Should We Teach Our Girls To Think Like Boys?

I stand corrected on this but I once you see the whole picture you may just agree with me. I wanted the title to read: Think like boys and act like girls. But then again acting like a girl- whatever that means, is something I do not want to cultivate in my girls. I want my girls, all girls, to be girls, to be free, to follow their heart, and be their best in whatever they choose to do or be. However, the other day I sure did wish that my eight and six year old girls “acted” like or at least learned a lesson from the boys.

I was out with them reconnecting with a homeschoolers group that we have been a part of since last year. Due to serious health reasons, connected to me, we had stayed away from the group for over three months. This Wednesday was the first time we were joining them since the school year begun.

I came in late, the morning writing session was in progress, so I squeezed them in through a cracked door and hoped that they will blend in, gain something, and connect with the others while having fun in the processes.

One hour later it was break time. The weather being forgiving, or was it global warming, we had woken up to an exceptionally warm November day, so we spilled outside the church building to soak in the sun and banter as the kids play and freshen up before the next section.

I joined a cluster of moms who were gathered raving elections. It was November 7th in the history of American Politics. For the most part, as they talked about the long night they had, I was scanning my surrounding and not paying attention to them.

“So are you happy with the results?” One excited mum nudged me in.

“No I do not vote. I am not American”. I said, quickly planting an excuse on my forehead.

“Oh, you can’t be serious, but Obama his father is from Kenya and we saw on CNN how Kenyans…”
No, I was not listening.

I surveyed the church compound, the big humongous building, the cross on the top, the big field then I look to my right towards some tree and I am met with drama. A show! Right there is my eldest daughter taking a crooked step and then stopping, her hands held behind her back and her head hanging off her cervical vertebrae like a broken limb.

And further down the scene is accentuated by my other daughter. She has her jacket on (on this warm day) the jacket hood covering her head, her hands are in her pocket and she is glued next to some rotten trunk like a statue.

Why? They are not playing. I think to myself as I straighten my neck and I get all my faculties on them.

But then immediately I am distracted by a mini tornado. The boys come swooping in from the other side of the church. They stop right in front of us and they are raising a hell of a storm. They are shouting, they are shoving each other, pulling on shirts, it is scary, but they seem to be having a blast.

I do not know where the rest of the girls are, apart from my own, but then I see this eight year old girl, let me call her miss R stomping from her mother’s car to the left. She gets by my first daughter and swings past her like she has never seen her on planet earth.

She takes a few steps and then turns around corking her head as she goes back to their car. I hear my daughter call her name. Miss R then turns her head towards her, sneers and sort of wriggles her hips and swaggers off. My daughter takes a step as if to follow her and then stops and goes back to her broken position.

I take a deep breath in. I know this game. This is an old drama and reality show that we have been through with the same Miss R and my daughters. I thought I had already laid it clear to my girls, I thought they had grown above such stupidity of begging someone to play with them.

The first time we joined this group, Miss R, in her tiny six year old body gave my daughters hell. Calling them names, telling them how their mum (me) is not even beautiful, how they are not beautiful, making them cry. The next week my kids were almost kneeling and beseeching to be her friend. They really wanted to be in her club. She was the queen of the club the one with the key to their happiness in the group. I took my girls aside, at home, and gave them a lecture.

I do not need to see you playing with miss R. You are special you do not need to beg to play with anyone. Get over it. Play with yourself. Be on your own. Do not pay attention to her. I told them, in summary, and from then on, they walked away from Miss R and took their playing in their own hands. Sometime later Miss R was crying that my girls do not want to play with her. That girl needed help and direction, but that was not my duty.

The boys were now a level four storm when my eldest girl, seeing me staring at her, walks to me with tears in her eyes.

“No one wants to play with us”. She says. My first instinct was; Oh no I am so sorry, this is so bad, my kids being rejected. I was the one with a health condition. They were already in a good standing in the group before we took a break and now they have no friends.

I went into a self-pity party but only for a second or two and I snapped out of it.

This was girl drama.

Here were boys playing and raising a hell of noise with a new boy who had just joined the group- I had just introduced myself to his mum. And here were my girls, who were not new at all, being so dormant and powerless. How come there were not in a group playing with the other girls, the other- other girls not just Miss R.

