There he was, a precocious 6 year old, who was excitedly planning his 7th Birthday Party. There you were, his mother, the source of the beginnings of the Man he will be. You... You disappointed me today. I know, it really shouldn't be any of my business, but you did disappoint me today. You had tools and tool belts. Hammers, nails, rulers, things to build that fort/tree house/lair with. He chatters away with his Dad about the games he wants to play, the cake, ice cream. How he is going to be just like Bob the Builder, and his friends too. He sees the tool belts and asks what they are for. You tell him they are for the hammer & and nails, so the boys can carry them around. Thats when you said it, that is when you disappointed me. "The girls can decorate the tools bags," you turn and look down at him and say with assurance, "Because girls aren't as strong as you boys. They can't dig in the dirt as well as the boys can." He replies, "Then I don't want girls at my party anymore."
You told him women aren't as strong as men. I wanted to tell him we are. But I didn't say anything, I couldn't, I had been holding my breath this whole time. I turned and walked away, gasping for breath. Is this how we do it? Is this one of the ways we teach sexism to our children? "Don't cry, are you a girl? Be a man, stop crying!" "Girls can't do the same things you can. Girls aren't as strong as boys."
For a girl who grew up with 4 brothers and a father who had a construction business I knew your words were false. I dug in the dirt, I could hammer nails, and did. I would be right there beside my brothers and Dad when we collected fire wood and tossed the logs into the truck. I helped put a new roof on the garage. I helped put an addition on someone trailer. I went golfing and to archery shoots, and hung out at hunting camp. I have peed standing up, awkward, but it can be done if the need arises. I watched action movies, and I'll still go see an action movie over a romance one any day. I've gotten hit with rocks, golf clubs, soft balls, baseballs. Broken my nose two different times, and busted my middle finger and tail bone. I've played water balloon fights with my much larger brothers. I've played slug bug with them, and delivered some pretty gnarly blows and bruises, to their forearms as they did mine. I've played catch with my Dad. Soccer (world football) with the Brazilian foreign exchange student that stayed with us. I've had darts in my shins by way of a stupid game of "How close can we throw the darts near each other's feet without getting stabbed?"
I still wear dresses, I still wear red lipstick, my favorite color is pink. I'm not one of the guys, I'm the Sister. I love my brothers. They were there when I had nightmares, when I almost drowned, and they saved my life. They taught me that tough men do cry. That strong arms are gentle and safe when a hug is needed. That a hammer hitting them in the thumb hurts just as much as one hitting mine. They taught me to break limits, and to know my own, and that mine are not based on the fact that I am female. I am thankful that my nieces and nephews are being raised by these same men that I grew up with. Because I know, that they have learned as much from me as I have from them. I have tough nieces that ride four wheelers and mini bikes, and just tear up the yard. I have sensitive nephews that pray for others to be safe when they hear a siren for a fire truck or ambulance. They are good kids, and I am proud to be their Aunt.
Children are sponges, give them the right things to soak up and they can turn out to be the best sorts of people...
Auntie Anne
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