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Gender
Baby showers often declare blue or pink party favors. What those colors denote of sexes, have evolved back and forth over the centuries. Like color, gender identity and ideas are becoming more fluid, more colorful.
Writers addressed gender in literary art. These stories reflect broad perspectives from around the world — gender stories that color outside the boxes with more crayons than blue and pink.
The following are based on the April 18, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about gender.
PART I (10-minute read)
Two Cents Worth Sense? by JulesPaige
Our eldest child was almost three years old when the second one was due.
A soft baby doll resembling our eldest was bought for love practice.
Changing the cloth diaper, singing lullabies, ever gentle hugging.
crabby old lady
said what good was it for him
to have a dolly
Our eldest is now a Daddy; he’s got one of each a peach, a plum.
crabby old lady
may not have had children or
a dolly to love
He’s changed diapers for both, sang lullabies and gives gentle hugs with love.
The world is a better place with gentle love.
🥕🥕🥕
Third Gender by Abhijit
“Boy or girl Sakharam?”
“Dr Saheb wants to see me?” Sakharam answered, “I have cleared dues.”
“Sakharam, your baby is a third gender,” Dr Sahai head of obstetrics and gynecology informed “we can make her a girl by surgery; it will cost money.”
“What is this third gender, brother?” a confused Sakharam asked.
“Bhai looks like your baby is a hijda,” a better informed Dayaram explained.
Sakharam, a daily wage laborer, was found hanging from a tree next morning. Hoping for a son, after three daughters, Sakharam lacked money and conviction to face the reality of fathering an eunuch.
🥕🥕🥕
Why Choose? by Charli Mills
The conference held at the UCLA campus thought of everything to address gender identity. The bathrooms were resigned, and attendees could declare their preferred pronouns.
“I’m not a pronoun. I am me.”
“Yes, but do you identify he or she.”
“Yes.”
“Which?”
“I am he or she.”
A line piled at the registration table. The woman seated, and we’ll call her a woman because a petunia pink ribbon beneath her conference Volunteer badge declared such, tapped her finger. “Look, organizers are sensitive to your identity. But you gotta tell me – do you want a blue ribbon or pink.”
“Both.”
🥕🥕🥕
Her Story by Joanne Fisher
She had grown up as a boy, but never felt like she was one. Her outward form never mirrored what she felt like inside. She developed anxiety, depression, and tried to kill herself multiple times. Then one day after losing hope of ever being herself, she finally talked to a therapist about her secret. This led to hormones and testosterone blockers, and changes. Her body became more curvy, her skin softer, and her breasts grew. When she looked in a mirror now she began to see herself. For the first time her body felt like it was hers.
🥕🥕🥕
It’s a Choice by Reena Saxena
“Gender roles are assigned based on biology. A man cannot give birth.”
“Sure! But he can raise a child.”
“Why did the caveman not do it? There must have been a reason.”
“They had no feeding bottles and breast pumps. We live in a different age.”
“Is that your condition for marriage?”
“Marriage is a choice. You are an artist who paints in a home studio. I am a civil engineer who has to be on the site. Who do you think can manage home and kids better?”
“Well, I’d prefer being child-free.”
“That is a choice – fully acceptable.”
🥕🥕🥕
Gender Comrades by Bill Engleson
“In my day, there weren’t no genders. Just men and wimin. Pretty sure that’s the way it were. Hard to remember, though.”
“Well, Luke, I’ll tell ya, your day was my day. I recollect it different.”
“Ya do, do ya. How so?”
“That time I sailed over ter France, daddy told me, ‘neither a borrower nor a gender be.’”
“What the heck did he mean?”
“It befluxed me, too. Said it were from Shakespeare’s Piglet… or Cutlet…anyways, it meant, be yourself, and keep your hand on your purse. Or your person. Somethin’ like that.”
“It’s a headscratcher, alright.”
🥕🥕🥕
The Greenhorn by Ann Edall-Robson
The greenhorn was getting his ranch introduction under Tal’s tutelage. The kid, as Mrs. Johnson called him, was an exchange student. He would be with them for a couple of months.
Hanna leaned on the fence listening to Tal explain the difference between the horses found on the ranch.
“Mares are the females. They get bred to stallions. Most of the horses here are geldings.”
“What’s a gelding?” The kid asked.
Tal thought for a moment before answering. “We classify them as being non-gender specific.”
Hanna couldn’t help but laugh. She had to agree, Tal was bang on.
🥕🥕🥕
Confusing by Di @ pensitivity101
Life was straightforward growing up, you had girls and boys.
