The Things We Hold Onto
Just last week, my sons had one of their friends over for a playdate. I watched from the kitchen sink window as they ran outside to play in our backyard. Within seconds I spotted their friend lowering our ten foot basketball hoop. I stepped outside and asked her what she was doing. Although she is older, taller and very athletic, she was convinced that she wouldn’t be able to shoot on anything higher than seven feet.
“But I’ve never shot on a ten foot hoop before,” she pleaded.
My sons didn’t argue this, as she was our guest, but I did. In this moment I saw my younger self in her: the girl who rejected all sports because I knew I wouldn’t be the best at any of them (and where’s the fun in that?). The girl who didn’t own a Nintendo set so refused to play Super Mario Kart at sleepovers because I didn’t want to lose. The girl who often knew the answer in class but was too nervous to raise her hand, fearing getting it wrong and being embarrassed. I was always the first one to shut myself down, to give up and to tell myself “you can’t”.
I washed the dishes and watched as the kids played a game of knockout—with the hoop set to ten feet. I was proud of my sons for encouraging their friend whenever she missed a shot and for also cheering her on when she made it. Twenty minutes later, they came back inside, drenched in sweat and ready for popsicles. The girl entered with the biggest smile on her face, proudly announcing to me that she won. I told her I wasn’t surprised, that I knew she could do it. She just had to try.
As a young girl growing up in the eighties and nineties, I knew I was cute because everyone would tell me so. I knew I was kind and personable because I made friends easily and got along with everyone I met. I knew I was many things; creative, funny, artistic, empathetic, imaginative-- all of it came naturally to me. There was no real trying involved. My childhood was beautifully simple. I spent my after-school hours playing Marco-Polo in my next-door neighbor’s pool, climbing the tallest banyan trees I could find and riding my bike with friends until it was dinnertime. When asked during our family dinners how my day at school was, I would always give the same one-word answer, “good”, and when asked if I had done all my homework I gave the standard reply, “yes”—regardless if that was the truth (and it rarely was).
It is now looking back, as an almost 40-year-old woman, who is finally rewriting her own internal narrative, that I can finally see the cracks in my upbringing. Some of the cracks are unique to me and my childhood circumstances, but I do believe there is a common thread that runs throughout the fabric of almost every girl’s childhood that sets us up one-step behind the boys. While girls are still being raised to look a certain way and to act a certain way, with the greatest emphasis on being polite and kind--and agreeable and likable— boys, generally, are raised quite differently. They grow up not as concerned with how they look, or how well they are liked or how they are perceived by others. Arguably, boys are raised in a more well-rounded way, that better sets them up for success. They too are raised to be good and do good (again generally speaking here)— but they are also raised to believe, from early on, that they can do anything that they set their minds to, if they just try.
Things have shifted quite a bit these past few decades—girls are now growing up with role models like J.K. Rowling, a philanthropist and the author of the Harry Potter series, The Notorious RBG, Tarana Burke, civil rights activist and founder of the #MeToo movement, and our former first lady Michelle Obama…to name just a few. When watching Michelle Obama’s documentary, Becoming, the line that grabbed me was when she said, “I didn’t want to be an appendage to my husband’s dreams”. I felt that to the core. For decades, centuries even, this was the role of most women. Women were the accessory, the appendage, the caregiver, the “supporting role” to their leading man, and his values and vision and aspirations—but this isn’t the role of all women today. Today many of us are truly partners with our “partners” and in the workplace we are finally breaking those glass ceilings—-so why are we still raising our daughters differently than our sons (even in the slightest of ways)? Why is the narrative any different if we now expect all children to become accomplished adults someday?
As a young girl I never felt cheated out of anything because of my gender…but I also didn’t feel like there were high expectations for me, because of my gender. Now this isn’t the case for everyone. My parents did have higher expectations, I believe, for my older sister. She was regarded as the responsible one, the one they could count on with important information or confide in with family secrets. Because of our birth order she was raised to be more of a leader, and if she were a boy perhaps even more so. To our friends she was the athletic one, the more disciplined one, the strong one. To our teachers (whenever I ended up having a teacher that she had two years before me) she was clearly the smarter, more studious one. And while we are comparing, I had many girl friends growing up who, like me, cared more about their friendships and having fun then they did about their education. The main difference for girls who were seen as being more capable or ambitious was that they had someone (a parent, a teacher, a tutor, a coach, etc.) who believed in them and pushed them to be their best, to try their hardest. I didn’t have that driving force. I learned from kindergarten on, that if you’re a cute girl that’s well behaved and polite in school, you could smile your way through each grade level.
Every child, whether they are self-motivated (like my sister) or not (like my younger self), needs to have someone in their corner, a champion, an adult who believes in them and helps them realize their full potential. My sister was a great student, not because she had a parent checking her homework at night (because she didn’t) or a tutor to help her study (because she didn’t), but because she was wired to care, to push herself, to try. She was also a very good basketball player, not because she had a coach who took her under her wing and was invested in developing her skills, but because she worked at it daily, playing pickup with the neighborhood boys from sixth grade on. Had she had an adult pushing her, investing in her, who knows where it could have lead her to. Had I had an adult lighting a fire underneath me, motivating me to want more for myself, who knows what would have been.
