Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, July 1, 1993 TAG: 9306300018
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BETH MACY
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
When I was old enough and responsible enough to make some money of my own, I began delivering newspapers, one of the first girls in my small Ohio town to do so. From age 11 on up, I bought all my own clothes with my paper-route money, and there wasn't a single frilly dress or blouse among them.
As any former paperboy or -girl knows, winter is the worst time for the job. I remember trying to ride my bike with my 20-pound bag of soggy, smelly newsprint on my shoulder, my Huffy 10-speed tires sliding out from under me on the snow and ice.
As any former paperboy or -girl also knows, winter does have its good side: Christmas tips.
I ran across a 1976 Christmas card the other day from one of my customers in an old scrapbook (I'm also a pack rat from way back). It was signed, "To the prettiest paper boy we've ever had."
The scrapbook was in an old box of memorabilia my mom brought to me recently, wanting to get it out of her attic and into mine.
It was a fun box to go through - old trophies from our high- school softball team, back before they started putting ponytails and breasts on the little gilded figurines, and they all looked the same: like guys.
I remembered wanting to fit in with the boys in the sixth grade so badly that I memorized all the baseball card stats for each of the Cincinnati Reds - including their birthdays. (I'll never forget that pitcher Mike LaCoss and I have the same birthday, a lucky coincidence that was sure to give me the sporting edge later in life, I thought.)
I remembered the humiliation of watching my male classmates develop big muscles and grow 4 inches that summer. Suddenly they could throw a football twice as far as me, and mine still wobbled.
But mostly I remembered how awful it all was, trying to be something you weren't just to play sports. Namely, the other sex.
Things have changed for the better, though, I think. A few weeks ago my husband and I walked down to Wasena Park to watch one of his junior-high students, a girl, play fast-pitch softball in one of the city recreation leagues.
We had a hard time finding her. (We learned the next day she'd had to miss the game.) But roaming from diamond to diamond, from Wasena to Smith parks looking for her, I got an eyeful of what it means to be a girl and play sports these days.
It looked a whole lot better than I remember it.
For one thing, there are so many different rec sports open to girls now. Younger girls can choose to play on boys' teams if they want to. (I remember how jealous I was when a girl classmate of mine made news by being the first girl to play Little League in our town.) And there are all-girl leagues for all kinds of sports.
Watching these girls proudly cheer each other on, I realized how much easier - and more socially acceptable - it is now to be a girl jock. What a difference equal access makes.
You don't have to be a tomboy anymore to be a girl and play sports. The word tomboy needn't even exist.
I got all misty-eyed watching the young pitchers whip the ball in - some of them faster than I remember our championship high- school pitchers pitching, even. For being at least four years younger than we were, they seemed to field and hit just as well, too.
It made me happy to know that a daughter of mine may some day inherit all the good life lessons I learned from years of playing team sports: to be competitive but fair, to show up on time every time, to always hustle to first base . . . even if your pop-up looks like a sure out.
And probably my most important lesson: It doesn't matter what side of town you're from or how much your parents make, everyone's the same the minute they step onto that playing field. Everyone's as good as her last play.
It made me even happier realizing that a daughter of mine won't someday have to pretend she's something other than what she is. She'll have that quirky, complicated set of traits we all have inside of us - some called feminine, some masculine.
Scabby knees, dresses and softball stirrups. Dolls, makeup and a baseball-card collection.
She'll play any game she wants, I hope, on the field and off.
Beth Macy, an outfielder, is a features department staff writer. Her column runs Thursdays.
by CNB