Girls liked pink, boys liked blue.
Girls played with dolls, boys played with soldiers.
Or did they?
Suddenly pink shirts became fashionable, and from then on, the colour stereotype got slung out of the window.
There is no such thing as one or the other gender now.
It’s confusing, and the space on the job application form has multiple choice.
For security staff, it’s a nightmare, especially when it comes to body searches.
The world’s gone mad.
Imagine when asked
‘What gender are you?’ the answer is
‘You pick.’
🥕🥕🥕
Gender by Y. Prior
Ben placed me on hold.
Said he found my online stalker.
Exhaling with relief, I was eager to possibly have normal again. I could reconnect the wireless at home. No more power outages when I walked into the store or café. This stalker dude would sometimes get into my phone – so I stopped using apps. The airlines called me because someone unauthorized accessed my itinerary. And last year, he drove –
“Well Mrs. Jansu,” Ben said, “Your hacker is Lisa Hazel with the ip – “
“What? Lisa? Thought my stalker was a guy.
“Nope. Female. Thirty-three – from Boston.
🥕🥕🥕
Gender Bender by Deborah Lee
Jane holds up a flash card with a dress on it.
“La vestido,” Chelsea says promptly.
“El vestido,” Jane corrects. “It’s a masculine noun.”
Chelsea blows out an exasperated breath. “Women wear dresses! How is a dress masculine?”
Jane shrugs. “I didn’t invent the language. Try learning the article along with the word, and don’t look for male or female quality about the object itself. A pen may look phallic, but la pluma is feminine.”
“Well, it’s stupid.”
Jane picks another flash card. “The test is tomorrow. Be glad you’re learning Spanish and not Polish. Polish has five genders.”
🥕🥕🥕
Life’s Big Question by Anne Goodwin
“What are you having?”
“Isn’t it obvious? A baby!”
“Hah, right! Boy or girl?”
“Probably.”
“Gosh, sorry, if you don’t want to tell me … I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“So, er, which?”
“We’ll find out when they’re born.”
“Didn’t you have a scan?”
“Of course I had a scan. Had to check they were okay.”
“They? You’re having twins?”
“Just the one. Thank God!”
“But you don’t know what it is?”
“Like I said, a baby.”
“But, but, what colour outfit do I buy for it?”
“Who cares if it’s chosen with love?”
🥕🥕🥕
Boys and Girls by Anita Dawes
My mother’s despair plain to see
At my unladylike behaviour
As I climb the conker tree
With my dress tucked inside my underwear
To beat the boys was my game
I take my brother’s double cap gun holster
Make my own bow and arrow
Dolls and frills were not for me
Until a daughter came to me
I dress her in silks and frills
As my mother would have liked to see
Quite the woman I turned out to be
My daughter never climbed a tree
No guns, no bows and arrows
Today’s boys and girls play the same…
🥕🥕🥕
The Guest Room by Luccia Gray
‘Alice, Billy’ll have to stay in the guest room, tonight.’
‘Mum, we’ll be up late, finishing our project.’
‘You can’t sleep together, not since…’ She nods towards Alice’s waist, ‘you were ill.’
Billy frowned. Alice didn’t look unwell.
‘It’s not contagious.’
‘You’re not a little girl anymore.’
Billy’s eyes widened. He stared at Alice. She looked the same to him.
‘So, you’re going to punish Billy because of me?’
‘Everything’s different now, Alice.’
‘Billy’s afraid of the dark. I’m grown up, so I’ll look after him, won’t I Billy?’
Billy’s jaw dropped and he nodded. Alice was always right.
🥕🥕🥕
Rainbow Futures by Norah Colvin
The children went around the circle telling what they’d be when they grew up: police officer, paramedic, teacher, doctor, prosecutor, influencer …
Laughter erupted when Rudii responded, “Mother.”
“You can’t be a mother,” taunted one.
“Can too.”
“But you don’t have, you know, boobies,” said another, glancing at the teacher.
“Dad said I can be anything I want,” retorted Rudii.
“But—”
The teacher silenced them and the circle continued, punctuated only by an occasional half-giggle or nudge.
A rainbow of opportunity awaits, Teacher smiled inwardly, contemplating the question he and his partner were processing: who would be Mom?
🥕🥕🥕
I Fixed Your Car! by Joanne Fisher
“I’ve fixed the carburetor and the oil leak, and given the engine a tune-up.” I said. The man smiled handing over some money.
“Thanks miss. Remember to thank the mechanic for me.” He said walking to his car. I rolled my eyes.
