Raising My Rainbow: Adventures in Raising a Fabulous, Gender Creative Sonby Lori Duron
Raising My Rainbow is Lori Duron’s frank, heartfelt, and brutally funny account of her and her family's adventures of distress and happiness raising a gender-creative son. Whereas her older son, Chase, is a Lego-loving, sports-playing boy's boy, her younger son, C.J., would much rather twirl around in a pink sparkly tutu, with a Disney/i>
Raising My Rainbow is Lori Duron’s frank, heartfelt, and brutally funny account of her and her family's adventures of distress and happiness raising a gender-creative son. Whereas her older son, Chase, is a Lego-loving, sports-playing boy's boy, her younger son, C.J., would much rather twirl around in a pink sparkly tutu, with a Disney Princess in each hand while singing Lady Gaga's "Paparazzi."
C.J. is gender variant or gender nonconforming, whichever you prefer. Whatever the term, Lori has a boy who likes girl stuff—really likes girl stuff. He floats on the gender-variation spectrum from super-macho-masculine on the left all the way to super-girly-feminine on the right. He's not all pink and not all blue. He's a muddled mess or a rainbow creation. Lori and her family choose to see the rainbow.
Written in Lori's uniquely witty and warm voice and launched by her incredibly popular blog of the same name, Raising My Rainbow is the unforgettable story of her wonderful family as they navigate the often challenging but never dull privilege of raising a slightly effeminate, possibly gay, totally fabulous son.
Now with Extra Libris material, including a reader’s guide and bonus content
"Heartwarming, though wrenching…what makes Raising My Rainbow fresh and enjoyable is Duron’s utter lack of pretension.”
—New York Times Book Review
“A powerful book at the right time.”
—Andy Cohen, author of Most Talkative
“Lori Duron, a writer of extraordinary generosity, has given us a guide to parenthood both gentle and revolutionary. Raising My Rainbow is a valuable resource not only for parents of gender-nonconforming children, but for readers everywhere who seek the courage to stand up for the ones they love. Fierce, wise, and illuminating.”
—Jennifer Finney Boylan, author of She’s Not There and Stuck in the Middle with You.
“Because of Lori's courage, there is now an answer when searching how to parent a child who is gender fluid, gender non-conforming, transgender, gay or whatever label you use. This book is a wonderfully authentic read that will bring depth, joy and understanding to parents, extended families and anyone seeking to learn how parents can and do love gender creative children. To acceptance!”
—Cheryl Kilodavis, author of My Princess Boy
"[S]mart and witty...first-of-its kind...a frank, funny, feminist book."
“[A]n optimistic and delightful memoir… Duron’s call for compassion should be heeded by educators, caregivers, and neighbors—an open heart, a desire to listen and learn, and a willingness to accommodate go a long way in doing well by someone who differs from your expectations.”
—Publishers Weekly, starred review
“A heartfelt examination of raising a boy who wants to be a girl.”
“It takes a village to raise a child, and it takes a gender creative parent to create a gender creative child. Lori Duron is just one of those parents, and Raising My Rainbow is a must-read for the entire village. Beautifully written, humorous, and deeply open and self-reflective, this book, the first of its kind, gives us a window into a mother’s joys, pain, and courage raising a child who goes against the binary gender grain of our society. This is not only an outstanding book, it is a big step forward in making it a better world for all of us.
—Diane Ehrensaft, Author of Gender Born, Gender Made
"First drawn to Lori's work as an educator and LGBT activist, it was my role as a father that provided the most poignant critical lens for Raising My Rainbow. While nobody has a blueprint for parenting, Lori's compassionate, insightful, and yes, humorous take of raising a "gender creative" child should be required reading for anyone bringing up or working with children."
—Frank Bua, author of Lost and Found, and Board Member, Family Equality Council
“I fell in love with this. Lori Duron has written a very important book, and as an author she is extremely generous in sharing the story of her family and in particular her own journey which made her realize that her job regarding her son is to ‘not change him but to love him’. Duron and her husband and oldest son beautifully rise to every challenge C.J.'s gender creativity presents to them. As a reader, I felt privileged to witness their journey.”
