Girl Football

Eleven

My mom tried her hardest to reassure me that I had won and fought hard for a win and that alone would've made my dad proud. She was right but I knew deep down in the pit of my stomach, he would've been disappointed in how I had won.

I remember having conversations with my dad when I first started playing football in elementary school about how and if I could handle my teammates, coaches, and just other people in general doubting and judging my athletic abilities because I was a girl.

"They could say mean things, Maya." He said one day out of the blue when we were sitting in the living room watching the 49ers play the Cardinals.

"What?" I questioned as I turned toward him, a confused look displayed on my face.

"Doubters, especially before your first game. And there's always going to be the jealous or envious people, especially when they realize you're better than their kid. Because I know you're better, you know you're better, your coach knows you're better, and they even know you're better but you're still a girl and people don't like it when someone tries to change something that they don't feel needs changing," he explained.

"I know, Dad. Don't worry."

"No, no Maya. I don't think you're completely understanding the point I'm trying to make."

"Yes, I do Dad. Please don't worry. I just gotta go out there and prove it," I shrugged my shoulders, the solution was pretty obvious to me.

"That's my point though, you can prove your abilities the best by doing it how every other boy on the team will. By following rules, listening to your coach, helping out your teammates. You don't need to do anything extra. Just like everyone else, your playing ability will prove your worth -- that's all that matters anyways."

I rolled my eyes at the time, frustrated a little bit that he felt like he needed to tell me this, "I know Dad."

"Besides, your stubbornness will help you get what you want anyways," he joked, laughing and shaking his head as he leaned back in the couch he was sitting in, refocusing his attention onto the game.

That's why the way I had helped my team win was leaving an uneasy feeling in my stomach, because my dad had been right. My playing ability had proven my worth and the need I felt to prove I belonged by not following Coach's calls, had gotten me in trouble.