“Hey I fixed your car!” I called out after him. He just got in his car and drove off.
I’m wearing overalls and I’m covered in grease yet still some people just think I’m a receptionist or something. What do I have to do to be taken seriously? I shook my head and went back to work.
🥕🥕🥕
Are We Not All One? by David Harris
“What an idea this woman wishes to preach a sermon. Not sure it will fly with some of the congregation though.”
“Did God not make man and woman?”
“Yes, but didn’t He make us before them?”
“The Bible, Pastor.”
“Yes what of it? I recite scripture everyday, young deacon.”
“Does it specify what gender can or cannot speak of it?”
“…..No…No it doesn’t?”
“If you know scripture, do you not recall Galatians 3:28 saying no matter the race or gender, we are ‘all one in Christ?'”
“Hmmm actually it’s been a while since I saw that one.”
🥕🥕🥕
Prince Charming by Papershots
The little girls, four to eight years old, form a line backstage, demanding a kiss from Prince Charming. Prince Charming, a gay guy, texts his fellow – “How did I get talked into this? Got to kiss all these girls! I’m an actor, for god’s sake!” Pay is good, though. Before the show, the little girls were restless already, fidgeting in anticipation, no idea Prince Charming is not who he is, no suspension of disbelief. PC hides his phone, flips back his golden locks, and his charming smile opens the door to his dressing room. The little girls fire up.
🥕🥕🥕
Transient by Kelley Farrell
Rian floated from one form to another. Ice to water, glitter to dust, male to female and back again.
Rian frothed, dissipated, cycled through the clouds to the ground again.
Every nerve was disconnected. Each sensation coagulated around the indecisive form.
Rian’s thoughts blitzed the sky above. The ground pulsed with a steady heartbeat.
There was understanding. Then it was gone.
There was breath. Then stone settled in its place.
There was anger, now blinding regret.
Rian slipped between fire and glass, remnant of overheated ash; a permanent in memoriam to the transition between football and a silver dress.
🥕🥕🥕
Alex by Saifun Hassam
Alexander and Alexandria were super-intelligent AIs. Like other AIs in the Zeta-Tau galaxy, their digital code was integrated with DNA code from the genius brains of humans and galactic races. The AIs could take on any physical form; as humans, they could be a woman or a man. Aboard their starship “The Tsarina,”,they would startle Captain Mira and her crew by dressing to the hilt, in full officer’s uniform, or a tuxedo or a ballroom dress, jeweled pins adorning blue flowing tresses; their voices exactly matched. You could not be sure which Alex you were really talking with.
🥕🥕🥕
PART II (10-minute read)
The Devil and Some Deals by H.R.R. Gorman
“You let me screw with Job,” the Devil said to God, “Let me take away any gender-determination.”
God nodded. “Go for it, man.”
The Devil clicked clawed fingers, and bathroom signs became unreadable. Gender reveal parties ended with green colors. Identification cards lost a few M’s and F’s. The ability to think that way didn’t come back.
But, to the Devil’s horror, long-seated problems went away. Men’s fashion finally eclipsed Beau Brummell, and women could finally choose the veil or not. The two sexes and everyone outside and in between no longer guarded their supposed uniqueness.
“Lol,” said God.
🥕🥕🥕
Gender-proof Names by Susan Sleggs
The proud parents of toddler twins, a boy and a girl, couldn’t wait for Christmas morning to see which child picked which “rocking horse.” Without hesitation, Taylor went to the black and white motorcycle shaped one and Devin went to the golden pony. The parents smiled.
Years later the gender argument arose when the twins got their driver permits. Taylor asked, “Dad, in this day and age do we really have to mark the Female or Male box on this application?”
He answered, “It’s only good for statistics these days, each of you pick one, but make them different.”
🥕🥕🥕
The Shadow Show by The Dark Netizen
“Mommy, what is happening here?”
I looked at my child looking confused.
“This is a shadow show, my darling. It’s just like the movies we watch, but this is done right in front of us, in real.”
“So there are heroes and heroines here also? But I can’t tell which ones are boys and which ones are girls.”
My child was too young to understand this. This show was made so that the artists and the story is highlighted. It aimed to show genders are inconsequential. My child was too young to understand. I smiled.
“That’s what’s special here.”
🥕🥕🥕
Simon’s Pink Card by Charli Mills
Simon’s best friend Frank had crashed his bike, breaking his ankle. Simon’s mom suggested he make his friend a card. But Simon couldn’t draw the lines right and this made him sad.
“Let’s go buy Frank a card, okay?”
