The Tomboy

For years, when I was working in the public, I presented what I hope was a well groomed presence to the world.  My job required me to "dress for success", so each morning I donned my suit, heels, make-up and hair spray and tackled my day.  Since no quarter was given for the circumstances of that day, I might be standing in front of an audience or tromping across a field, but all was done in heels and hose!  I'm sure than many people thought I had been born all prissy and proper...far from it!

I was the youngest of two girls, born while we were living on a farm.  From the beginning I reveled in the freedom and challenges of growing up in the country.   Unfortunately for me, my mother rebelled against the challenges of living without running water, indoor plumbing, and electricity (she was a townie) and we moved to town when I was three. If  she hoped that I might grow up more lady-like in more cultivated surroundings, she was to be disappointed.  I was a to-the-bone tomboy.

My friends in town were the neighborhood boys, since they were always doing the more interesting things.  With them I played cowboy and Indians, rode stick horses for miles, built forts, dug ditches, constructed dams, excavated roads, caught frogs, lizards, tadpoles, fish, and hundreds of bugs.  I refused to accept that any boy could out-do me at anything, which led to bruises, scrapes, skinned knees and elbows and once a broken arm. 

My dad, recognizing a kindred spirit, allowed me to follow him when he went fishing or on long treks through the woods.  I learned to shoot, (targets only, daddy wasn't a hunter), identify tracks, build traps, fish, camp out, identify trees and plants, and generally become a woodsman.  

At about fourteen I decided maybe being a girl wasn't so bad after all.  I was concerned about how to break the news to my dad, but my mom just smiled and said that she thought he had figured it out.  My mom then took over my education and attempted to put a glossy veneer over the rough girl underneath.  She must have done a pretty good job because people are still surprised at some of my unusual talents.

For example the year that I had to go to 4-H camp as the Extension Agent and they had no one to teach rifle, so I said I would. The men all looked a little smug and said they would need to take me to the range and show me what to do.  Once there they presented me with a single shot 22.  Again looking a little smug, they asked me what I would do now.  "Well, first I would show them how to clean it ", I replied, sliding the bolt free and sighting down the barrel, "which, obviously no one has done.  Then I would load it and show them how to aim and shoot."  With that I proceeded to load, aim and shoot at one of the targets on the range.  Someone was looking out for a hard-headed little girl because the bullet went true to the edge of the bulls eye.  With surprise on their faces, they quietly filed out of the shooting range and back to their other jobs.  They had just discovered the tow-headed tomboy that still lurked underneath the polish and make-up.

For all the skills and knowledge I gained through education and working, the things that have been the most help for my real world of parenting have been the things I learned as a "tomboy": bumps, bruises, and scrapes won't kill you, especially if you get the job done,  learning about the world around you lets you live easier within it, girls can do anything that boys can do except pee standing up, and always check the pockets before you wash!