T.V. My son has a hero, and so do I.