No Girls Allowed
Dear Vancouver, I miss you.
There has been the occasional time over the last few months that I find myself missing living in the city, even though I am definitely in love with living in the country and with the country lifestyle. However, my blood has been boiling for the better part of the last 24 hours; in fact, I was woken up by my daughter last night, and after settling her back down, I could not go to sleep for another hour. I laid in bed, fuming, then scheming, then planning, and then I quickly went back to fuming.
I grew up in a household where there was not a thing that boys could do that we were not also encouraged to do. (Aside from walking around the streets at night by ourselves and going to parties!) And for the most part, I can only remember hanging out with boys who didn't treat me like I didn't belong.
We grew up on a street where the younger kids next door were boys, the kids at the end of the cul-de-sac were boys, and our "best boys" (and Robin!) lived across the street and came to get us when there was a game going on outside.
Sure there were boys like my brother, and one of my best friends in high school who would have talked that talk just to get a rise out of me (not expecting that I may blog about just this topic later in life!) and they surely would have, but they did it out of love. Really, they did. Right?
The more I think about it now, the more I just adore those boys for not treating me any differently, because, until yesterday, it never occurred to me that there was another kind of boy in my small town, in my circle.
I realize that I am making a bit of a mountain out of what many would call a "molehill," but, to me, it does matter. Yesterday, girls were told that they were not allowed to play with the boys. That we were more than welcome to organize a game of our own, but no, we were not welcome to play with the boys. And I can honestly tell you, that this is the first time I can remember this happening to me in my life, and it feels crappy. To all of those girls who were too shy to step out and try to play with the boys, or who tried and were told no, and didn't try again, I sympathize with you today.
The first thing that came to mind was the old Berenstain Bears book, "No Girls Allowed," and a picture that would look something like the one above, hanging on a tree house. Of all the pictures I looked through before I started writing this blog, this one seemed to fit just perfectly because of the backwards 'R." A letter, and a sentiment, that must come from a small boy, who thinks that girls have cooties and that girls can't do anything as good as boys can.
In my little bubble, my naive little world that I have been living in, a small boy who thinks girls have cooties is the only kind of boy who would possibly say that girls aren't allowed. In this imaginary place that I live in, I actually thought that men didn't seriously say things like this, unless of course, they were joking.
But yes, they do exist; in my small town, in MY old high school and in MY old gymnasium. Yes, they are in capitals because that school is mine, and so is that gym. I grew up in that gym, I learned how to play basketball in that gym, playing with the girls, and playing with the boys - playing with whoever the hell I wanted to play with. I learned how to be me in that gym, how to have confidence in myself in that gym, how to work my ass off in that gym, how to stand up to and play against someone bigger than me, and stronger than me in that gym. And now, it seems so disgustingly inappropriate for a grown man to tell me and my old teammates that we can not play basketball with the boys, in MY gym.
Dear Vancouver, I miss you. I miss being able to just be me and being totally and completely accepted for it. I miss being able to go play basketball every Sunday with men and women. I miss being able to play against men who played on the National Team and even men who played in the NBA for a season or two. I miss being able to play with women who played university basketball and college basketball, and who played on the National Team. But what I miss most about my Kerrisdale League is playing with those people on the SAME court as people who played basketball in high school and who have only been playing rat ball since. I miss there being equal respect for a woman on the court as for a man on the court. Equal respect for a woman who played high school basketball and a man who played in the NBA. Equal respect for whoever happened to be on the court because we all just had a love for basketball and just wanted to play.
When I moved to Chilliwack, I didn't think about how many different kinds of people are able to walk around the streets of Vancouver and just be accepted because they are PEOPLE. I forgot that, as much as I love my small hometown, it is a redneck town that still has many redneck ways.
I am so angered by this small act of exclusion; but angered in a way that will make me act. So I thank you, for excluding me and my friends, because something good is going to happen from this, and without small-minded people, perhaps big things don't happen.
There has been the occasional time over the last few months that I find myself missing living in the city, even though I am definitely in love with living in the country and with the country lifestyle. However, my blood has been boiling for the better part of the last 24 hours; in fact, I was woken up by my daughter last night, and after settling her back down, I could not go to sleep for another hour. I laid in bed, fuming, then scheming, then planning, and then I quickly went back to fuming.
