Watching Gender Shift Through a Christmas Wish List

From flannels to Taylor Swift: On gender, growing up, and what my child asked for in December

Photo by Patty Zavala on Unsplash

I wrote this essay a couple of years ago on Medium, and it still feels true—maybe more so. Sharing it here as we head into another December, with all its lists, rituals, and quiet revelations.

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I destroyed my children years ago.

Or at least, that’s how it feels every December.

Perhaps it’s because of my Jewish upbringing—one where I longed for the excess of Christmas—that my children came down the stairs on December 25th to a tree overflowing with gifts. I go a bit crazy. I know it’s not exactly right, but I love this childhood tradition: a day of pure indulgence, where giving delights me almost as much as it delights them.

My children worked painstakingly on their Christmas wish lists, starting months in advance. Even by mid-December, they were still updating them. It was kind of nuts.

But it was also so much fun.

And every year, I learned something new about them by studying what they wished for.

I always anticipated that their lists would change as they grew. I remember the first year neither child asked for stuffed animals or dolls. I got misty. I ran to our local toy store like a fool and bought each of them a tiny stuffie to sit atop their stockings—a squirrel and a rat, if memory serves.

They might have been ready to let them go.
I wasn’t.

What I didn’t anticipate was that my younger child would change their gender—or how clearly their wish lists would track that shift. Parenting keeps us on our toes in all sorts of unexpected ways. I might not have been ready, but thanks to their meticulous lists, the Christmas gifts kept pace with who my child was becoming.

My child came out as genderfluid in 2020, just ahead of their eleventh birthday, and then moved through a series of gender and sexual identities over the next few years: genderfluid, nonbinary, neoboy, bisexual, pansexual, lesbian, trans. Hair was chopped off. Color became fluid—blue, red, bleach blonde. They avoided most tween markers of femininity: makeup, perfume, dresses.

For a couple of seasons, their Christmas wish lists reflected that shift. Clothes were oversized and gender-neutral. There were lots of plaid flannel shirts. Toys and art supplies still dominated.

I tried to keep up.
Sometimes I got it wrong.

One year I bought them an adorable kawaii kitty t-shirt in nonbinary flag colors, thinking I was being supportive and clever. Unfortunately, at that exact moment, their identity was genderfluid—not nonbinary. My child was gracious, didn’t wear it, and didn’t say anything until we were well past the return window. I ended up donating it to a friend whose nonbinary child gave it the love it deserved.

I just kept trying.

And I kept making sure my child knew I loved and supported them, no matter what—
even if I occasionally bought the wrong t-shirt for Christmas.

By the end of 2023, I found myself reviewing my now thirteen-year-old child’s wish list and marveling at how… well, feminine it was.

It made sense.

My child didn’t talk much about pronouns anymore. When asked, she brushed it off—“whatever, I don’t care, mom”—before launching into a more interesting topic. She said either she or they was fine, so I vacillated between the two, though admittedly I leaned toward she more often. It’s my first language. And I trusted my child to tell me if that ever changed. They’d earned that trust.

In the absence of pronoun exploration, her interests had settled into something decidedly girlish—and her wish list reflected it.

Taylor Swift CDs.
Taylor Swift vinyl.
Taylor Swift t-shirts.

My youngest had followed her older sister’s musical footsteps her whole life, but this year she came into her own tastes. Taylor Swift was the dominant voice in the earbuds she wore nearly constantly. I didn’t mind. What a powerful first musical crush. What a role model. My only regret was my complete inability to secure concert tickets—three cities, zero wins. At least we got to Taylor-gate.

Then there were the clothes. Denim miniskirts. Dresses. Cropped tops. Brandy Melville. Makeup and perfume topped the list. And beads—so many beads. She’d become an accomplished jewelry maker this year, producing not just Taylor Swift friendship bracelets, but enough handmade adornments to accessorize all of Seattle.

What did this mean, in terms of my child’s gender journey?

I had no idea.

We were parenting in unprecedented times, without much of a roadmap. Perhaps by next Christmas my child would pivot again—new pronouns, a new name, a new way of being. Or perhaps she’d landed where she was: her chosen name, she/they pronouns, a Christmas morning heavy with Taylor Swift merch and glittering beads.

As I worked my way down the list, wrapping each gift in sparkly paper, I felt nothing but gratitude.

What I did know was this: my child felt at peace with their fluidity, whether it was in motion or paused.

My child knew she was supported and loved every step of the way, through every version of herself.

Oh, what joy.

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Greetings!

I’m Dana DuBois, a GenX word nerd living in the Pacific Northwest with a whole lot of little words to share. I’m a founder and editor of three publications: Pink Hair & Pronouns, Three Imaginary Girls, and genXy. I write across a variety of topics but parenting, music and pop culture, relationships, and feminism are my favorites. Em-dashes, Oxford commas, and well-placed semi-colons make my heart happy.

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