A Pink Gladiator and a Hair Stylist Boxer

My sons' names are Maximus and Rocco; rather tough names for little boys. They came about them innocently enough - I didn't start out trying to name my kids to be future gangsters or bounty hunters. I always liked the name Max, but felt we needed a "full" name. I hated Maxwell and Peter couldn't stand Maximilian (my first choice). So Maximus it was. I associate Maximus with Gluteus Maximus (probably my fitness background) but later we learned everyone thought we named him after the Russell Crowe Gladiator movie (including the priest that baptized him). Nope. We just liked the name Maximus over all other versions.

Rocco came about his macho name a little differently.  We aren't crazy enough to name him after a boxer. He was supposed to be a Jaxson but after a very rough entry into the world, we named him to be strong like a rock, a fighter. He needed every bit of moxy we could give him and it turns out he lives up to his name and wears us out constantly.

But I'm not writing this about why my boys have really masculine names. I'm writing about the color pink and hair dryers. See, for as macho as my boys sound, they have a softer side.

It started with Maximus. Every since he was little, his favorite color has been pink. It was so cute we thought and didn't think much of it. We are cool, enlightened parents after all and are perfectly fine having a little boy whose favorite color is pink. That is until kindergarten. Wasn't he supposed to grow out of this by now?  The moment of truth came at the kindergarten open house when we were sent home with a questionnaire. Benign question number 3: What is Max's favorite color?  Max piped up with "Pink!" and we asked (not a proud moment) "Don't you have other favorite colors too?" Max looked puzzled and said, "Well, I like blue and red too I guess." "Great!" we said and enthusiastically wrote down blue and red. Because, what would the other kids say to Max when they learned his favorite color is pink? Then Pete and I looked at each other and asked, why are we trying to make our kid someone he's not. So what if his favorite color is pink? We'll teach him that it's okay to be a little different and to be proud of who you are. So reluctantly, we wrote down pink next to blue and red. Sure enough, Max came home and told us that boys aren't supposed to like pink and was it okay if he did. By now I was mad enough at myself for trying to push some stupid cultural bias on him that I said "Your favorite color is pink and that's perfectly fine. Everyone has a different favorite color. And yes, there are lots of girls who like pink, but there are also girls that like blue, like me. So pink is your favorite color and that's just great." And we've never since questioned his favorite color, which to this day, is still pink. Maximus will probably be one of the few NFL players that is excited when they break out the pink breast cancer awareness gloves for October.

Little did I know that Max's pink would break me in for Rocco. Not built like his linebacker big brother, Rocco is a thin little boy, which will help him when he is sneaking out of my house at night and stealing cars.  Rocco is wiry, good at climbing and absolutely fearless (to a fault). He's going to be the individual sport type of kid: wrestling, track, BMX biking, and skateboarding. He's also going to be a hair dresser.  There is nothing that gets Rocco more excited than my hair dryer and curling iron. He loves plugging anything into an outlet, which scares the crap out of me. Before you roll your eyes at my lack of parental safety awareness, I'll cut right to the chase and let you know that he can remove the safety caps on the outlets. So there, I'm more on top of it than you think. It's just that Rocco is smarter.  Anyway...Rocco has always been obsessed with my hair and insists on it being worn down (ie, not in a ponytail or headband). Every night I have to take my hair down if I have it up and then he plays with it while we read, rock, sing, etc. He regularly looks at people and comments on their hair cuts. And when we spent a recent night at a girlfriend's house, his favorite part of the visit was watching her fix her hair in the morning. She and I looked at each other and agreed that he would probably be a hair stylist - to the stars.  And you know what, I'm totally fine with that. I went through the phase of thinking my boys could only do "boy things". I bought him a comb and brush for Christmas so he'd stop swiping mine. When it comes to Rocco's future, I only have two conditions. The first being that he goes to college, preferably for an electrical engineering degree, because he shows an affinity to electricity and engineers make good money. Second, when he is rich and famous for being the stylist to the stars, he has to do my hair (and Summer's hair) for free because we discovered him first.

My boys are perfect just the way they are. They may not always act perfect, they think farting is funny and like to belch at the table. But if one looks like a football player that loves pink and the other sounds like an Italian gangster but does hair, then so be it. At least my hair will look good.