They Say I'm Weak
By Kristen Bartlett
Copyright © 1999, All Rights Reserved

There's a guy on our cheerleading squad. When I watch him, he never cares that he's being called things. Mean things. I'm the girl on the football team. The only girl. They call me names. "She's a lesbian," they say. "Coach had to put her on the team, or she would've taken him to court. She thinks she's tough. She thinks she's invincible. She's wrong."

They say I'm weak. They call me baby, honey, sweety. They don't know that their words make me stronger. They won't let themselves understand what it's like to be part of the team, yet not part of the group. I'm different.

"Football's a man's sport," they say. Don't they realize they're not real men? Real men don't characterize their self worth by the size of their muscles. Real men don't put you down, because you have breasts and curves, instead of muscles and facial hair. Real men are like the guy on the cheerleading squad. They're not afraid. Do they see? Do they see that I am one of them? They can't, because their eyes are forever frozen shut. We don't have to wait for other women to go ahead of us, and built a pathway for us to walk upon. We can build it ourselves. The first female president could be you or me. Why don't we show them that we are powerful? We are strong, and we can't be ignored anymore.

They say we're weak. We say they're wrong. Let's show them.

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