—Lesléa Newman, author The Boy Who Cried Fabulous, Heather Has Two Mommies, and October Mourning
“Lori Duron has painted an exquisite picture of the complex journey that is raising a gender diverse child. In chronicling her family’s transformation from confusion, to fear, to acceptance and ultimately fierce pride, she has provided an unwavering celebration of her child's gender self-determination. Not just a book for families with gender nonconforming children, Raising My Rainbow is wonderful resource for all parents committed to honoring children for who they are.”
—Joel Baum, Director, Education and Training, Gender Spectrum TM
“Laugh-out-loud funny, tug-at-the-heartstrings moving, and thoroughly thought provoking, Raising My Rainbow is a must-read for anyone who has ever worried that their child—or a child that they know—might be perceived as ‘different from’ or ‘other than.’”
—Jody M. Huckaby, Executive Director, PFLAG National
When Duron's son C.J. didn't outgrow the experimental "phase" many toddlers enjoy, instead announcing he was going to be a girl, she and her husband encouraged "C.J. to be C.J.," while trying to make his life safe and happy. "Mommy blogger" Duron soon began writing in order to provide support to other parents raising a gender nonconforming child.
- Crown Publishing Group
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- 5.38(w) x 7.80(h) x 0.78(d)
Read an Excerpt
My five-year-old son, C.J., is ready for school. He’s wearing his favorite pink-and-white striped polo shirt and khaki shorts. His teeth are brushed and so is his short auburn hair. He’s standing in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, where he feels close to me, as I get dressed for work. I brush my brown hair, create a side part, and pull it back into a low ponytail. He pretend-braids his imaginary long blonde hair and ties a bow at the end. I slip on silver hoop earrings and fasten them. He pretends to do the same. I zip up the back of my dress as he slides on a few revolutions of imaginary lipstick. I put on my black high heels and he straightens his imaginary tiara. I give myself a spritz of perfume as he arrives beside me and puffs out his chest. I give him a pretend spray or two. I grab my computer bag, he grabs his Monster High lunch box, and we head out the doorhe to kindergarten and I to the office.
As we part ways for the day, I say to him, “I love you no matter what.” It’s the absolute truth. There are no conditions or expectations. I love him no matter what.
Hours later, I load my smiling son into the car. As I drive home, he pulls papers out of his folder to show me. He holds up a worksheet on which he has been practicing writing the letter B. “B is for Bear,” the worksheet says. C.J. colored his bear pink and purple with long blonde hair, hoop earrings, red lipstick, and long pink fingernails.
“Look, Mommy, my bear’s fingernails match my fingernails!” he squeals in giddy delight, kicking his feet, which dangle down from his booster seat, his pink polka-dot Minnie Mouse socks peeking out from his mint green tennis shoes.
“They sure do,” I say as I stop at a traffic light and turn to smile at my special boy. His pink glitter fingernails sparkle in the sun as he holds them next to his bear’s fingernails for me to compare and admire.
“I picked the color special. My teacher said we could color the bear any colors we wanted. I made sure I asked. I didn’t want to color mine brown like real bears. Brown is boring,” he says. I will learn later that all of the other kids colored their bears traditional colors like white, brown, and black. My son has always shied away from the traditional, the “boring.”
When we get home, C.J. dashes up the stairs to his Monster High–themed bedroom to change out of his school clothes and into his pink Hello Kitty skirt and white lace tank top. Every day I can almost hear and feel him exhale when he changes out of his “school clothes” and into his “dress‑up clothes.” It’s as if, for the first time all day, he is truly comfortable. He clips on his pink rhinestone butterfly earrings and, as he flits down the stairs holding a Barbie doll, I catch a glimpse of his Superman boxer briefs.
As I cook dinner, he helps himself to a fresh piece of white paper and sketches what looks like a girl with long red hair, full pink lips in the shape of a puffy heart, a blue dress, rainbow tights, red shoes, a purple tiara, hazel green eyes, and a dozen freckles that rest on the bridge of her feminine nose. I don’t have to ask who the girl in the picture is; I know that it is my son. I’d recognize him anywhere.
