The Clothes Make the Man

"I want to wear these ones!" Andy holds up a pair of pink and gray striped socks with a sullen picture of Eeyore on both sides. Although buried in his top drawer, he has uncovered the stockings Mike's Nana picked up from a garage sale the year before. Sized for a five year old girl, Nana couldn't resist them at 10 cents for the pair. Now Andy can't resist them either.

Since I had asked him to select his own outfit this morning, I don't want to discourage this gesture of independence. Still, does he have to wear them out in public?

"Are you sure you want to wear these?" I ask.

"Yes!" Never has he expressed such an interest in any article of clothing.

I help him put the socks on, their pink stripes stretching to his knees. Where his heels should be, the fabric bunches around his ankles. I think he looks like a toddler transvestite, but also playfully sweet. If there is ever a time when he can enjoy the complete absence of self-consciousness, it is now as a two year old. He might as well savor the freedom.

But then he surprises me by looking down at his stockings, shoved in their navy blue Crocks. "I look like a girl," he whispers. Can he really have a conception of gender identity this early? A moment of silence follows.

"Mommy you are a girl," he shoves his pudgy index finger towards me self-assuredly. "I am a boy!" There. He sighs. The world is right again. He may look like a girl, but he is, in fact, a boy. The socks stay on, and we walk out the door to the library.

The workers collecting the garbage pay Andy particular attention today. Is it the socks? We stop and chat for several minutes, during which they reminisce about their children being this age once; it seems so long ago, and yet went by so fast. Andy rewards them with his shy dimpled smile, hands in his mouth, eyes following their every heroic garbage collecting effort.

We walk on to the library. There, Andy's lovely striped socks catch the attention of an outgoing four year old boy. The boy edges nearer to Andy, his eyes dripping with affection. "You have such...fancy socks!" he gushes.

"Yeah," Andy nonchalantly replies. He's listening to the librarian read a story about hats.

The boy is clearly enamored with Andy and his fancy socks. "Where do you live?" he asks. No answer. "Pennsylvania?" he tries. Andy continues his polite indifference. I am trying hard not to laugh from the sidelines.

The boy, whose name we find out later is Roman, takes Andy's hand. After squirming away initially, Andy accepts Roman's hand, and the two hold hands together as the librarian finishes her tale.

"Do you love me?" Roman asks. Andy laughs.

I am in stitches watching the two of them, loving anyone who is so enamored with my son. I can only experience the freedom and spontaneity of Andy and Roman vicariously. That is, when I can forget myself enough to do so.