Like a Girl
I lived in Louisiana as a young girl. Our state license plate proudly proclaimed Louisiana to be the “Sportsman’s Paradise.” It was a man’s state for sure. Men had a Cajun history of fishing and hunting all year long.
There was no mention of the role of women on the license plate. We understood we were in support roles, doing domestic duties. We cleaned, my mother cooked and baked, and all the children required tending to.
I watched as the boys in my family gleefully readied their attire for different sports. Fishing or hunting equipment had to be in good order, stored properly. Guns were in the gun cabinet and fishing poles were hung on a special rack. A boat was stored on the side of our property, ready to go out at any given time.
When I was about eleven years of age, I told one of my brothers I’d like to go out to see what fishing was like. “You can’t handle it. You are too prissy. This is men’s work. You wouldn’t even be able to wake up early for the ride out to the Gulf.” His tone was derisive, superior.
I decided to work my dad. When I asked him, he assured me it was demanding work. Once out on the boat there was no turning back. The conditions would be dirty. Live bait, squirmy and slimy, would be handled, along with dangerous hooks. I was not deterred. I asked repeatedly. Finally, he relented.
The day of the fishing trip I was beside myself with anticipation. We went to a camp with plans to get up at 4:30 a.m. I barely slept I was so excited. I wanted to wake early to show my readiness to face the day.
I was the first person up in the darkness. The men and boys slept a good half hour longer, while I stared at a metal drip coffee maker. I noted that my brothers took multiple attempts to rouse. So much for my inability to meet the dawn!
Out on the boat I stayed towards the front of the boat, statue-like as I leaned toward the open waters, no other boats in sight. That was the only time I went on a boat and did not get seasick. I can’t explain it to this day.
When we finally stopped, we spent hours on the water before I finally had a bite. I fought feverishly to prove I had the mettle of an angler. I pulled in a large, edible fish. No one had a camera to prove this event, but at day’s end, I had landed the biggest fish. My dad was proud of me. My brothers avoided eye contact and conversation.
This event was pivotal in my life. I now realized that expressions like “man’s work,” or “too womanly for that,” were historic fictions. I decided I could live life like a man, obtaining the privileges inherent with being free to do things that afforded opportunity and growth.
I would no longer feel that my only worth was cleaning the dishes, stirring the roux for the gumbo, and exclaiming with wonder at the catch of the day or the ducks lined up for the photo shoots in the winter. I could do what the men could do.
I took this lesson with me into adult life, having a managerial career where I was the boss, alongside male workers. It was challenging work, but it served me well.
Now, I am disheartened to hear that there is a movement called “Tradwife,” where women go back to ‘50s values, supporting men and rejecting independence. My 11-year-old self wants to yell, “Don’t turn back! The modern way is better.”
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