He walked out of his bedroom
wearing his pink sweatshirt.
At age five, it was his favorite.

"He's wearing pink,"
said his grandfather.

"Yes," said the boy's mother.
"He likes pink.
It's his favorite color."

"But it's pink."

"Yes, it's pink."
the boy walked past them
and out into the yard to play.
"It's pink; so what?"

"Pink is for girls."

"Says who?"

"Everyone knows that.
Pink is for girls."

"He's somebody,
and he doesn't know that,
and if he does know that
and doesn't care,
well, I think that says something good about him, don't you?" 

"But what if they beat him up?"

She paused while refilling her coffee.
"For wearing pink?
Who would do that?" 

"It's a tough world,"
said her dad. 
"Other boys won't like pink."

"Well, he'll just have to kick their asses."
She regretted that immediately
and sighed.
"Or maybe he'll be brave enough
to help them understand
that one can like whatever one likes,
and it's okay."

"Yea, maybe,"  he said,
taking another slug of coffee.

"It's just a color,
for heaven's sake."

*****

Three days later,
when Grandpa showed up for the BBQ,
he wore a baseball cap.
She wondered where,
with his large head,
and his recently expressed opinions,
he had found a cap that big
and that pink–
hot pink.

He looked good,
and no one commented,
except his grandson,
who first went into the house,
then returned to the patio
wearing his own pink ball cap. 

"When I grow up,"
he said,
"I want to be just like Grandpa."

"You could do worse,"
said his mother.

Text and image © 2012 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.