Simon brightened. Standing before rows of cards, he finally found the perfect one. The words described what he tried so hard to draw and couldn’t afford to purchase.
“But it’s pink.”
Simon smiled. “I like the words.”
That day, Frank grinned from ear to ear when his best buddy delivered a card that read, “I’d buy you all the flowers.”
🥕🥕🥕
Girlie by D. Avery
“Do you get picked on?”
“What do you think? Two moms? My style?” She twirled a finger in the long snarly part of her hair.
“You could change your style.”
“I could.” Jamie stroked my hair, “Long hair would look good on you.”
When I chickened out on one of Jimmy’s stunts he’d call me Girlie.
I knew I’d be following Jamie to edges and dangers unkown, knew I’d man up in ways that only this wild girl would appreciate. School wasn’t going to be much easier, but it would be some easier. I’d no longer be sitting alone.
🥕🥕🥕
This Diwali by Rupali Banerjee
Walking back home, little Riya asked Aunt Sarla why she didn’t buy her crackers for Diwali while she bought them for her own son. Aunt replied “Girls don’t burn crackers. They are meant for boys“.
After returning home, Riya went to her father and asked if what her aunt told was true. Her father replied “Absolutely not, my dear. Girls can do every task that boys can do and even more. But burning crackers pollute the environment. Even your brother shouldn’t burn them.”
Her father then took the children to the market, returned the crackers and bought lamps instead.
🥕🥕🥕
The Basketball by Tien Skye
She was puzzled when her seven-year-old girl left the counter empty-handed. “Where’s the basketball?” she asked.
“The man at the counter said I should play with dolls instead,” her little girl replied. “It’s ok, Mama. I don’t like the ball anyway.”
Furious, she grabbed her daughter’s hand and marched straight to the counter, pausing long enough only to get the basketball on the way.
“Here, we’re getting this basketball. For my girl! And don’t you dare tell her what she can and can’t play.”
Both the man at the counter and her daughter learnt a valuable lesson that day.
🥕🥕🥕
Heading South by Joanne Fisher
Aalen and Ashalla traveled southwards. Aalen could hear Vilja ahead bounding along.
“In my village we do what we’re best at. If you’re good at protecting the borders then that’s what you do. It doesn’t matter if you’re female or male.” Aalen said.
“Where I’m from it tends to be the men that are the hunters and use bows. When I told my parents I wanted to be a hunter it raised a few eyebrows.” Ashalla responded.
“Why do you only let men be hunters? Do human bows need penises to operate them?” asked Aalen.
Ashalla laughed out loud.
🥕🥕🥕
East to West – Which Gender is the Best? by Ritu Bhathal
“Hmmm, what is it?”
“Not what. Who!”
“Huh?”
“It’s the scan picture! There. That’s your grandchild right there!”
“Looks like an alien.”
“Well, we all know where the weirdness will have come from, Dad!”
“So, a he or she?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, not to me. Just as long as the child is healthy and happy, that’s all that matters. But you know what the rest of the family will be like…”
“I know, they’ll all want a boy. Typical Indian families.”
“Gender doesn’t make someone right or wrong, it’s their actions. Teach your child well. Make me proud.”
🥕🥕🥕
No Place for Friendly Men by Roberta Eaton
Sannie and I spent an anxious night locked in the house with the four children. Earlier in the day a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon. As it drew ever closer, we could make out a great crowd of horseman and ox-wagons.
The Boer Commando* stopped in our yard and the commandant knocked on our door. He told us they would be resting at our farm overnight and asked for some milk. I was angry with the commandant. A lonely farmhouse inhabited by two women and four children was no place to rest with so many “friendly” men.
* – The Boer commandos or “Kommandos” were volunteer military units of guerilla militia organized by the Afrikaans-speaking farmers of South Africa. The term came into English usage during the Second Boer War of 1899-1902.
🥕🥕🥕
Benders by D. Avery
Marge drew the blanket closer, nuzzling Ernest, snuggled cozy together on the couch. She could smell bacon and coffee and hear Ernest in the kitchen.
Marge sat upright. Ernest was in the kitchen.
“Nard! Ernest? What’s going on?”
“You two kept drinking. When you passed out together the love-hate relationship was in love gear so I only had to spread one blanket. Don’t worry, I have pictures for insurance.”
“Mmm. Morning Mommy.”
“Morning Nard. Breakfast’s ready.”
“Ernest. And after I slept with your fiancée. You’ll make someone a fine husband one day.”
“I intend too, Nard. When she’s ready.”
