Most of the time I can stop myself posting in archives, ’cause hey, Ceej (that’s me), ya missed it. This one I just couldn’t pass up. It’s an entry I need to put in my file entitled “Reasons I Am A Lesbian According To The Radical Right.”

I’ve been “bud” all my life. I believe at one point in my early years it was “buddy,” but it quickly became shortened to “bud” or the even cuter “bucket head.” Anyway, I suppose I was called more “girly” things as well, like “punkin,” “sweetie-pie,” or “sweet-pea,” but the two I remember most are “bud” and “scooter.”

Around here, though (here being my house), everyone gets called “bud.” My dad calls both me and my mom “bud,” my mom calls both me and my dad “bud,” and on occasion, even the dog gets called “bud.” It does sort of exude a message of equality. The worst thing it’s done in my house is make things very confusing. Imagine, three to four “bud”s in a house at any given time. You’re one of them. You’re bound to answer every time someone yells “BUD!” even if it’s not you they’re yelling at.

But of course, my androgynous or “masculine” nicknames as a child and even young adult must have contributed to my lesbianism. Along with my parents’ lifestyle, my involvement in the theatre….the list goes on and on.

I think it’s interesting what you say: “i think the gender lines will continue to break down so that the term becomes genderless eventually and means different things to different people.” Call me a dreamer, but I think this will happen in lots of different domains, over time (who knows how long). Sex will still matter, but gender will matter less. Or it will be disagregated from sex in the strict way it is now (only men have masculinity; only women have femininity, and it’s a shock or a shame if the lines criss-cross). Differentiation will always exist, which is good. The harsh social consequences for the devalued differentiations (at least in my utopian vision) will diminish. There’s a future I’d love my kids to grow up into!

my future wife called me “buddy” before we began dating. it only sounded strange to me because i was disappointed she wasn’t calling me “babe” or “sweetheart” yet. ha. i think i would be more likely to call my girl baby “buddy” than i would my boy baby (when they arrive on the scene). i’ll have to think about why that is.

Miss you guys!

I’ve never seen a straight mother, and few lesbian ones, use “son” as a form of address when referring to their male offspring, though this seems to be a common habit of fathers–as in “I’m very proud of you, son,” or “Don’t put your Matchbox cars in the toaster, son.” I think this may have the same distancing effect as “buddy,” while simultaneously having possessive overtones.

On the “do we really want them to grow up faster” question, consider that boys wear the same formal wear as children that they do as adults–suits and ties (though the latter may be clip-ons for the younger set). Girls wear dresses very different from those that grown women do–frilly and doll-like until they graduate as women to provocative and revealing. A little boy in formal wear is told he looks like “a little man,” whereas a girl looks like “a little doll” or “a little princess.” Not that I’d want any little girl to dress provocatively–but I think it’s telling that boys dress like men right from the start, whereas for girls, there’s a clear change.

Funny, though, how this expectation of earlier maturity from boys seems to get flipped by all the TV shows and movies that are based on the premise of an immature man having to be taught maturity and responsibility by the woman he loves.

Old feminist fodder, I know, but it still seems to come up. Don’t even get me started on the whole “princess” thing among little girls….

So many very fascinating reflections, each one. I want to riff off of everybody’s comments but am (again) using up most of my energy trying to get a toe-hold here on the steep slope that has been the exponential increase in childcare tasks/stresses/issues w/the addition of kid#2.

I’m glad that it’s an interesting question to others, and not just a quirky obsession of mine. I still have a lot of 1980s hardcore feminist language police in me, even as I have moderated it a lot and am the very first to use disrespectful anti-feminist lingo, in the right company, and for ironic effect. Only in the right company. But rather than propose an ougright ban, my essential desire is to notice and reflect and invite (from myself and others) mindful use of language, particularly as one of the more powerful of the myriad guides we use to help our kids on their way to themselves.

I’m intrigued to hear so many of us find ourselves using this term on boy kids without first even premeditating it (I’m sure side-by-side with sweetie, punkin lamb, etc.). It’s definitely the selective use that has singled it out for my cogitation. That, and hearing it come out of me in reference to two of my nephews (each time: once, but each time, it was in a moment of slight irritation, I wince to say). Those of us with both girl kids and boy kids have more opportunity to look at its use in a comparative way, and then also employ it to some kind of interesting effect on the girl kids, should we like. For those of us with sons only, the responses would play out differently. To reverse things and sprinkle in the saccharine diminutives for them is certainly an option, but there’ll always be the considerations around respecting their baseline sense of safety in the public sphere (o, a can of worms!). But I don’t see myself calling out to the little guy, “C’mere, me little buttercup!” when he’s on the elementary school playground. Unless, lord love him, he is a little buttercup.

Of course me, I identified a lot with both the Kristy McNichol character of Buddy and watched plenty of Gilligan’s Island, whose title character we all know was affectionately called “little buddy” by the Skipper. (I identified with the Professor, perhaps not surprisingly, and spent most of the time shaking the bedazzled out of me whenever Ginger slinked on and off the scene. Hubba hubba.)(But I digress.) I’d-a loved to have been called “buddy” by either of my parents. They certainly tracked my gender dysphoria from a young age (how could they not, when I was Robin Hood for Halloween for like eight years in a row?). And my mom did break down and get me a striped, high-crew-necked Hang Ten T-shirt after I had begged her raw. Just so’s I could hold my own alongside my boy chums who got ‘em without even having to beg.

I don’t know how I’ll evolve on my “buddy” use over time. If I opted for equal use of the term on both kids at least I wouldn’t feel like I was toughening up the XY kid and by contrast softening up (by not toughening up) the XX kid. Maybe as our kids get older the notion of socking them on the arm a bit won’t feel as odd as it does now, when the biggest one’s arm is still little enough for me to encircle with thumb and forefinger.

Oh yeah, yesterday I vowed that I’d make a concerted effort to encourage her to play with her train set. I forgot about that one. I think trains are kind of boring and in a lot of ways I’m thankful I’ve escaped (up til now) having to learn the names of every Thomas the Train gizmo, not to mention every kind of construction vehicle imaginable, but on the other hand it’s not like putting diapers on stuffed animals and pushing them around in toy strollers is so thrilling either.

I can’t answer many of the questions that you pose, but as for the last one I can tell you for certain that so far our little girl is way ahead (physically, socially, and linguistically) no matter what we do (or don’t) call her.