Yesterday my three-year-old tripped at a play area and split open his eye. Boys are a whole new ballgame for me. My daughter has always been delicate—she prefers reading books and quietly playing with dolls. My son, on the other hand, lives up to every rough-and-tumble stereotype you can imagine: active, fearless, and unapologetically himself. When he fell and cut his eye, he didn’t cry—not even a sniffle. That is, until I told him he had to stop playing and go get stitches. Then the tears came in full force. But that’s just him; he’s incredibly resilient. I honestly don’t think he’s ever cried over a bad day, let alone a minor injury. And yet, despite his scrapes and bruises, he also has a tender side—he likes Barbies.
After the ER, stitches in place and a huge sigh of relief from Mama, we stopped for a much belated lunch. I pulled into a McDonald’s drive-thru to grab Happy Meals for my kids. As usual, the attendant asked if we wanted extra fries, apples, or dipping sauces. Then she added a question I’ve heard countless times before: “Is this meal for a boy or a girl?” With one child of each gender, I answered without much thought. But when I later opened the boxes, the weight of that question hit me hard: boys get Hot Wheels, girls get Barbies.
Handing the meals to my children, I immediately noticed my son’s disappointment as he watched his sister comb her doll’s hair. Seconds later, he asked for a Barbie too. Driving home, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much of the world is structured by arbitrary gender rules. Boys get to go shirtless at the beach; girls are told to cover up. Men can use open urinals; women vanish behind stalls. That single, seemingly harmless question at a fast-food counter suddenly felt like a powerful symbol: society expects boys to be bold, girls to be delicate, and everyone to follow scripts based on their bodies.
A week later, we returned to McDonald’s. I ordered two Happy Meals for girls and handed one to my son. Because why shouldn’t a boy want a Barbie? What’s wrong with a corporation asking, “Do you want a car or a doll?” instead of assuming the answer based on anatomy? Let children choose. My bruised-eye boy likes Barbies, and playing with them doesn’t make him any less of a boy. If anything, it might help him grow into a compassionate, thoughtful man. Boys can be bold and brazen while also being gentle caretakers.
So, McDonald’s, our go-to rescue when Mom’s too busy to cook: next time my kids approach the counter, list all the toys and let them decide. Don’t just look at their bodies and assume. If we want an inclusive world—where children can choose their professions, passions, and ways of being—we have to start young. Let kids explore who they are. That’s the real secret sauce, one Barbie or Hot Wheel at a time.