🥕🥕🥕
A Question of Identity by TN Kerr
Jimmy and Nancy continued to go steady for about three more days after the party. A year after high school Jimmy managed to secure some venture capital and founded a software company in San Jose. There’s a scholarship fund named after him now. Nancy works at the Speedy Mart.
Tito never came back from Vietnam, still MIA.
Becky is the Assistant DA of Lincoln County and has been in a committed relationship with Samantha Christian since she got out of law school. Samantha is a stay at home mom, taking care of the two boys she and Becky adopted.
🥕🥕🥕
Sequins and Heels by Violet Lentz
“Poor little thing. She looks so unhappy. All sad, and overgrown.”
“Can’t you just imagine her with a fresh coat of paint, maybe change the dark trim to something a little more vibrant?”
“Seafoam?”
“Heavens no. She is definitely not a seafoam kind of gal. I was thinking of something a little brighter. Maybe in between salmon and cerise?
“Gavin, dear, your crown is showing.”
“And that my darling Marcus, is exactly why you love me.”
“That being true, I’ll meet halfway, at rouge- if you’ll cut the grass.”
“Only if I can do it in sequins and heels….”
🥕🥕🥕
Room 112 by Nancy Brady
It’s an historic building where Julie worked, and according to some people, it was once a home for orphaned children. Some of her co-workers claim they still hear the moans and screams of children when the building is empty.
One office suite was unusual as it had been converted. It was the only one in which girls, women, and those who identify as female entered and exited with regularity. Julie, too, visited the office regularly and always felt better (perhaps relief would be a better word). Rarely was she not satisfied even with her short visits to Room 112.
🥕🥕🥕
Gender Fluidity by calmkate
Born a pretty blonde Joel’s mother decided to dress and treat her fourth son as the daughter she so desperately wanted.
Simone had grown into a lanky young man who desperately wanted to be a woman. He had long flowing locks and preferred slinky dresses.
Joel is happily married with three children of his own. He always knew he was a man but was comfortable playing the daughter for his mother.
Hormones meant Simone grew perky firm breasts and shrank his manhood. He decided not to undergo surgery because most men got excited to discover she was a he!
🥕🥕🥕
Charity’s Childhood by Kerry E.B. Black
Charity played football while wearing her tutu and tiara. Her Barbies explored sunken treasures, donned armor, and battled evil warlords. She named her bike Ragnarok and imagined charging into battle every time she pedalled, yet she stopped to admire flowers, searched for fairies in mushroom rings, and danced like Shirley Temple.
Deeana broke from a group of gossiping classmates, manicured hands on her designer jeans. “Charity, why do you think boys like you because you can hit a baseball?”
Charity’s nostrils flared like a wolf scenting prey or a doe ready to flee. “Why do you hate me because I do?”
🥕🥕🥕
Questions of Gender by Irene Waters
I was a girl. I wore dresses but I didn’t have those monthly cramps and pains my friends suffered. Lucky, I thought. Perhaps I was. Boys attracted me. I fell in love but no pregnancy happened for me. My friends all had babies, cooking and changing diapers. My husband cooked for me. My friends led a conventional life but I did what I wanted – no constraints were placed on me. Menopause came unnoticed. No mood swings or hot flushes unlike my friends. Lucky me I thought. Now I wonder as talk is of grandchildren – was I ever a woman?
🥕🥕🥕
There They Go Again by D. Avery
“Let’s git goin’ Pal, Shorty’s steerin’ us ta some delicate ranchin’ chores. Git it? ‘Steer’?”
“No, I don’t git yer meanin’, Kid.”
“We’s ta do some gender fixin’. Ya know, gelding the colts, deballin’ the bulls.”
“Kid, that ain’t what they meant when they said fixed gender.”
“They? Shorty said; jist the one Shorty. She.”
“Nowadays ya kin say they fer a singular pronoun; gives ‘em wiggle room. Fluidity.”
“Pal, yer nuts, an’ speakin’ a such, do we or don’t we got some geldin’ ta do?”
“No! No geldin’!”
“Ok. But there goes dinner. Was gonna serve ya oysters.”
****
“Okay, Pal, then what is this prompt about? I’m confused. Ya know as well as I do when a calf is born we look and’ there’s only so much we’s expectin’ ta see.”
“It ain’t about that neither Kid. It’s mebbe more how the calf sees itself and how it sees itself in the world an’ all it kin do in the world.”
***
“Pal, then what’s this prompt about? I’m confused. Ya know as well as me, when a calf is born we look an’ there’s only so much we’s expectin’ ta see. Innies or outties.”
