When I was little, I used to take a toy to bed with me. But...I'd feel so guilty about all the other toys left out of the bed in the cold toycupboard, that sometimes I put them all in my bed. Everything from the teddies, to the dolls, the toy soldiers, and giant soft dinosaur, and even the rockinghorse, perched precariously on the end of the bed. It was basically me, under a mountain of toys.

Eventually, I figured out a way to outsource my responsibilities. I invented an invisible fairy helper, called Susan, to whom I delegated bedtime care of the toys.

Problem solved *smiles*

I played with everything as a kid. I had a wendy house, and a Tiny Tears doll, a chemistry set, toy guns and water pistols, skipping ropes, He-Man and Skeletor figures (with pull back punching mechanism), toy soldiers and a cowboys and Indians set, a bendy rubber Spiderman doll (which my bro adapted for me, by drilling a hole through one of the hands so he could slip down a wire, spidey style), a toy dog that jumped and barked, an Atari games system (pong and skeet ftw).

I played war games and house. I liked them both.

My big brother loved dangerous sports and risk taking. But he also loved cooking, and reading for hours.

Both of us were expected to do housework. Both of my parents did housework and cooking. Not saying it was shared equally, and I think it was a lot more traditional before I came along. But by the time I was around, they had a fairly equal relationship in that way. When mum went into nursing, dad took on the role of childcare during the times when she was on odd shifts.

I always found it really odd that so many of my girl schoolfriends were expected to do housework whilst their brothers were exempted. But that was fairly standard in many northern homes in the 70s/80s.

@tw: the reason i gave the age of 14 is that this is the age British schoolchildren choose their subject direction for gcse exams. I can't tell you exactly when I fell off maths and science. I can only say that by the age of 14, in other words by the time I had to choose my subjects, I didn't really want to continue with science.

All sorts of things were going on then. I'd had a year out of school through serious ill-health - during which time I experienced the fear of possible fatality. I had the first of a series of breakdowns. I had become the target of serious and relentless bullying from boys and girls and was desperately trying to find some kind of place for myself within that school community.

I also went through puberty along with everyone else, so yes, maybe there were physical changes that affected my inclinations. But I don't see that as any more likely than the idea that I started to become more conscious of my gender and sexuality and therefore more conscious of what that meant in my society. Possibly intensified and made more urgent by the crippling self-consciousness.

And my 'Give me a fucking break' response was not to say that the hypothesis put forward is wrong. Just that it is wild speculation and entirely unprovable, yet stated as fact and as the starting point for a lot of unscientific nonsense paraded as viable scientific theory.

I think the lesson of Adam Carolla, Undertoad, and countless millions of other children is that you can't change who your children are. Whether you have a touchy-feely girly-girl who cries at dog food commercials, or a rough-and-tumble boy who pretends to blow his friends' faces off, you can't make them more balanced and androgynous any more than you can make your gay kid straight.

... but you can leave the door open for new and different possibilities that the individual child can embrace or reject. Both my girls are good in math and sciences but lack an innate passion for them. In my own life, I've found a few niches that make me happy. One is in the classroom with young children which is a job for the ladies, another is with a saw, and another with a sword. We just have to be sure doors are left open so people are less miserable in their day to day existence.

Well said. There's a difference between being who you are, and not knowing what you're missing. Plus, even if they still reject all the same choices the closed doors would have kept from them, the simple act of defining themselves is good for their long-term character development.

Beautifully put!

And this is something that matters for boys and girls. And its important for us as a society. Because we don't just risk losing potentially brilliant scientists and engineers from the girl's side of things, we also risk losing potentially brilliant carers, teachers and nurses from the boys side.

And we risk moulding individuals to a set of experiences that don't allow them to fulfil their own personal potential.

Carolla regularly talks about his twins and how remarkably different they are, for having an identical upbringing. The girl is the risk-taker who, at age six, wanted and got a zip-line installed at their house. The boy, complete opposite, bawls at the idea of going on a rollercoaster.

On the left from back to front is Carolla, his boy, and his girl. I think it's Space Mountain. Terror at Disneyland. At his age I would have done the same thing.

http://cellar.org/2014/carollacoasterpic.jpg

I want a zip wire outside my house.
A pink one. Who do I talk to about that?

If you want pink or hot pink, any painter will do. If you want neon pink, you'll have to talk to an electrician.

My buddy near Saratoga Springs has a long one. http://www.ziplinegear.com/store/pro...FaE7Ogod7T8Afg

I think I read about him on a toilet wall...

No doubt he has appeared in such places!

New study out of UC Santa Cruz: Girls who play with Barbie see fewer career options for themselves.

Nonsense, all girls want to be Princesses.

I read, or was read fairy stories as a little girl.
I never wanted to be a Princess, because I grew up in a country which actually had Princesses, and they were normal women who had to observe rigid protocol, live in the public eye and be nice to everybugger.
They weren't especially beautiful with big eyes and tiny waists, they couldn't sing or charm woodland animals and they certainly didn't live happily ever after.

I blame Disney.
Then again I blame him for the smell of cat pee in my room.


Oh sorry, that's Dizney
(Diz's original name which I changed as soon as he came to live with me because I dislike the cartoons so much.)