My son has long hair with pink ends
Until a month ago, when my 9-year-old cut her hair confusingly boy-short, everybody, everywhere commented on the beauty of my daughters. Which is kind of funny, since one of them is actually a son. A 12-year-old son who has hair down his back and whom everybody mistakes for a girl. Partly this is because he really is beautiful: as pink-cheeked and freckle-sprinkled as an iced cupcake. And partly this is because he wears a lot of pink clothing: nothing frilly or ruffly, but plenty of magenta velour hoodies and raspberry-colored t-shirts. Also, the bottom half of that very long hair is fuchsia. He dresses like this to make a very important statement. And that statement is: I like the colour pink.
“Because if you hurt them in the interest of preventing them from getting hurt—You can’t wear that because everyone’s going to see you’re a sissy.—well, where’s the sense in that?” <—This.