“It ain’t about that neither Kid, ain’t about parts. It’s mebbe more how the calf sees itself , how it sees itself in the world.”
“Ain’t really ‘bout calves, is it Pal?”
“Nope.”
“But folks is folks, kin be who they want, dress how they want?”
“Yep.”
“World might be a more peaceful place if we weren’t jammin’ folks inta jist a couple a boxes.”
“Yep.”
🥕🥕🥕
April 18: Flash Fiction Challenge
Today, I’m dressed for success. My hair is cut to shoulder-length with a buzzed undercut that I will keep until I die. At least that’s what I told my new hair-dresser, NC (she’s from North Carolina). How freeing to have that mass of heavy hair lifted from the back of my head. I rub the fuzzy stubble that feels like velvet. Head velvet. The rest of my hair covers it, so unless I clip my hair up, you’d not know I shave part of my head. It pairs with my favorite worm flannel shirt of blue and gray buffalo plaid. No strappy undergarments hem me in today, and I’m wearing a cheap flowy and floral yoga pants I found on Amazon for nine dollars.
A board room executive might feel confident in a tailored suit and expensive shoes, but I’m writing away, barefoot and comfortable. This is my definition of success — pursuing a creative life without dressing and primping to codes that don’t fit me.
NC shaves the left side of her head. She has pretty blond curls and a shaved patch which was impulsive — her hair was hanging in her face one day, and she buzzed it off. She laughed, admitting she picked up the razor impulsively but justified that as a hair-dresser, she knew the look would be in fashion. My daughter asked her dad to shave her head into a high-and-tight and women are exploring razor cuts. NC said, “It’s freeing.”
And yes it is. Freeing physically — it feels great — and from social expectations of how women are supposed to wear their hair. I like the undercut because I can have both buzzed and longer locks.
I know women who had to wear dresses growing up. I loathed dresses. I felt most like me in Wrangler jeans, flannel shirts, and boots. Certain activities, however, dictated I had to have a dress or two in my closet. At age 15, I had three jobs and money to hire a local seamstress who made me two dresses according to patterns I pieced together. Both were checked gingham and looked pioneer-meets-80s-pop. The fad never caught on with anyone else, but if I were going to be forced to wear dresses to compete in forensics, it would be on my terms and in my white, gold-tipped cowboy boots.
When I had three children — two girls and one boy, I let their own tastes dictate their choices. Mostly they wore hand-me-downs or clothes we bartered for at yard sales, but they got to pick what to wear. My son’s favorite color to this day is hot pink. My girls both disdain pink because it’s girly (yet they don’t think of their brother as girly). Colors are colors. Why do we assign gender association?
Recently, I saw a post on Twitter. The photo had two cards side by side. The card with a pink envelop read, “I’d buy you flowers.” The card with the blue envelop read, “I’d make you a sandwich.” The person posting made a comment about capitalism and cooking, or something like that. I didn’t really pay too much attention because I got lost on the tangent that the line of cards targeted kids. I was like, wait, kids are buying each other greeting cards? I thought kids still made cards for others.
But the image stayed with me because I later became confused. Yes, the messages were gender tropes, or were they? Nothing on the cards said which gender had to buy which card and for whom. I thought of my son and his favorite color. Why would my son buy such a card, and I imagined him as an eight-year-old boy. He studied ballet, loved receiving flowers at recitals, and the color pink. If he were to buy a card for his best buddy, he would have selected the pink one about flowers.
Where is the pressure to be binary come from? Obviously family of origin, secondary would be the culture we grew up in and participate in. My family called me Charli from the time I came home from the hospital. I rode horses, pushed cattle, worked on logging sites, and cleaned houses after school. I wore dresses when necessary, and find joy in wearing a broad range of colors. Some days I’m a lumberjack, and other days I’m a colorful diva. I like feeling a mixture of appropriate and rebellious.
Sometimes I’ve had to be strong. Resilient. Other days I’ve cried over the beauty of a sunset.
What does this say about my gender? Honestly, I don’t know. The more I think about it, the more confused I become. I can fall back on social norms and say that I’m a married mom of three. Duh. Female. But one of my daughters, married and choosing not to be a mother, says she is gender fluid. Her husband, a self-proclaimed feminist, accepts this. They are less confused about the fluidity of gender. They don’t experience the rigidity of binarism.
Gender binary by definition is “the classification of gender into two distinct, opposite, and disconnected forms of masculine and feminine, whether by social system or cultural belief.”