C.J. is gender nonconforming, gender creative, gender fluid, gender independent, gender variant, has gender identity disorder, or whatever you prefer to call it. For more than half of his life, my son hasn’t conformed to traditional gender norms. As C.J. explains it, he’s “a boy who likes girl stuff and wants to be treated like a girl.”
My firstborn son, Chase, arrives home from flag football practice, bounding through the door, dropping his backpack in the middle of the kitchen floor as he moves toward the fridge for a snack. As I tell him that dinner is almost ready and snacking is not an option, I kiss the top of his head. He is sweaty and smells like elementary school and pigskin practicea mix of playground, lunch, number-two pencils, leather, and wet grass.
Chase is all boy and always has been. He’s like his dad in that respect. My husband, Matt, is my high-school sweetheart and has been for more than eighteen years. He’s an Irishman with a heart of gold hidden underneath his tough-guy facade and ever-present scowl. He has delicious strawberry blonde hair, light blue eyes, and broad, strong shoulders. He’s a guy’s guy with a motorcycle, oversized truck, classic car, pool table, dartboard, and kegerator.
Matt and I thought, when we had a second boy, that we would just get more of the same, that when Chase finished a particular phase or stage, C.J. would enter it and we’d do it all over again. We thought wrong.
We thought that our two boys might have slightly different interests. One might like baseball more, while the other preferred soccer. One might like LEGOs, while the other preferred Hot Wheels. We anticipated that their taste in “boy things” might differ slightly. What we didn’t anticipate was that one of our boys might like “girl toys,” “girl clothes,” and hanging out with girls in general. We never, in a million years, thought that we would have a boy who was a girl at heart.
On the gender-variation spectrum of super-macho-masculine on the left all the way to super-girly-feminine on the right, C.J. slides fluidly in the middle; he’s neither all pink nor all blue. He’s a muddled mess or a rainbow creation, depending on how you look at it. Matt and I have decided to see the rainbow, not the muddle. But we didn’t always see it that way.
Initially, the sight of our son playing with girl toys or wearing girl clothes made our chests tighten, forged a lump in our throats, and, at times, made us want to hide him. There was anger, anxiety, and fear. We’ve evolved as parents as our youngest son has evolved into a fascinating, vibrant person who is creative with gender. Sometimes, when I think of how we behaved as parents early in C.J.’s gender nonconformity, I’m ashamed and embarrassed.
It was like watching somebody come alive, watching a flower bloom, watching a rainbow cross the sky. It was the day that C.J. discovered Barbie. He was two and a half years old.
One late fall afternoon, as I was doing some cleaning, I found a boxed Barbie in the depths of my closet and tossed her on my bed.
I wobbled and nearly fell off my stepladder at C.J.’s shriek.
“It’s Barbie,” I said, regaining my balance.
This particular Barbie was pretty fabulous. It was Mattel’s 50th Anniversary Bathing Suit Barbie. She was a modernized version of the original 1959 doll, with a two-piece, black-and-white bikini trimmed with her signature color pink; pink hoop earrings; a long blonde ponytail; and a pink cell phone.
“I want to open she!” C.J. declared.
He held the box as he jumped up and down, up and down, up and down. I’m sure he gave Barbie a concussion. I hesitated. I had been trained well by my mother; you don’t open a boxed Barbie if you can at all help it. I was a little annoyed; I was going to open the box and take Barbie out, and my son was going to play with her for a few seconds and move on to something else bright and shiny. Then I’d be left with a depreciated piece of plastic. But his face, his sweet excited face could convince me to do worse things. We opened her.
In that instant, our lives changed forever in a way that we never expected. In our family’s history there is now B.B. (Before Barbie) and A.B. (After Barbie). Never underestimate the power of an eleven-and-a-half-inch woman.
