Pretty in pink

Most people accept the idea that parents will dress their newborn boys in blue and their newborn girls in pink. I had no problem with my sons being covered from head to toe in blue. On the other hand, the moment my wife and I found out that our second child would be a girl, I knew I wanted to part with the masses.

"My daughter is not to wear any pink clothes!" I said.

"Are you nuts?" my wife asked. "What's wrong with pink?"

"I want my daughter to become a woman who feels like she can do anything her brother does," I said.

"How does wearing pink clothes change that?" my wife asked.

I thought it was quite obvious to anyone who had been paying attention that pink clothes were part of a vast conspiracy to convince girls they had a place and needed to stay there.

My wife didn't agree with me (who would?), but to keep the peace, she didn't buy any pink clothes. So began my defiant stand against the pink power structure.

When gifts for our baby girl rolled in, I took note of who gave us pink clothes and crossed them off my Christmas card list. Those who gave gender-neutral clothes instantly became favorite relatives and best friends.

For the first year of her life, my daughter was dressed almost exclusively in gender-neutral clothes, as far as color is concerned. My wife, being a mother (and not fully committed to fighting the power), made sure she bought our daughter outfits that "screamed" baby girl.

Yet, there were those people who tried to make me conform. I know this because they'd take a look at our daughter and say, "He's a cute baby."

Since I didn't feel resistance was futile I pushed on with my struggle for the liberation of my daughter's body and soul. Not only were pink clothes barred from our household, I kept Barbie dolls out in the cold as well.

By age two, my daughter had grown into a child who played with cars, Legos and musical instruments. I would often marvel at how well she played with her older brother. Then one day, she changed.

"l want a pink party," my daughter said.

"A what?" I asked.

"A pink party."

I, of course, thought she meant she wanted a birthday cake with pink icing. I was willing to allow one such indulgence because it was her birthday, but she didn't just want a pink cake, she wanted a pink party. I'm talking pink cake, plates, forks, hats, and napkins — the whole nine.

After some soul-searching on my part, I allowed my daughter's third birthday party to be as pink as a Mary Kay convention.

After the party, my daughter embraced this new identity. She requested clothes in various shades of pink. She wanted pink shoes. She demanded pink accessories. She even requested a Barbie doll.

I became convinced that she had been brainwashed by someone when I wasn't looking. I knew my daughter had gone to the pink side when one day while we were at Ballard Park, she walked up to a woman and said, "I'm just a girl!"

The woman turned to me and gave me an evil look to end all evil looks. "You're not just a girl," the woman said to my daughter.

"Yes, I am. I'm just a girl!" my daughter said proudly.

I wanted so much to tell the lady that my daughter didn't have a father who told her she was "just" a girl. I wanted to give her my history, but I was afraid the woman would say I was "just" a liar.

I look at my daughter today and she looks much different than the girl I pictured she'd be at this age, but, at the same time, she's everything I could want her to be. My daughter is independent, funny, happy and smart. What more can I ask for?

I've learned that my daughter can wear pink and play with Barbie dolls without being robbed of anything. Although I hate to admit it, I've also learned that my daughter looks pretty in pink.