And I feel free to not choose sides. I accept that others freak out at the thought of not having the boxes. If they want the boxes, they can have the boxes. But why can’t we also accept boxlessness?
Today, an extraordinary thing took place — I officially became a resident of Michigan. I have a new enhanced driver’s license (meaning I can cross borders into Canada and Mexico, which I will need when D. Avery and I go road tripping between the Kingdom and the Keweenaw after the Writing Refuge where JulesPaige, Susan Sleggs, and Ann Edall Robson will be meeting up). I’m also registered to vote. But all the applications and paperwork made me choose: (box) male or (box) female. I was fine ticking F, but I worried for those who are not.
<And here is where I insert, you really need to read Anne Goodwin’s Sugar and Snails.>
I’ve been toying with gender as a prompt but didn’t know how to prompt it without complication. Literary art expresses our deepest authentic selves if we are brave enough to dive below the surface. Last Saturday, I met with local writers for Wrangling Words at the library. They are a terrific bunch of authors and poets. I told them I was experimenting and wanted to know is “gender” could elicit a response as a prompt. The variety ranged from a confused ivy-like intergalactic being misunderstanding human genders to my own exploration of a boy buying a friend a card. So I’m going to go with it!
<And here is where I insert, if you have any recent books you wish to promote, I’ll be updating ads next week. They are free for all our Ranchers who play here with 99-words and more.>
April 18, 2019, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about gender. It can be fixed or fluid. Explore the topic on your own terms and open your mind to possibilities and understanding. Go where the prompt leads!
Respond by April 23, 2019. Use the comment section below to share, read and be social. You may leave a link, pingback or story in the comments. If you want to be published in the weekly collection, please use the form. Rules & Guidelines.
Why Choose? by Charli Mills
The conference held at the UCLA campus thought of everything to address gender identity. The bathrooms were resigned, and attendees could declare their preferred pronouns.
“I’m not a pronoun. I am me.”
“Yes, but do you identify he or she.”
“Yes.”
“Which?”
“I am he or she.”
A line piled at the registration table. The woman seated, and we’ll call her a woman because a petunia pink ribbon beneath her conference Volunteer badge declared such, tapped her finger. “Look, organizers are sensitive to your identity. But you gotta tell me – do you want a blue ribbon or pink.”
“Both.”
🥕🥕🥕
Simon’s Pink Card by Charli Mills
Simon’s best friend Frank had crashed his bike, breaking his ankle. Simon’s mom suggested he make his friend a card. But Simon couldn’t draw the lines right and this made him sad.
“Let’s go buy Frank a card, okay?”
Simon brightened. Standing before rows of cards, he finally found the perfect one. The words described what he tried so hard to draw and couldn’t afford to purchase.
“But it’s pink.”
Simon smiled. “I like the words.”
That day, Frank grinned from ear to ear when his best buddy delivered a card that read, “I’d buy you all the flowers.”
🥕🥕🥕
February 17: Flash Fiction Challenge
Pure gold bursts beneath the rainbow. Legends tell us the leprechaun hides his pot of it there. When the rainbow lights up after a storm on the Camas Prairie in Idaho, fields of canola-blooms illuminate like treasure. But one can never truly catch a rainbow, thus the leprechaun knows his hoard is safe. And sometimes we can’t predict what a rainbow will bring to light.
Whatever it is, we know it will be spectacular to behold.
That’s how I feel about the weekly compilations at Carrot Ranch. The rainbow, an apt symbol of diversity, represents all the writers who gather here to write stories of 99 words. The gold is what we produce as a whole each week. I don’t tire of the surprise week after week in witnessing how a diverse group of writers from around the globe can present so many different creative angles to a single prompt.
From different countries, different -isms of English language, different generations, different orientations, different gender perspectives, different experiences, different genres, different writing goals, we gather on the common ground that is a flash fiction challenge. And each prompt delivers a new rainbow over a pot of gold.
However, we do not discuss our differences. Instead we express and create. We show each other respect and support in our expressions. There is no right or wrong way to respond to a flash fiction once the constraint (99 words) is met. This is why I often encourage those who feel they wandered away from the intention of the prompt. Actually, it’s only intention is to spark an idea and there’s no judgement on that idea. In the end, we embrace the differences as a whole each week.
Wouldn’t it truly be a magical world — a place beyond rainbows and unicorns — where we could come together, embracing our differences and expressing our stories?
Often, being different is dangerous. We’d like to think that in a modern society we are tolerant and accepting. And many of us are. Yet cultural norms can have invisible strongholds on us. There’s a popular saying, “No child is born a racist,” and it reflects the power of influence on young lives to hate what is perceived as different. As teens, many rebel only to find out how far their culture or family will allow.