Does it come naturally?

When I was in middle school I remember pleading and begging to befriend some two girls, with the same names, who were considered the most beautiful girls in our class. I remember even stealing money to buy them something during lunch break so that they can allow me to join them. And there were many more incidents when I took people pleasing attitude to another level when I was young. And maybe even in my adult life. I do not want to confess.

Do boys have such scenarios in their lives?

Do we carry all these pettiness and people pleasing attitude to our adult life such that it makes us stumble fall and get stuck in fear. Could it be true that it comes easy for men to strike deals, jump into projects, and take risks, while as women we fear what someone will say or we want to have approval before we can take a step?

I called my other daughter close and I moved a step away from the mum group so as to have some emergency self-evaluation and self-esteem injection meeting with my girls.

“Why are you not playing?” I asked.

“Because no one wants to play with us”. They chorused.

“You cannot wait for someone to play with you. Find something to do. Go kick rocks. Walk around the church looking at the trees and listening to birds. Collect some sticks. Write on the ground. Do a breathing exercise. Run around if you must but do not tell me that no one wants to play with you.”

“And You…” I turned to my eldest daughter. “I do not want to see you begging to play with Miss R. If she is not playing with you move on and find someone else to play with you or sit down and read a book.”

I wanted to add: Look at the boys they have to time to stand wait for someone to play with them. They are not petty they get along and they play. Be like a boy. But no, I did not say those words then or later and never will say them but as I talked to them I was sure thinking about the boys.

“Yes Mum.” They said with glum unsure faces and then walked away.

I watched them disappear then I clutched on my bag and moved back closer to the now so clear Obama mums.
“I hope I am not stepping on someone’s toes here as I air my democratic views but clearly I just have to say…” One mum rambled on and I started to despair but not for long. The tornado wheeled back in and as I shake my head I see my eldest daughter right in the middle of it. She is the only girl in the boys.

She was back in her substance.

She is usually a tom-boy and gets along well with boys more than girls. If you throw her in a group she will always land on the boys’ side. Her hobbies are tough computer games and reading Garfield cartoons and Geronimo Stilton books. She does not dress up at all and she wants to grow up and have her own rock band.

My other girl disappeared from my view a little bit longer but later she emerged with this other girl who was all dressed up in a pink bandana over her dreadlocks, brown boots dotted with pink flowers and a pink clutch draped across her body.

“You look cute and all dressed up Miss B”. I tell her.

“Thanks.” She says as she takes off running with my second daughter in tow.

My six year had found someone who talks her language. She loves to dress up. She is a designer by heart and choice. The recycle bin is her favorite spot. On a daily basis she has to scavenge through the recycle stash in the kitchen to find cans, boxes, bottles, plastics and more: Things that she can remodel into something snazzy. I have a pink flower vase on my desk that is made from a juice bottle in it is a flower stem that was about to be thrown away. I love it.

Sometimes we need someone to come in and remind us to just be ourselves. For the most part we have to remember to remind ourselves.

We went back for the next session and then the whole group moved on to a big park for some serious play. My girls played so hard they did not have time to sit down and eat their lunch I had to force them.
“Did you enjoy your day?” I asked them as I made a U turn to go get back to the main road our day with the group having ended as an early darkness settled in.

“We had so much fun.” They breathed out.

“You were right mum”. My second daughter said, “I did not have to wait for someone to play with me. I started playing on my own and others joined me.”

I smiled, then of course I started again…you are who you are, you get up and be your own person, you do not have to please anyone…..on and on until they had to say okay mum we get it.

Had I nipped something in the bud? Had I straightened a rough patch? Did I do some weeding? Is this an ongoing process for all girls and all women? Do teenage girls spend a lot of time fighting, gossiping, tearing each other down, making their hair, putting in makeup while boys are busy learning to program or build a new innovation. Is this a generalization?

I need your thoughts in this.

The way I see it, sometimes as women we waste our precious energy in things that clearly do not bring us happiness or help us progress-and it starts early.

Grace Onyango is a work at home mum of three girls. She is passionate about building self-esteem in helping them see that they have it in them to excel and be empowered. To see more of her writings, visit her new blog at SandemaSunday.com.