Of course, at that exact moment, I wasn’t aware that our lives were changing. I couldn’t have predicted the magnitude of C.J.’s actions or mine. I figured that C.J. would play with Barbie for a day, maybe two, and lose interestas he had with all of the other toys he had encountered in his short life. I was wrong; Barbie has been a constant in his life since that day. Oh, my son wasn’t dabbling; he was hard-core from the start. C.J. had found his life’s passionand he wasn’t even three.
Matt arrived home from work at the police department to spy a big-busted blonde in his youngest son’s grip. He shot me a look that said, What the hell is that? I replied with a glance that whispered, Settle down. We’ll talk about it later.
Matt changed out of his uniform and sat on the living room floor next to C.J., who was sitting criss-cross-applesauce and trying his hardest to put clothes back on a naked Barbie.
“What do you got there, buddy?” Matt asked C.J.
C.J.’s eyes lit up and a huge grin crossed his face as he excitedly described the doll in great detail to his father. I smiled from my spot at the kitchen sink.
Later that night, after C.J. and Chase were asleep, Matt shared with me the unease he’d felt when he saw his son playing with a doll. Having grown up with no sisters, he’d never even had a Barbie in his house before and couldn’t remember ever touching one. It didn’t feel right to him, though it didn’t feel completely wrong either. After all, C.J. was just a child and Barbie was just a toy.
It was the first of thousands of conversations we’ve had in the privacy of our bedroom late at night as we’ve tried to figure out how best to parent a boy who, at times, is clearly more girl.
“My brother played with Barbies,” I reasoned with Matt, reminding myself and trying to squash the indescribable feelings of unease we were flirting with. “And he turned out fine.”
Matt gave me a look that expanded on my last sentence. Fine and gay.
Of course C.J.’s zeal for Barbie reminded me of my brother, Michael.
My brother and I had a bad Barbie habit as kids. While other kids we knew were committed to karate, baseball, piano, and dance, we were committed to playing with Barbies. We did it all the time, just as I assumed all brothers and sisters did. I didn’t realize until much later in life that my family’s definition of “normal” was different from other families’.
On any given weekend Michael and I would convert the entire floor of the front family room into a fabulous world for our Barbies. There was a wardrobe area and a styling area for accessories, hair, and makeup. We arranged the miniature furniture to create a spacious four-bedroom, one-story, ranch-style home, since we weren’t fortunate enough to possess the Dream House or even the Malibu Beach House. We convinced ourselves that ours was way better anyway, because it was custom-built, our lot size was bigger, and we could keep our brown plastic horse in our backyard.
Sometimes we’d create a mall, and our Barbies, Kens, Skippers, and Midges would all go shopping and eat in the food court, where some one-off Barbie who had suffered some sort of disfigurement (such as a bad haircut, a lost limb, or general disrepair) would take their order and serve them lunch from Hot Dog on a Stick.
I called my brother.
“Guess what C.J. found when I was cleaning out my closet?” I asked.
“No, you idiot, he found one of my Barbies.”
“You still have Barbies?! How come you never get them out when I come over?” he said, his feelings genuinely hurt, as if I sat my thirtysomething-year-old ass around playing Barbies all day every day and then hid them when he visited.
“It’s one Barbie. Mom just gave it to me. It’s the fiftieth-anniversary Barbie,” I said, trying to get to the point.
“How come she didn’t get me one? This is just like when we were kids; you always got the Barbies and I didn’t. I got footballs. I hate footballs.”
“This isn’t about you. C.J. found the Barbie and loves her. He’s obsessed,” I explained.
“Oh,” my brother said quietly. “What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know,” I said, although I knew exactly what I thought it meant: my two-and-a-half-year-old son was gay.
For days after C.J. discovered her, Barbie never left his side. When I’d do a final bed check at night before I retired for the evening to watch reality television and sneak chocolate when no one was looking, I’d see his full head of auburn hair sticking out above his covers. Next to him there would be a tiny tuft of blonde hair sticking out as well.
