Girl Power

February 18, 2011

Last fall I went with my daughter, her friend, and my father, a die-hard sports fan who religiously attends all sporting events at our university, both male and female, to a women’s volleyball game. The games aren’t held in the huge new arena but a small, old-fashioned gym with wooden bleachers on the sidelines and a burnished old wood floor. There isn’t the hullabaloo that you find at men’s sports – bands, piped-in music blaring, cool pictures of each player executing their best moves on the scoreboard screen, mascots with their crazy antics, and pom-pom girls - but the crowd was nonetheless excited, and the players were right there, within reach, not far away on a court with rows and rows of bleachers between you.

We got there early, while the players were still warming up. They were tall, lithe, powerful women. Their moves were naturally athletic; they were jocks. Their legs were pure sinew, long and strong. They wore black shorts, long-sleeved white jerseys with the university logo, knee pads, and sneakers. Their hair was done up in long ponytails and braids. They were totally feminine and beautiful and exuded sheer badass strength.

During the game, they hit the ball, dove to the floor, leapt into the air, shouted out calls, jockeyed into position to set the ball, spiked it over the net, gave each other victorious high-fives. A perfectly synchronized dance done with utter abandon. They moved like guys, and I mean that in the best of ways, with natural athletic grace, totally at home in their bodies. These women are so cool. They won the first two sets.

In the first half of the match, the cheerleaders were on the other side of the court, but during the second half they came and sat in front of us. We got a firsthand look. They were tiny, girlish, heavily made up, with little flouncy skirts and big ribbons in their hair. They yelled out cheers in high-pitched voices, constantly looked at each other for reinforcement, and waved their pompoms in our eyes. We kind of wanted them gone so we could see the action.

Yet I couldn’t help but compare. The volleyball players were tall, muscular, elegant, confident, even cocky, moving with feline grace and in full command of their bodies; they were mighty and they filled their space uncompromisingly, unapologetically, forcefully, and purposefully. The cheerleaders were little, pert – good gymnasts, you gotta hand them that – but trying futilely to engage a crowd that was looking past them, exuding the nervous insecurity that stems from having to act in unison - as they executed their part-military, part-sexual, part-infantile moves - eager to fit the mold, to be chirpy and cheerful, to please.

When I was a girl, we all secretly wanted to be cheerleaders. The female jocks, well… they were just a little suspect, a little too boyish. Cheerleaders, on the other hand, were our model of femininity, silly, giggly, self-conscious, basking in the attention. Plus, let’s admit it: we all wanted to wear those flouncy skirts, to be in that exclusive clique. Something from my daughter's recent experiences tells me there’s been a sea change in schoolyard cool in the United States.
In Spain, where she grew up until the age of ten, not a single girl in her class played ball sports. They had no opportunity to. Their brothers did, and the boys in the class did. But the girls did dance – jazz, modern, ballet - and maybe gymnastics. And then on the weekends they watched their brothers play basketball and soccer. It’s not that dance isn't a fabulous sport and art in its own right, and it's not that girls can’t play ball sports in Spain; it’s just that you have to look long and hard to find a team. My daughter never even thought about playing these sports, because for her they simply weren’t an available option. She had never even tried them. There was a latent athlete inside her all this time, but how would we have ever known it? What chance would she have gotten to discover and express it?

We came to the U.S. a year and a half ago. She goes to a school where almost every girl plays a sport. On the playground there are the girly-girls who stand in circles and talk and giggle (sometimes she’s one of them), and there are the geeks who stay inside and study at recess (and sometimes she’s one of them), but most of the girls are outside, or in the gym, playing basketball, or softball, or volleyball, or soccer. It’s just what they do. These sports are everywhere, and playing them is cool. They play them with the boys, assembling ad-hoc teams for the day. They get in fights, accuse each other of cheating, get elbowed in the face (and later proudly show off their battle scars), but they also learn about teamwork and fun, plus they hone their coordination and release the pure joyous energy of childhood.

My daughter got on the school basketball team. It’s not that she’s a great asset to the team – after all, she’s only held a basketball in her hands and shot hoops for the past six months of her life – but she loves to practice, she loves running around dribbling and shooting baskets – often missing them, but she’s getting better. And more than anything else, she loves being on a team, being in a competition, putting on her uniform, going out on the court and running full speed, getting right in her opponent’s face, blocking those balls aggressively, and winning. She revels in being a jock, a role she didn’t have the chance to try on for size in Spain, and a role that was slightly off-key when I was her age.

My daughter loved the volleyball game. When she saw the cheerleaders, a relic from a past definition of girlhood as she intuitively seemed to know, her face scrunched in annoyance as she peered around them to see the real action. As she watched the volleyball players, her eyes lit up; she was energized and thrilled and inspired, cheering them on like mad. I couldn't help but notice that something has changed in women in the U.S. since my childhood, and it’s awe-inspiring. I thrill to it on my daughter’s behalf. These women are mighty, paragons of a new womanhood, models of what my daughter aspires to, and precisely what I wish for her to aspire to – commanding women that take no guff yet revel in their femininity. These women know that their femininity and power are one and the same, and they proudly wear that might on their sleeves.

I want to be one of them when I grow up! Oh, and our team won the game!