Namesake

I used to hate when people told me I did anything "like a girl." You see, I am the third and last child - the third and last girl (I also understand the meaning of the canyon-size gap between me and my parents' second daughter). Being the third child with two exisiting girls in the family also meant, despite the lack of seeking a doctor's opinion, my parents held an unshakable belief the third child would be a son - named Matthew. Then I showed up. I am unmistakably (thank god) a girl. However, I spent much of my childhood trying to be everything I thought a son would be to my father. I played catch in the backyard. I went fishing on the weekends - baiting the hooks with a smile on face (but I still have not figured out how to get the fish off the hook). I even held frog race tournaments in the street in front of our house.

Now don't get me wrong, I did all this and still my greatest hobby was playing with Barbies. My friends and I spent hours upon hours with Barbie. We held marathon weekends in each others' basements designing the perfect home for Barbie in which to hold the perfect party for Barbie and her friends, and Ken. And of course, choosing Barbie's outfit(s) for the party. I loved Barbie, even though the traditional Barbie was fair skinned and blonde, which is very far from how I would describe myself. I am caucasion, but as a child, in the summer, I have been mistaken for both African American and American Indian (One of my best friends today was afraid of me at the age of 4 because she had never seen anyone who looked like me in our small town. This no longer happens since becoming an adult. Sadly, I no longer have eight hours a day to frolick in the water and sun as I did at the age of eight, and later in my teenage years, twelve hours a day teaching swimming lessons and life guarding). I soon gravitated towards Aloha Barbie. But, when Barbie was asleep, I was back to being my father's sidekick.

I am sure my father was disappointed about many things about not having a son. For instance, I quit playing ball before we even moved past using the tee. It was quite the tramatic experience, actually. I was hit in the head with a ball. I had no idea what to do after someone actually hit the ball off the tee. I certainly wasn't thinking that someone in the outfield was going to throw the ball to second while I was conversing with short stop about the kick-the-can event scheduled for the evening. Oh well, I quit Brownies too, so I thought that put me back to neutral. Then came kissing boys at a very early age . . . like 6.

The number of years I actually have embraced my feminine qualities now outnumber the years I tried to disguise them. I once hated pink. It is now my favorite color. My hair behaves best when it is curled. I never, never leave the house without applying lipstick (this rule is especially important when wearing a hat). And finally, I can acknowlege that I run, throw and scream . . . like a girl.