The next time we were at Target and near the toy aislewhich I’ve always tried to pass at warp speed so the kids don’t notice and beg me to buy them somethingC.J. wanted to see “Barbie stuff.” I led him to the appropriate aisle and he stood there transfixed, not touching a thing, just taking it all in. He was so overwhelmed that he didn’t ask to buy a single thing. He finally walked away from the aisle speechless, as if he had just seen something so magical and majestic that he needed time to process it.
He had, that day, discovered the pink aisles of the toy department. We had never been down those aisles; we had only frequented the blue aisles, when we ventured down the toy aisles at all. As far as C.J. was concerned, I had been hiding half of the world from him.
I felt bad about that, like I had deprived him because of my assumptions and expectations that he was a boy and boys liked boy things. Matt and I had noticed that C.J. didn’t really like any of the toys we provided for him, which were all handed down from his brother. We noticed that C.J. didn’t go through the normal boy toy addictions that Chase had gone through: he couldn’t care less about balls, cars, dinosaurs, superheroes, The Wiggles, Bob the Builder, or Thomas the Tank Engine. What did he like to play with? We didn’t worry ourselves much about finding the answer (a case of the second-born child not getting fussed over quite like the firstborn); we trusted that in time something would draw him in. Which it did. It just wasn’t at all what we were expecting.
At about the eighteen to twenty-four-month mark of a child’s life, the gender-neutral toys disappear and toys that are marketed specifically to boys or to girls take over. We didn’t realize it until later, but that divide in the toy world and our house being filled with only boy toys left C.J. a little lost at playtime. We and the rest of society had been pushing masculine stuff on him and enforcing traditional gender norms, when all he wanted was to brush long blonde hair and dress, undress, and re-dress Barbie, occasionally rubbing her boobs for comfort as some rub a rabbit’s foot for good luck.
Meet the Author
Lori Duron is the author of Raising My Rainbow: Adventures in Raising a Fabulous, Gender Creative Son (Broadway, September 2013). The first parenting memoir to chronicle the journey of raising a gender nonconforming child, the book is based on her popular blog of the same name. RaisingMyRainbow.com has more than two million readers in 173 countries, including gender studies students and faculty at more than 50 college and universities in the U.S., Canada and the U.K. Duron and her blog have twice been named one of BlogHer’s Voices of the Year; one of Ignite Social Media’s “100 Women Bloggers You Should be Reading;” one of Circle of Moms “Top 25 SoCal Moms;” and one of Parents Magazine’s blogs that are “Most Likely To Change The World.” Publishers Weekly recently named Raising My Rainbow one of the Best Books of 2013.
Duron and her blog have earned the attention of a variety of media outlets including: The TODAY Show, CNN, Time, Anderson Cooper, People, BBC, MSNBC, The New York Times, The Huffington Post, Psychology Today, Fox News, Out, The Advocate, Newsweek, and The Atlantic. Duron lives with her husband and two children in a happy, messy home in Orange County, California.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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Raising My Rainbow is full of optimism. Author Lori Duron takes us inside the world of her gender creative son. He likes pink. He wears a nightgown to bed. He plays with dolls. He paints his nails. All of this Duron accepts with love and courage. There wasn’t one boring page in the entire book and I feel better about life having read it.
Raising My Rainbow is a moving story filled with love of the nonconformist. It is inspiring the way Lori Duron loves her son despite the fact he doesn’t conform to normal boyhood type interests. He loves to wear pink tutus and play with Disney princess dolls and Duron makes sure to let everyone know that is A-OK. I loved this book.
This is a FANTASTIC book! We have a son who is gender-nonconforming. I finally have a name for who he is. Reading this book was like reading about our family. I got it Tuesday and finished it today. With every sentence and chapter I read, I kept saying "Yes!", "Oh! That's us!", "Exactly!". I kept stopping at parts that was JUST like our son, and would read the paragraphs to my husband. He'd stand there, smile, and say, "That's our Ben!" It was so nice to read it and see the similarities. My husband is going to read it next, and he's more excited then I was when I first got it! Thank you, Lori, for your blog, the book, and being THE resource for the rest of us.
