As the rhyme says

“What are little boys made of?

Snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails

What are little girls made of?

Sugar and spice and everything nice.”

For Memorial Day weekend I went home to spend some time with my family. There’s a community pool that my family has been a part of for as long as I can remember, and my little sister and I went to swim for a while. While I sat on the pool deck reading, I found myself watching a game of ‘water basketball’ that was happening in front of me. At first it made me smile: it was nice to watch this family (I presume) play a game together, but slowly I started seeing a familiar scene play out. This game was made up with three adult men, a teenage boy, and a younger boy and younger girl maybe around 12 or 13. As I watched I noticed that all the guys were roughhousing and playing, tossing the ball to each other every once in awhile making a basket, but the young girl was left in the back shouting “I’m open! I’m open! Behind you! Pass the ball!” Not only did no one pay her any attention, but no one even bothered to guard her as if she was no competition at all. Every few minutes or so, the game would go on pause and she would be given a pity pass and they would pretend to include her. I wondered if the reason for all this was because she just wasn’t any good at basketball, but when she did manage to get the ball she had no trouble making a shot. The young boy was not being treated in the same way he got to wrestle and play with the guys, he got to be included.

I felt for this girl immensely. I remembered times in my childhood feeling this way. In my immediate family we had mostly girls, so we all played rough--guys and girls alike. But I can think of very distinct times with cousins and extended family that I was not allowed to play, or like this girl, was only made to believe that I was part of the game. I admit, these circumstances were slightly different than the one I was watching because I was usually much younger and much smaller than the boys who were playing, but the feeling that I was not wanted there, and not included was just as strong.

I wonder at this situation, and situations like it. I wonder why adults worry at accidently hurting little girls more than little boys. Why is it that little boys mustn’t hit little girls, rather than children not hitting children? There is something believed about girls, that they can’t (or shouldn’t) get dirty, or play rough, or play with the boys. Girls can’t play in the same ways boys do, they have to play gently or be played gently with, as if a bloody nose or black eye hurts more for a girl than it does for a boy- It must be because girls are made with sugar and spice rather than flesh and blood.