Let's Talk About: Gender.

"I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat or a prostitute."
--Rebecca West


Despite taking a single feminism class a year ago, I am not very well versed in the matter. Surprisingly (or not), I have been called a feminist numerous times in my two decades of roaming this Earth. Usually it was when I did what the above states...differentiating myself from a doormat especially. I remember one time very clearly: I was with a female college friend visiting one of her guy friends at another school. As he was bragging about being able to con some girl into doing his laundry for him, I pointed out she must be a fool to do such a favor with nothing in return. His response was "Wow, feminist much?" My female "friend" replied, "Just a touch."

Burn.

My mother never raised me to be necessarily proud to be a woman nor did my father treat me like "daddy's little girl." Perhaps it was because my parents were hoping their first born was a son but I always did boy-ish activities with my dad. We went fishing, did yard/house work together, watched sports, went skating, you name it. Growing up I liked to do all kinds of things; from climbing trees to dressing up my extensive Barbie collection (all of my Barbies drove the same pink Corvette though). One year for Christmas, as evidenced by pictures, I was given a play tool set and a doll house. I don't remember which one I gravitated towards first although I bet it says a lot about who I am. I do remember thoroughly enjoying both toys until they fell apart.

I never really thought anything of it.

At a young age, I started to realize it wasn't as unclear as I made it out to be. You were either a girl or a boy. Don't get me wrong, I've never questioned my gender but I have always enjoyed being "one of the guys" and more masculine activities. Thus, the "cooties" years were pretty hard on me. According to my mom, I came back from school in first grade and cried when my best male friend since preschool stopped hanging out with me because he liked his guy friends better.

And so my life continued; always wanting to do and enjoying things the "average" girl does not. In high school the careers which attracted me most were anything dealing with cars and law enforcement...not exactly the most girlie of interests. (I've never had the nurture in me to be a teacher or a nurse or a profession where I had to take care of people.) By this age however, we didn't have cooties anymore and most of my friends were males again. The few girls I could really get along with were similarly different from the other girls we knew but there were, and still are, just enough of us for me to feel not too lonely.

Now I've come to the culmination of all those years of gender-role-confusion. I've found myself in a crash-course police academy with 3 other girls and 40-some other men. Although I've grown accustomed to being the only girl (like the summer I worked at a car detailing shop), it's never ceased to amaze me how men have always managed to make me feel like a sissy. Whether it's the male boss who finds it acceptable to hit on me at work or the way guys offer to do the hard stuff for me...I've felt extremely belittled.

I thought this career choice would be similar. Of course, some men are under the impression the last place women belong is along side of them in a badge, the biggest disappointments I've experienced have been ones in which only I have played a hand.

The first day of my training, I was screamed at, spit at and made to do push ups until my muscles reached near failure. I never thought this would be a walk in the park but damn, I was in for a surprise. After being surrounded by 4 men who screamed in my face about not having a piece of equipment the property department was out of, something in my reaction gave off the impression I was being disrespectful. More push ups. It wasn't the push ups that hurt this time though. It was the frustration I felt at being misunderstood. There was nothing I could do...when a group of full grown-and-then-some sized men are screaming in your face, you learn how to shutup real fast.

Luckily for me, we were excused to the locker rooms before the tears overflowed.

Less than a week later and I find myself at a shooting range. Having never fired a gun before, I thought this would be a new and enjoyable experience. The first attempt went swimmingly. I wasn't the best shot but I was doing better than the only other girl in my group and got all my rounds off on time. The second attempt however required single strong and weak hand shooting. I'd like to blame the fact I couldn't reach/pull the trigger on the hurricane-like conditions in which I was firing but I think it had more to do with my small hands and lack of weapon knowledge.

Standing on the line, surrounded by a dozen men, the tears started to roll down my face. Luckily for me it was raining and I was bound and determined to squeeze those rounds off that measly 12 pound trigger. I kept pulling and pulling and nothing was happening. My finger was too high up on the trigger and I couldn't get a single round off after the initial couple. I started to cry a bit harder but kept pulling away. Finally, a second instructor came over to offer assistance. When he asked me what was wrong, I lost it. I started bawling in front of all those male strangers and wailed something about not wanting to go home.

More frustration.

Although I've always done my best to kick ass despite my gender and defy the norms, here I was, a girl in a man's shoes...crying like a baby.

Maybe those people are right. Maybe girls aren't meant to be police officers or do all those other positions normally held by men. I argue the few of us who can muscle through it ARE meant for it though. While my male counterparts at the academy can bust out those 100-some pushups a day with no problem and can fire a perfect score on their first attempt, it is not success which builds character and tests your strength. It is only after falling completely on your face and getting back up to try again that you toughen up.

You can say it's a man's job. Say women have no place in some agencies. I know all the women who have made it have had to push themselves exponentially harder than the men who do the same job. It may come more naturally to the male species but that only makes our equal achievements more impressive.



And in case you were wondering, on my third attempt, I shot a perfect score.