What a difficult cultural cycle to break.
When do we start to see ourselves as other? Does it cause panic, an overwhelming need to conform? Or does it cause rebellion, a need to embrace the true self? When do we understand our identities or are we always evolving?
Recently I read an article about a man from South America who is an extraordinary theater director and he lives here in northern Idaho. His path to his art is fascinating, especially given his diversity (Hispanic immigrant). He stated how as a boy, he never saw MacGyver (a popular US television series and character in the ’80s) as white. He saw himself as MacGyver.
A local news station aired an interview with an articulate senior student from a nearby high school. Ava Sherifi, recently gave a Martin Luther King Day speech about acceptance. She spoke about that moment at age nine-years-old when a friend made her realize that she was somehow “other.” It was life-changing, and she’s an amazing young woman to use it as a catalyst to educate her peers and community.
Last March, I traveled to LA to attend BinderCon, a professional development conference for women and gender non-conforming writers. The diversity of women was firmly rooted in a determined approach to writing as a profession, tackling difficult gender issues, including sexual violence and unfair economic disparities. One of the most inspiring workshops I attended was called, “Writing the Other.” It was all about what we see here at Carrot Ranch — writing the beauty and complexities of the world. The panelists advised, “to write characters, not colors.” In other words, create a “who” and not a “what.”
Further, I believe in encouraging those marginalized to find voice through writing. It’s why I continue to support Out of the Binders as a volunteer in my region. We need #morediversebooks, which requires more diverse writers and diverse characters in writing. On March 19 and 20, I’ll be hosting a live-stream viewing event in Missoula, Montana. I won’t be going to LA this year; I’ll be bringing LA to my region. Missoula has a vibrant writing community through several fine organizations, including HALA, Montana Book Festival and Shakespeare & Co. The biggest boost in getting this going has come from writers who had spoke last year at BookFest on a panel, called Queer Women Write the West. We make a fabulous team!
How boring it would be not to connect with others who are different. We need rainbows. We need diversity.
Early in my contemplation of Rock Creek, a historical novel from the perspective of women history diminished, I wondered if Sarah and Nancy Jane had a deeper relationship. As the story and characters blossomed like canola in my imagination, it didn’t fit. Nor did it fit any existing historical information on either woman. They were both unconventional in different ways — Sarah was a bookkeeper and a daydreamer, whereas all we know of Nancy Jane was that she was the daughter of a carpenter who lived among the freighters, buffalo hunters and traders of the wild prairies. Mary McCanles was more traditional, upholding her expected role as wife and mother, yet she was brave enough to stay in Nebraska Territory after tragedy struck.
Another character who has captivated my imagination (thanks to Sacha Black’s Writinspirations), is a physically strong German-American woman who works as a logger in the early 1920s Inland Pacific Northwest). Jen is doing a man’s job in an era when women have barely achieved the right to vote. I expect much backlash against her but she’s had a friend of sorts show up, another German-American. Wolfric has recently returned from WWI and has a private life. Both are on the fringe of society. Through these characters, I’m exploring my own gender beliefs and pondering. Growing up, I saw that boys and men got to do all the things I wanted to do. What does that mean to me now?
But enough cheating on my WIP.
Like women around the world, Sarah, Nancy Jane, Mary and Jen are each a “who” and diverse in subtle ways. Truly, we all are other. Some embrace it and some fear it. Regardless, we all have a voice by which we can explore what it means.
February 17, 2016 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story of a character who is diverse. Who is this person? Does this character know, accept or reject being perceived as different? As writers, consider how we break stereotypes. Tell you own story of “otherness” if you feel compelled. Or, select a story of diversity, such as rainbows revealing gold. How is diversity needed? How is your character needed?
Respond by February 23, 2016 to be included in the weekly compilation. Rules are here. All writers are welcome!
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Not All Women Cook by Charli Mills
Sarah stood, attending a pot of hearth stew. Mary rocked baby Charles in her arms, content not to help. Cobb leaned in the doorframe, watching his kids pick wildflowers. Sarah acknowledged it would be a happy gathering if it weren’t for the irony of her cooking. Her, the former mistress. Cobb wanted peace between Mary and Sarah to end rumors of marital dissent. Thus he declared each woman would host dinner once a week. Except he failed to recall Sarah didn’t cook. Mary remembered and smirked while Sarah stirred.
Later, Sarah would thank her new friend for providing dinner.
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