I grew up in a household where there was not a thing that boys could do that we were not also encouraged to do. (Aside from walking around the streets at night by ourselves and going to parties!) And for the most part, I can only remember hanging out with boys who didn't treat me like I didn't belong.
We grew up on a street where the younger kids next door were boys, the kids at the end of the cul-de-sac were boys, and our "best boys" (and Robin!) lived across the street and came to get us when there was a game going on outside.
Sure there were boys like my brother, and one of my best friends in high school who would have talked that talk just to get a rise out of me (not expecting that I may blog about just this topic later in life!) and they surely would have, but they did it out of love. Really, they did. Right?
The more I think about it now, the more I just adore those boys for not treating me any differently, because, until yesterday, it never occurred to me that there was another kind of boy in my small town, in my circle.
I realize that I am making a bit of a mountain out of what many would call a "molehill," but, to me, it does matter. Yesterday, girls were told that they were not allowed to play with the boys. That we were more than welcome to organize a game of our own, but no, we were not welcome to play with the boys. And I can honestly tell you, that this is the first time I can remember this happening to me in my life, and it feels crappy. To all of those girls who were too shy to step out and try to play with the boys, or who tried and were told no, and didn't try again, I sympathize with you today.
The first thing that came to mind was the old Berenstain Bears book, "No Girls Allowed," and a picture that would look something like the one above, hanging on a tree house. Of all the pictures I looked through before I started writing this blog, this one seemed to fit just perfectly because of the backwards 'R." A letter, and a sentiment, that must come from a small boy, who thinks that girls have cooties and that girls can't do anything as good as boys can.
In my little bubble, my naive little world that I have been living in, a small boy who thinks girls have cooties is the only kind of boy who would possibly say that girls aren't allowed. In this imaginary place that I live in, I actually thought that men didn't seriously say things like this, unless of course, they were joking.
But yes, they do exist; in my small town, in MY old high school and in MY old gymnasium. Yes, they are in capitals because that school is mine, and so is that gym. I grew up in that gym, I learned how to play basketball in that gym, playing with the girls, and playing with the boys - playing with whoever the hell I wanted to play with. I learned how to be me in that gym, how to have confidence in myself in that gym, how to work my ass off in that gym, how to stand up to and play against someone bigger than me, and stronger than me in that gym. And now, it seems so disgustingly inappropriate for a grown man to tell me and my old teammates that we can not play basketball with the boys, in MY gym.
Dear Vancouver, I miss you. I miss being able to just be me and being totally and completely accepted for it. I miss being able to go play basketball every Sunday with men and women. I miss being able to play against men who played on the National Team and even men who played in the NBA for a season or two. I miss being able to play with women who played university basketball and college basketball, and who played on the National Team. But what I miss most about my Kerrisdale League is playing with those people on the SAME court as people who played basketball in high school and who have only been playing rat ball since. I miss there being equal respect for a woman on the court as for a man on the court. Equal respect for a woman who played high school basketball and a man who played in the NBA. Equal respect for whoever happened to be on the court because we all just had a love for basketball and just wanted to play.
When I moved to Chilliwack, I didn't think about how many different kinds of people are able to walk around the streets of Vancouver and just be accepted because they are PEOPLE. I forgot that, as much as I love my small hometown, it is a redneck town that still has many redneck ways.
I am so angered by this small act of exclusion; but angered in a way that will make me act. So I thank you, for excluding me and my friends, because something good is going to happen from this, and without small-minded people, perhaps big things don't happen.
Yikes! You ARE angry! But in a good way, I think. Never really thought about any of it in the way you have written about it but I know that if that had happened to me in my day my reaction would have been EXACTLY the same! Perhaps it's in your genes :) Love you!
ReplyDeleteI know exactly what you are talking about and my first reaction was, 'Why were we invited at all, then?' It IS strange and I think perhaps it is just his reaction out of overwhelm - not expecting the tourney to get so big and not knowing how to handle it. I hope. I can't wait to see what the something good is that is going to happen. Count me in!
ReplyDelete