Happy to be a girl

Yesterday, on my way home from having lunch at Fairwood, I met Timothy and Peter. I hailed the two little neighbor boys, bedecked in jackets and gloves a little more warmly than one would have expected for such a spring-like day, asking them enthusiastically if they were heading to boys' club.

 

"We're going to boys club!" a very happy Peter informed me as if I hadn't spoken. "Do you remember going to boys' club?"

 

"No, I don't," I told him regretfully.

 

"She's a girl," Timothy corrected him.

 

I must say I was actually flattered by Peter's question. Not that I'm the least bit ashamed to be a girl, but to have it not even enter Peter's head that I didn't enjoy every boyish delight that he does was quite amusing and complimentary. I was one of those girls who rather wished she was a tomboy but almost certainly was not. I even had to have my friend teach me how to do somersaults when I was ten! Yeah, that was the pathetic little girl who didn't believe in snowball fights or racing because somebody was liable to get hurt, and I had a feeling that it would be me. Hence, I steered clear of certain fellows who were prone to pummelling me with snowballs whenever I came within throwing distance, and if I were unlucky enough to encounter them and receive an icy snowball on the neck, I would go cry to my mom. Needless to say, if one of those same fellows were to pummel me now (most of them are gentlemen now so they probably wouldn't), I would probably pummel him back, if he were kind of enough to stand within my comparatively limited throwing range.:)

 

At this point in my life, I can think of only two times when I heartily wished I were a boy. Sure, there have been many other minor times when I wished that athletic stuff came as easily to me as it does to boys (I respect all those athletic girls out there because I think it takes more effort for a girl to be athletic than it does for a guy), but only two very real times come to mind. The most recent time was when I watched Sound Foundations guys playing ultimate Frisbee--I mentioned that in an earlier blog post.

 

The other time that such a thought pervaded my brain was when I was in eighth grade watching Clyde get ready for guys' week. The girls had already left for their festivities (I was a year too young), and since there were fewer guys, Gerry was allowing one of his nephews, who was my age, to participate in the guys' week. And just then rock climbing sounded a lot more fun than shopping, and doing something exciting appealed much more than doing nothing, so as I jealously watched Clyde pack his bags, I loudly lamented my girlish state of being. Suddenly, I listened. Was Clyde talking to me? What? Was he actually telling me most sincerely why he was glad that I WASN'T a guy? Glory be! Someone actually liked me just how I was! And as my big brother walked off to his week of fun, I felt very loved. And very happy to be a girl.

 

Thank God for brothers, girls, and people who like us just as we are. :)