-
Dec31
The Blessings of Being a Tomboy
Filed under: Childhood, Girls and AS;3 CommentsTomboy. Remember that word?These days, it has all but disappeared from the English language. My husband tells me that in the 1980s, people sometimes called his daughter a tomboy because she excelled at athletics. He and his late wife always corrected them with a variation of the following statement: “Our daughter is not a tomboy. She is a strong girl.”While this nomenclature might have worked for my stepdaughter’s generation, it would not have worked for me. Growing up athletic in the mid-1960s, before Title IX and the women’s movement, I was a tomboy and I relished the word. Neither just a boy nor just a girl, I could be different. My sense of “otherness” had some kind of name. It was a name that gave me what I needed most: a way into the world of other children.The road to my becoming a tomboy began when my grandparents went to the 1965 World’s Fair and came home with the most unlikely of gifts: a baseball glove. I was seven years old. When my grandfather took the gift out of the package, my jaw dropped. Why had they brought me a baseball glove? I had never expressed any interest in the game. Were my parents behind it?As I stood gazing at this odd new possession, my grandfather explained how to use it. He told me to catch the ball in the webbing between the thumb and the forefinger, and to throw the ball with my other hand. Because I was a leftie, he put the glove on my right hand. Then, he lightly tossed me my very first baseball.I was immediately hooked. If I could have stood out in the backyard tossing the ball back and forth with him forever, I would have done it. As it was, I decided to learn all I could about baseball. I started to follow the Red Sox. I avidly studied the mannerisms of all the players and soon became an accomplished mimic. Determined not to “play like a girl,” I learned how to slide, how to catch, and how to throw. By the time I was eleven, I could throw a fastball, a curveball, a slider, and a forkball.Of course, officially, I was not a tomboy. Officially, I was still a girl and therefore not allowed to play Little League. So my games were all neighborhood pick-up games. Every day, I’d run home from school, change out of my dress, and set out to find a group of kids. One afternoon, as I ran out the back door, I realized that someday, I would have to do something other than assemble another ad-hoc team. Someday, in the unseen and distant future, I would be a grownup.But not now. Not yet. I had a game to play.When I did think about becoming a grownup, my fantasies centered almost exclusively around baseball. I wasn’t just planning to become the first woman to play for the Red Sox. There was more—much more. I would lead the team to victory in the World Series by pitching a perfect game.Every night, before I went to sleep, I rehearsed the entire scenario. Dressed like a boy, my long hair hidden under my Red Sox cap, I’d take the mound for Game 7. Inning after inning, no one on the opposing team would hit a ball out of the infield. Nor would I give up a single walk.As the innings ticked by, the suspense would increase. By the top of the 9th inning, a hush would come over the crowd. When I finally struck out the last batter, I’d take off my cap, throw it into the air, let my hair come down, and show the world that I was really a girl. Pandemonium would ensue. The other players would carry me off the field on their shoulders to the roar of an amazed and grateful public.My interior life was quite rich.While things did not turn out quite as I’d planned, baseball gave me many gifts that might otherwise have eluded me.The sensory experience itself was a joy. I loved the smell of a new leather glove, the sound of the bat meeting the ball, and the feeling of the dirt as I slid into home. When I played baseball, my senses gave me great delight and a sense of accomplishment.Playing baseball also relieved me of the pressure of socializing with words. Instead of hanging around on the playground conversing, I could run and move and shout. Freed from the onus of having to stand still in a group and search for the social nuances that eluded me, I could be aggressive, loud, and tough. In a baseball game, I was never awkward. I knew just what to say and what to do. When I yelled, “He can’t hit! Strike him out!” no one looked at me strangely. I was part of something.Of course, my tomboy days did not last as long as I’d hoped. Decades have come and gone since then, and with them, many struggles. Yet when I look back on my girlhood, I can feel the sense of pride, strength, and possibility that were mine when I wore my baseball glove and took to the field.In those moments, being “other” was not a bad thing. Being “other,” in fact, was wonderful.And despite its challenges, it still is. I wouldn’t trade it in for anything.© 2008 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
3 Responses to “The Blessings of Being a Tomboy”
-
WOO HOO. from one tomboy to another.
-
I just found your site (a recommendation from someone at Wrong Planet) and so identify with what you write. (I’m a 42-year-old mother, writer, mathematician, and translator, self-dx about five years ago and still struggling to set aside my wildly successful social adapatations in order to have time to be me.)
On this post: have you ever read the young children’s book “Don and Donna”? It’s about brother-and-sister twins who love baseball; he plays on a team, she’s not allowed. Donna, long hair hidden under her cap, saves the day when Don gets sick before a big game.
-
Hi Saja, I’m so glad you found my blog. I haven’t read “Don and Donna,” but I’m ordering a copy today, if I can find it! That is SO cool.
Leave a Reply
About Me
I'm Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg, and I publish this blog, Journeys with Autism. I'm a wife, mother, writer, singer, artist, photographer, community volunteer, and the chapter leader for the Vermont Chapter of the Autistic Self Advocacy Network (ASAN).
At the age of 50, I awoke to my place on the autism spectrum and discovered a world of gifts, struggles, and life-changing possibilities. My latest book, The Uncharted Path: My Journey with Late-Diagnosed Autism, was published in July of 2010. My work has also appeared in Shift Journal of Alternatives: Neurodiversity and Social Change and in the Disability Rights and Neurodiversity section of the ASAN website.
My Memoir
"The Uncharted Path is an autism autobiography unlike any I’ve ever read.....I’d recommend The Uncharted Path to anyone on the spectrum, to anyone who has friends or relatives on the spectrum, and to anyone who cares for people on the spectrum. Her book is written straight from the heart.” —Gavin Bollard, author of Life with Asperger’s
“Cohen-Rottenberg is emotionally honest and skilled at relaying the stories from her childhood and adulthood that made her the person she is today....A highly recommended read."—Kate Goldfield, author of Common Scents: Adventures with Autism and Chemical Sensitivity
“What Rachel has written, few others would be able to....An enlightening journey."—Jon Gilbert, author of Same Child, Different Day
My memoir The Uncharted Path: My Journey with Late-Diagnosed Autism is now available in paperback for $17.95 and in PDF format for $8.95.
To purchase the book, please contact me by email. I accept payment via PayPal, by check, or by money order. You can also find the book for sale in paperback on Amazon.com.
Thank you for your interest in my work.
Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
rachel@journeyswithautism.com
My Visual Art
Sojourning in the Visual World www.sojournerartist.comUnique Visitors
16,701 | Unique Visitors |
