Who thought of tee ball? I mean, soccer for five year olds makes a modicum of sense: they can run and kick (and especially kick their siblings). But throw a ball? hit a ball? CATCH a ball? OK, maybe a few of them, but is this really developmentally appropriate?
Apparently someone thought so, because they invented tee ball, so now we are playing tee ball. More precisely, E is playing tee ball. Even more precisely, E is wearing a team hat and shirt and the tiniest (cutest) little mitt ever, and she is poking #5 (she is #6, so she sits next to #5, waiting to bat, and she is positioned next to #5 somewhere in midfield) (is there such a thing as midfield? they are neither infield nor outfield, which must make them midfield) (then again, in tee ball, outfield is not exactly relevant, so perhaps we should call them developmentally appropriate outfielders). At any rate, they are happy.
But we are not gathered here today to provide a play-by-play account of tee ball (we all batted, they all batted, everyone made it home, graham crackers were eaten, and we went to the playground). I am here to offer remarks upon men, women, and tee ball. And the picture is not pretty, my feminist friends. We are at approximately 100% traditional gender roles. All dads are on the field during practice, throwing balls, catching balls, setting ball on tees, and generally being tee ballish. All moms are on the side, sitting in those folding chairs that always break, chasing after toddlers, reading the NY Times, and gossiping.
And you know, this time there's nothing I can do about it. I've been a good feminist mom on so many fronts: I've hid my fear of dogs and thunder so they won't be fearful girls; I've encouraged them to confront the boys who tell them they can't; I've bitten my tongue as they've climbed higher than any child should climb, boy or girl.
But I loathe baseball (except the Red Sox, of course). Hated it when I was a kid; hate it now. Can't throw, can't hit, can't catch. And I simply cannot, or maybe will not, but will not so strongly that it is essentially cannot, help with tee ball. And whether the other moms feel the same or haven't given it a second thought, this is just the way it is at tee ball.
And the sad thing is: the boys are, for the most part, better at tee ball than the girls. They throw farther. They hit farther. They even catch occasionally. Nature? Nurture? I don't know, but that's the way it is.
Luckily, at the playground after the game, E and N and K do the monkey bars again and again as their moms, who couldn't do monkey bars as kids and still can't, watch with our usual awe. There is still hope.
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3 comments:
I was a softball player in middle school, but generally I am not a jock, so I know where you're coming from there. I did buy my daughter a tee so she could practice hitting in the back yard, and she will go out and have a catch with her dad now and again. Sadly, since she's a lefty, the only glove they had in the whole store that both fit her and was for a left-handed player was pink. This never would've happened when I was a girl.
I love the word modicum, thanks for using it in your post. As for tee ball - the stereotyping will disappear somewhat as your daughter gets older. My daughter plays softball and at her age, the girls really PLAY BALL. Just like the boys.
I have been thinking about this and thinking about this since I read it (which is a sign of the caliber of the writer, of course). I can't quite figure it out. I may have to blog about it. I've never thought about some of the things you mentioned in terms of feminism. When I hide my fears from my kids, I don't think I'm being feminist; I think I'm being a good mom. Cecily sometimes says stuff that makes me think in this way, and Dawn too. I was not raised to be a feminist at all; I was merely lucky that I graduated into an age where feminism was du rigeur. Thus I'm still questioning what's feminism and what's just life.
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