Dear Daughter,
I know it's not easy being the only girl on the field.
Those boys will never pass to you. They won't share their jokes. And they won't give you high fives for scoring all of their goals for them. You'll kick their their little butts, hurt their pride, and make them cry. They'll run to their mommies with their damaged egos. "Girls can't play soccer," they'll complain. Their moms will look over to you, little girl, in your blonde little bun that so resembles the one that I've worn too many times and tell their sons "be nice and share the ball with the girl too." Which, is a great response for the playground, but not here. Not on the field where so many girls and women have sweat, bled and cried to prove what we're made of. Where we've crawled and been carried off for having so much passion. Where we chose to be on Friday nights instead of with friends. Where we found ourselves while missing classes, school dances, jobs and family weddings. Where our muscles grew rapidly, outgrowing any trend or fashion we had finally attained (I'm talking about skinny jeans and thunder thighs). Stretch marks far before you were ever a thought to my body, sweet child.
Those boys will never pass to you. They won't share their jokes. And they won't give you high fives for scoring all of their goals for them. You'll kick their their little butts, hurt their pride, and make them cry. They'll run to their mommies with their damaged egos. "Girls can't play soccer," they'll complain. Their moms will look over to you, little girl, in your blonde little bun that so resembles the one that I've worn too many times and tell their sons "be nice and share the ball with the girl too." Which, is a great response for the playground, but not here. Not on the field where so many girls and women have sweat, bled and cried to prove what we're made of. Where we've crawled and been carried off for having so much passion. Where we chose to be on Friday nights instead of with friends. Where we found ourselves while missing classes, school dances, jobs and family weddings. Where our muscles grew rapidly, outgrowing any trend or fashion we had finally attained (I'm talking about skinny jeans and thunder thighs). Stretch marks far before you were ever a thought to my body, sweet child.
Daughter, we've worked too hard for boys to think they need to "play nice".
The thing these boys need to know, is that you're not a girl out there. You're their teammate. And it's your job to teach them to respect their teammates and the game and to play until the lights go off, the whistle blows, or your momma calls you home.
Love,
Your Thunder Thighed, Ponytail Wearing, Scarred and Sun Damaged Mommy
Ps, wear your sunscreen!