I have always felt the same way about all of my grand children that the author feels about her Rainbow. They are the most precious thing a person can have and you unconditionally love them. You can't give them back. I commend her for writing the book and reading it has changed the way I will think about people that are different.
I think that C.J. is the luckiest child on the planet. He was born to parents whose only goal in life is to make sure that their children are loved without reservation, happy, safe, and educated to be tolerant productive adults. Lori Duron is an example to EVERY parent on the planet regardless of religion, creed, color, etc. In fact, this book should be MANDATORY reading for anyone who wants a child, because you don't always get what you expect, whether you wanted to or not. READ THIS BOOK RIGHT NOW!!!!!
Although an avid reader of 'mommy blogs' as DH calls them, I hadn't heard of this one. I don't suspect either of my kiddos in this predicament, and although I have no fear if either of them do lean in a more gender nonconforming bent, I found this book quite insightful. It reminded me to not push my own ideas and issues onto my kids and let them be them. In fact, this means allowing my daughter to delve deeper into the world of lace and glitter and pink (although I cannot get over my disdain for Barbie or Princesses) I need to let her explore her own tastes and likes, so thanks.
This was a very enjoyable read. It is not only about the challenges of raising a gender nonconforming son but also parenthood itself. Duron's honesty, introspection and humor shine through brilliantly in the narrative. I read the book straight through in one sitting and was unable to put it down. It is a very useful contribution to the discussion of gender in society which, for a change, does not come from an academic background. This accessibility opens the discussion in a way that can contribute a great deal to the understanding of gender among broader sections of parents and the population as a whole. Disclaimer - I received an Advance Review Copy of this book from the publisher through Goodreads First Reads.
I read Duron's book not knowing what to expect, and wound up loving it. What a funny, sweet, open and loving book. By the end, I'm filled with optimism for the human race and I'm rooting for Duron, her husband and two sons.
and funny at times. Written by a very caring parent. I learned much. This should be required reading for anyone going to school to be a teacher. And a book for current educators to read and discuss. Also social workers, psychologists, physicians --especially pediatricians. And parents. I was saddened by the school's assistance. Not much has changed since I taught in the 80's. Loved the descriptions of the "Mafia Moms"! Thanks for the laughs!
Duron give readers an inside look into the struggles and joys of raising a child who goes against the norms of society. Hilarious at times, C.J. goes about life his own way, no matter what others might think of him liking girl clothes and girl toys and obviously keeps his parents on their toes. I loved this book for a few reasons. One, it’s a perfect place to start if you know nothing of the LGBTQ community or gender non-conforming individuals. Two, it urges understanding and tolerance to those in the LGBTQ community and their families. Three, the book shows the devastating consequences of children who are bullied because they are or a family member is LGBTQ or gender non-conforming. And four, it’s a pioneer in its own right; a resource to help future families and children who are gender non-conforming and a support system. Highly recommended.
Like the content, like her acceptance, but her younger son seems like a self-entitled brat. Maybe it's her writing, but she makes her older son sound down right benevolent whereas with her younger son she seems overly indulgent simply because society is against him. I worry about the struggles he'll face with the attitude he seems to possess, not because of his being a gender-bender, but because of his overt narcissism.
What is UP
I love this book!
Sorry it took so long to write back. Lol. Anyway well if you are planning on having a long distance relationship and our worried that skyping wont be enough then take turns visiting each other every month or two in person. This may work and it may not you have a 75%-100% that it will work. Well peace out - brooklyn &starf
When I was 8 years old, my family and I went to go pick up my brother from church. As we were waiting for him to get done, I saw a boy about 13 years old playing basketball. He had black hair, brown eyes, and was downright gorgeous. I started to have a crush on him right then and there. Its been 6 years since then and now I'm 14. I still like him, but even more now. Because its been 6 years I've now seen what he acts like: he's kind, sweet, strong, athletic, courageous, slightly possessive, and more attractive then he was before. Now I have one problem. I'm in 8th grade and 14 this year. He's a freshman in college and 19. But I'm so deep in love that I can't get out of it! What do I do??? -Abi