You’d think that since I’ve been through this once before, watching my child discover sexism is alive and well wouldn’t bother me so much. But two nights later, I’m still bothered by my 8-year old’s indignation. And I shake my head that the stuff that bothered me in 1971, when I was 8, is still present.
Two nights ago, I was working on a writing assignment. My youngest was watching television, Nickelodeon, when she came running into my room.
“Mommy. WHY do they ALWAYS SAY that boys are better at sports than girls?” She was near shouting, and there was hurt in her voice.
Before I could answer her, she continued. “Why do they say that if you are a bad thrower, that you THROW LIKE A GIRL?” Now she was really mad. Her older sister, an 8th grader, plays varsity softball for the high school. The youngest has watched her sister play multiple sports, and watched this winter as her older sister’s all- girls soccer team played in their same age group boys’ division–and watched them go undefeated and become division champs. She has seen girl athletes kick boys’ butts–regularly.
She then hopped up on my bed. “Watch me, Mommy. Watch how I throw.” And then she proceeded to throw an imaginary softball in an overhand arc that looked like it would nail the runner out at first base.
She hopped down on the bed. “It just makes me so mad.”
These kinds of mothering moments are hard for me. I want to talk about insitutionalized sexism, and sexuality, and systems of oppression and patriarchy. But that’s not what an 8-year old wants to hear.
“Honey,” I said. “Some boys are afraid of girls. And it makes them feel better to be mean. That’s why they say mean things about girls.”
She nodded her head. “I know that,” she said, and bounded out of the room to practice her cartwheels in the living room.
