You're Lucky You Aren't A Boy

I never played sports as a kid. As a shy, awkward child, the thought of having to make new friends while experiencing pressure to perform terrified me. I expressed this to my parents, who were both understanding. My dad’s sympathy, however, came attached with a qualifier. He told me that, had I been a boy, he would have signed me up for a sport whether I liked it or not. "You're lucky you aren't a boy," he said.

Years later, one of my closest friends grappled with the same expectations my dad had warned me about. He had been playing baseball since he was little, coached and encouraged by his father. Our sophomore year of high school, after he completed a successful season of cross country, he decided he wanted to run track in the Spring instead of play baseball. The decision was easy for him but speaking it into existence was not. Baseball was a central part of his relationship with his father. He feared punishment and rejection for his choice and asked me to help him practice for the conversation. 

His dad was disappointed, and the shift away from baseball did change their relationship. Looking back, however, it amazes me how little agency my friend felt he had. For my friend’s dad, running long distance on a co-ed team could not compare to the more traditionally masculine role of pitcher of the baseball team. Sports and strength are central parts of hegemonic masculinity, and patriarchal expectations limit the scope of what kind of sports are appropriately masculine. I feel lucky that I was free to pursue what I loved: theater, and later cross country. If I had been assigned male, however, the story would be much different.