I grew up a tomboy; I was the only girl in a group of boys living in my neighborhood. While I wished I had more girls around me, I’m extremely happy to call myself a tomboy. I’m happy that I can hang out with the boys and talk about sports and beer and whatever else boys do.

Thank you for not letting the boys tell you couldn’t play with them.

“You can’t play with us, you’re a girl.” I refused to let my male friends tell me I couldn’t play with them. Growing up I wanted to do everything my older brother did, which meant playing basketball in the street every day with all our neighbors. When they would tell me I couldn’t play with them, rather than running inside and crying to my mom, I told them I was better than they were (knowing I probably wasn’t) and played anyway. To this day it still infuriates me to hear “You can’t do that, you’re a girl.” I can do anything you can, just as well as you can.

Thank you for proving to the boys that you could throw a spiral better than they could.

Football was my favorite sport to play. My favorite part of playing football was the look on the face of any male around me when I threw a perfect spiral, and my dad standing next to me beaming. I took a particular sense of pride in this because any other girl I knew couldn’t throw a football for her life, so I felt that this made me stand out from any girls I knew as well as some of the boys. Growing up all I wanted was a Brett Favre jersey (Packers, obviously) and I never got one; and today, at almost 21 years old, I still want one.

Thank you for being the only kid at the park that could get through the monkey bars without falling.

The monkey bars were always my favorite part of any playground. When I was five, I slipped from the monkey bars of the swing set in my backyard and broke my left arm. According to my parents, as soon as the cast came off I was right back on them. One particular set of monkey bars posed a great difficulty to any who dared attempt it. This set was shaped like a “W”, so you had to climb down, up, down and back up to the end. There was a line of kids waiting to try it; and they fell one by one as someone’s dad stood next to the bars narrating each kid’s attempt. My turn finally came, and I was the only one to successfully complete the bars.

Thank you for the countless bruises and scraped knees; and those scars just below my left knee and on my left elbow.

I was constantly coming home with my clothes ripped or covered in dirt and mud. I’ve fallen off of bikes and scooters more times than I could ever count. The scars below my left knee came from a fall off my skim board in which the back of the board sliced my leg and left me gushing blood all over the beach. The scars on my left elbow are from when I broke it falling off our monkey bars. I look at these scars and remember some particular skinned knees and reflect on how these made me tougher as a person, how they taught how to deal with physical pain.

Although Mom didn’t appreciate it, thank you for fighting her on wearing anything remotely girly.

Up until the age of about 13, I refused to wear a skirt, a dress or anything pink unless I absolutely had to; and even then I was not happy about it. Eventually I settled for skorts. I would have much preferred to wear a Lacoste shirt and cargo shorts than a dress. The fact that I stood my ground as adamantly as I did then has only stuck with me through my adolescence and is continuing to stay with me into my adulthood. Mom, thanks for sometimes just giving in and letting me wear what I wanted.

Thank you for eventually figuring out this whole dressing like a girl thing on your own.

Around the age of 13 or 14, I wanted short-shorts, I no longer wanted to wear cargo shorts. I wanted pink and green tank tops, not blue and black t-shirts. I wanted strappy sandals, not sneakers. I noticed these changes in the way I wanted to present myself and at first it felt extremely uncomfortable, I was not used to seeing myself in these colors and these styles of clothes. But, the more girly I began to dress, the more I liked how I looked. Today, during summer you’ll find me in nothing but rompers, sundresses and skirts. It’s safe to say I’ve come a long way from my brother’s hand-me-down basketball shorts and Yankees tshirts.

Thank you for not losing that argumentativeness that being a tomboy instilled in you.

All those fights with Mom and the boys up the street paid off. Even today I still remain stubborn when I am told I can’t do something.

Thank you for the self-confidence that you now carry because of a childhood spent wearing basketball shorts and t-shirts instead of skirts and pink tops.

Tucking my hair into hats, wearing my brother’s shorts and beat up t-shirts got me plenty of weird looks growing up. When we moved into our home about 10 years ago, and I had my hair tucked up into the back of a Penn State hat and our neighbors came to introduce themselves. When I said my name is Sydney, they asked me, “Sydney boy or Sydney girl?” I took off the hat and let my hair speak for me. The looks and comments I received growing up molded my self-confidence into what it is now because I now feel as if I can dress however I please and if you don’t like it, that’s just fine.

Thank you for still letting the tomboy in you come out once in a while.

Whether it’s yelling obscenities at a Phillies game with Dad or even tucking my hair up into a hat every once in a while, I’m happy I never completely lost touch with the tomboy in me. I take pride in the fact that I grew up roughhousing with the boys instead of playing Barbie with the girls.