Seven-year-old Jack Woog loves dancing, Taylor Swift and wearing dresses. His mum, Kayte Woog, of Sydney, reveals her journey from niggling unease, to total acceptance of his flamboyance.
The day before my son, Jack, started Big School, I went to him with my nail polish remover. I told him that I had to remove his glittery nails, and he looked at me and wept.
He had been keen to show his new teacher how pretty they were — and that is when a thunderbolt hit me. Why in the hell was I trying to change this spectacular little human and make him comply with society’s expectations?
He’d attended daycare a few days a week and, over a period of time, I noticed when I went to pick him up at the end of the day, the clothes I sent him in were stuffed into his bag. He would be getting about in the dress-up box clobber. Every afternoon, a princess or a fairy or, his favourite, a tutu-wearing ballerina, greeted me with glee.
His preference for all things pink started to expand outside the walls of his daycare centre. Our neighbours had two little girls and Jack would spend hours over at their place, dressing in their finery. We felt this was okay, as long as he was only wearing these clothes at home.
Heaven forbid what people would think if they clocked him skipping down the aisles of the shopping centre swathed in a bubble of tulle!
Several members of my family were also starting to voice some concern about his fashion choices, which made me even more aware that what he was doing might not be okay.
Making him take off that nail polish was a ridiculous theory, if you really think about it. I was going to force a creative, artistic boy to hide who he was and stop him from doing what made him truly happy — which was to rock along in life his own way, with not a care in the world about what other people might think of him.
It was from that moment that I decided he could grow up following his own path, and if that is a glittery, disco-dancing ballerina, then I will polish those mirror balls for him and turn the music up — loud!
I write a blog and sometimes I write about Jack. I woke up one morning to find this comment, “Why would you let your son wear that f….ing dress?”
It was from Anonymous. Why are “Anonymous” commenters always pricks? I deleted it quickly, then felt sad and angry, then really, really angry.
Yet, when it comes down to it, it really is none of my business what others think of me.
I chatted with my husband about how our new approach to Jack’s individuality should be to just do nothing. He was in agreement. Then we sat back and observed. We watched this kid blossom into a confident, happy person.
We have followed his journey as he danced with the principal dancers of the Australian Ballet. We bought him a special Christmas dress, a pink and purple one, as outlined in a very specific letter to Santa.
We saw him being supported by his friends and family, and become confident in his own skin.
I often wonder where he gets his resilience. In the few times that he has been teased, I have watched on with awe as he treated his tormentors to a double-barrelled eye roll.
He simply does not care because he is too busy being fabulous to worry about what someone thinks about him. I hope he never loses that admirable trait.
When Jack grows up, he wants to move to America, marry Taylor Swift and dance in the New York Ballet. He says he will pay for me to come and visit them. He told me it would be my birthday present when I am old and grey.
Yet the gift from my son has already been delivered, even though he has no idea what he has done.
Mrs Woog writes at woogsworld.com and created headlines as one of the “mummy bloggers”, who dined with Prime Minister Julia Gillard at Rooty Hill RSL in Sydney.
Read more of this story in the May issue of The Australian Women’s Weekly.
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