The more I looked, the sicker I felt. I couldn't force the water in my eyes to stay in their ocean-blue prisons. I couldn't let my mind read all of those words on the walls, my sad sea orbs watch all of those smilingn faces and memories of celebration.

    'It's a boy!' read one blue Congratulations! card. Then there was a picture of my overjoyed mother, holding me in her arms. On my head was a striped blue hat, and I was cuddled in a light blue blanket with a hand-sewn image of a soft brown bear. Around the bear's warm-brown neck was a baby-blue scarf. Blue. Everywhere I looked, I was represented by one color. Blue.

    How was I supposed to tell them now, after seeing all these pictures, these cards, these bright messages, these happy faces? How could I ruin all that? How could I, the first boy to be born in my family in two generations, break the news that I was switching to pink? As much as everybody else did, I didn't like blue. It just wasn't me.

    "My personal favorite is the picture where you fell asleep in your sister's arms," Dad beamed from behind me. I jumped slightly back, startled, and observed the proud grin on my father's face. Did I really want to risk the existence of that grin? "You were such a sweet boy."

    'Yes, Dad,' I wanted to say. 'Yes, I was such a sweet boy.'

    "Your mom would always dress you up in these cute little hats, and she would yell at me every time I touched them. You were too precious to be touched by a slob like me. But you don't have to wear those silly old baby hats anymore. They're not manly enough, am I right?" Dad chuckled at himself, not noticing the awkward air in the room.

    "Dad, can I tell you something?" I started, unable to stop myself.

    "Sure, anything. What's up, son?"

    "Can you not call me that, please?" My voice was starting to wobble.

    "Why? Ben, is there something wong?"

    "Can I change my name?" I squeaked, trying to dissolve the tense knot in my chest. Dad furrowed his brows but left a hint of a confused-but-amused smile playing on his lips.

    "That's all right, I guess, as long as it's nothing too crazy. What're you planning?"

    I could barely look him in the eye now. I stared at my feet instead, encased in the bulky blue boys' sneakers, clashing against the beautiful scarlet floor. "Bella."

    "What?" Dad said, as if he didn't hear correctly. "You want to change your name to Bill?"

    "No," I replied wearily. "I want to be Bella."

    Any hint of a smile on Dad's face completely disappeared. "But you're Benjamin," he insisted.

    "No, Dad. I'm not." I could no longer breathe; my breaths and sobs were too tangled. "You said I could change my name—"

    "Don't cry," Dad said. He didn't say it softly or soothingly, but more like a command.

    "I'm sorry, but I can't take it anymore. Everything is blue and sad and depressing! I want to have some pink in my life, some happiness, some confidence... I'm not Benjamin, Dad."

    Dad looked like he was crumbling to pieces. "Are you saying you want to be a...?" I nodded, unable to say anything else. I flung myself onto him then, slinging my arms over his neck, begging silently for him to comfort me, to hug me back. He just stood there, stiff.

    "Daddy, please," I cried. "I didn't mean to, I just—"

    "Shh," Dad put a finger to his lips, and a flicker of hope lightened my heart for a second. "Stop sniffling. I'll get you some tissues, you'll go wash your face, and you'll calm down. Alright?"

    I parted my lips, about to thank him for understanding.

    "Because men don't cry, Benjamin."