Most women I know who “grew up one of the boys” did so because they were one of five kids…and the only girl. Rough-housing and poop jokes were all they really knew and that gave them a free pass to hang with the dudes.
Based on the reaction I get from women and men nowadays when they discover I “grew up one of the boys” and only had sisters, tells me I’m somewhat of an anomaly in this group. That’s cool with me though. I like being the anomaly. Most days.
Now, as you begin to notice that you’re writing the story that will define who you are, being one of the boys is pretty awesome. You find yourself sitting comfortably in the middle of it all. You’ve got loads of girlfriends vying for your friendship because you are “so close” with Billy McBabeface and vice versa. And while this is great for the 13 years of classmate relationships you endure, the “Oh shit…”-ness of that role rears its head faster in the real world than you can beg for a do-over.
Turns out that adult women associate a different stigma for being (or coming across as) one of the boys than hormone-driven tween and teen peers do.
Slut.
Easy.
Low Self-Esteem.
Daddy Issues.
Not a lot changes with the dudes though. They still think you’re pretty awesome because you’re friends with Sally McTitbags.
Then comes the challenge of trying to continue the poetry of your life in what you’ve always considered a pretty marvelous story. The disingenuous idea of your personal self is coming more from inside your own head than from what the outsiders are spouting at your face (or in more cases than the former, behind your back).
Are you a slut?
Should you be easy?
When was the last time you checked the temperature of your self-esteem?
What sort of role did your Daddy really play in your upbringing?
Then you reach a pivotal moment in the mirror of self-deprecation forced upon you by all of the other people. A moment where your conscious decision to just be yourself, the self you’ve always been, one of the boys, lands you in a life position that has never left you happier. Sure the speculation remains, but the confidence instilled by that decision to revert to who you really are confirms that you are not the one who’s “doing womanhood wrong”. No one can “do womanhood wrong”. Society has simply placed generalized and seemingly negative connotations on a female who delights more in hanging in the company of minds that will vibe on irreverent, sexual humor and fart jokes than the proper womanly etiquette of yore.
Though it’s interesting that the connotations relate to a highly feminine exploitation of self when in reality, it simply means I can belch the alphabet with the best of ‘em.
Jessi Sanfilippo considers herself funny, fancy, that-guy-in-the-crowd-chanting-freebird, and living the geek life while momming along the way over at shuggilippo and on the reg over at . This post was originally published at shuggilippo on May 13, 2012.
I was an only child and grew up as “one of the boys”, but that’s because I had boy interests, like computers and frogs and stuff like that… Though, instead of the slut labels, I got called a lesbian, because I was more interested in being friends with the guys than in trying to get them to drool over me…
You’d probably not be very surprised then to know that “Did anyone just consider you a lesbian?” is a question I get asked 99.9% of the time if this conversation of being one of the boys ever comes up. And the answer to that for me was, no, but that’s mainly because I was also a cheerleader and did the dance company thing…has your brain exploded yet? It’s very interesting that I was considered one of “the pretty, popular girls”, just not “the prettiest”…and I’d much rather play Dr. Mario in a dark basement where a majority of the room were farting than put on makeup for 3 hours in hopes that someone would see me that night, no matter who it was.
*HIGH FIVE* I can’t belch the alphabet, but I can get in a burp war with the best of them (albeit I was sadly bested by my sister, the mother of 3 boys during the last war…that included the 3 boys). I grew up much more comfortable with the company of boys than girls, and mainly that was because boys get you punching them in the face to resolve a conflict, where girls get petty and spread even more rumors than the ones that got them knocked out in the first place. All this to say, I ADORE who you are and am so glad that you have decided to just be you and be happy in that.
Thank you so much lady! I adore that you adore me.
I’m with you girlfriend. I grew up with one sister, and a whole neighborhood of boys that were my age. Girls? Not so much. All older, or too young. I am a tomboy. I am a woman. I am me. If that makes other women jealous, unhappy or otherwise feeling the need to call me names – so be it. I am in a good place, I am a good person, and that’s that.
Rock on with your belchin’, friend of boys, self.
::high five::