As a mother of two boys (who like my sister and me are also about two years apart) I can’t help but compare their relationship and roles in our family to that of mine and Lori’s. I also can’t help but compare my parenting to that of my parents. As much as my sons get upset when I tell them they didn’t play their best baseball game or basketball game and list everything they did or didn’t do, or when I tell them they could have done better on a test had they taken their time on it or prepared more for it—as hard as these conversations can be—I know they matter. I know on some level they value my honesty and they know that when I sing their praises and tell them they did a great job or that I’m proud of how they performed, that I really mean it. I also know they try harder because of it. I push them because I know what they are capable of and I want them to know it too. Every child needs someone they look up to and trust, telling them to get up and try again. Telling them not just, “I love you” but “I believe in you”. Telling them to keep the hoop at ten feet, even when they have never tried to shoot on a hoop that height before. Pushing them out of their comfort zone, making them try something new. Letting them build a Lego set that’s made for older kids, encouraging them to read a book that’s a higher level than what they are used to, having them play on a team where they are the youngest, the smallest, or the least experienced. Allowing them to experience that unease, that discomfort, that competition, that loss, that “failure” from a young age builds their character and teaches them valuable life lessons. Letting them see how many misses it takes before they can start sinking shot after shot. Letting them see that everything in life takes time, that everything is a process. That there are no shortcuts or easy ways out. I want them to know that no one masters anything overnight, that everything takes hard work and practice. That they will fall many times before they ever can fly. I wish I got this memo sooner.
When I see my two sons (now seven and nine years old) I often think to myself: would I be treating them any different if they were girls? Would I “go easy on them” if they were girls? Would I expect anything less from them if they were girls? Would our conversations sound any different if they were girls? Would the narrative change at all? My answer to all of it is a resounding no.
There are so many factors that play a role in making us who we are—I know it isn’t as simple as just pointing at gender inequalities in our youth—but it’s a good starting point. There are so many voices that ring through our heads, throughout our lives, whether we want them there or not. Voices of our parents, our grandparents, our siblings, our teachers, our coaches and mentors--telling us: “You can do this” or telling us, “You’ll never measure up”. We need to help raise children (even if they are not our own) in an empowering way so that they can grow into capable and empowered adults. When we speak with children our dialect matters: the comments we share, the comparisons we make, the compliments we give, the feedback and criticisms we offer, and even our own insecurities that we sadly pass on—these are the things children hold onto. Knowing this, I make a conscious effort to build children up every chance I get. I refuse to give compliments or make remarks based solely on their physical appearance. Instead, when I see young girls (and boys too), I make sure to tell them how awesome they are. I’ll comment on what they are doing right or what they are doing well. I’ll ask them open-ended questions about their interests, what they are currently learning about in school, what books they are reading, what their dreams are made of. We can speak to children in a way that’s both honest and validating, so that they learn to authorize themselves and tap into their own magic long before they enter “the real world”. Showing them early on that their thoughts, options, talents, and skills matter in this world. And empowering young girls by dethroning them as “princesses” and teaching them that they have a greater power and purpose all their own.
If I could pass on one message to all children it would be this:
You are beautiful in mind, body and soul. You are brilliant. You are capable. I am so sorry if no one ever told you this or made you feel this way. Or perhaps you were told this before, but only as a whisper, when you needed it to be stately loudly and repeatedly to really hear it and believe it and hold on to it tight.
Please know that there are so many more important things in life than the way you look. Looks fade.
There are so many more important things in life than concerning yourself with what other’s think of you. What matters is what you think about you.
Strive for improvement, not perfection. Nothing in life is perfect, ever.
Know that no one expects you to be the very best at everything or anything, that’s too big of a burden to carry. The only expectation anyone who loves you will have for you, is that you try your best.
You don’t get a pass in life, or a re-do—so try at everything you commit yourself to. Try at everything that truly matters. Try even if it scares you a little bit, or a lot. Know that when you step out of your comfort zone it can feel scary because it’s new and unfamiliar, not because you’re not capable.
Try like how my children try— like how even when all the odds are stacked against them and there is almost zero percent chance of them winning the game, they believe they still have a shot.
Try like how my children raise their hand in school with all the confidence in the world, even when they aren’t completely sure if their answer is correct.
Try like how my children fall off their bike or their skateboard and pop back up and give it another go.
They don’t give up or easily feel defeated. They take their losses as a lesson.
They don’t care if they aren’t wearing the newest shiniest shoes or if their hair isn’t perfectly combed before walking out the door. They have a stride in their step because they have built within them from infancy that they are enough and that they are capable of greatness. That they are going to conquer the world. That they are going to land that job. That they are going to provide for their family one day. That they can handle whatever life throws at them. That they can do anything, be anything—if they just try.
And you can too.