My tomboy days

I always wanted to be a boy.

Boys' toys were so much more fun!  They moved by themselves, they made noise, you could build with them.  Girls' toys had to be made to move, and noises made for them.

I thought that if I wished it hard enough, and dressed like a boy, I could turn into one.  Just to make sure, I checked this out with my mom.  We were in a toy shop, in front of other shoppers (naturally) and I asked my mom the burning question:  "Mom, how do you tell the difference between girls and boys?"  (You have to remember that I only had one sister and had never seen the male anatomy.)  My mother thought quickly and replied, "Well, little girls have pink tassles, and little boys have blue tassles."  "Oh" I said, and although I didn't know what a "tassle" was, for years afterwards I wouldn't pronounce that word, as it sounded like a "rude word" to me.

However, that only confirmed my theory that there really were only outward, cosmetic differences between the sexes, and if I chose to dress like a boy, and wear my hair like one, I could grow up as one.
 
So I wore pants, with a leather belt and a pocket knife hanging down, and a chunky blue and white striped polar neck.  I remember so clearly the two occasions on which I was actually mistaken for being a boy.  I basked for days afterwards in the glow of those moments!

My dad, not having a son of his own, was only too happy to give me boys' toys for my birthdays.  So I had a kite, a wind-up aeroplane, a clockwork train, and best of all, a battery-operated dump truck, with a siren!  One time when I was ill, he bought me a racing car. 

Only one time did my mother ever suggest the idea of my sister and I taking ballet, and it was shouted down to cries of "That's for sissies!"

My secret name when playing on my own was Davey (no doubt after Davy Crockett!)  And when Daniel Boone was screened on Zimbabwe television, I was its most avid fan.  Every Monday evening at 5pm would find me glued to the TV, unwilling to budge nor breathe for the next hour!  I would have to live on that one episode a whole week!  But that was fine, because I would re-enact Daniel's feats in my backyard, using a wooden stilt as a rifle.  I was Daniel Boone!  Sadly, I never did manage to procure a coon-skin cap.  Despite my eyeing my mom's one fur hat which would have done admirably, and my many hints to that effect...

So what finally brought my tomboy ambitions to an end?  My aunt, who had only had boys and always wanted a girl, was brushing my (now grown long) hair, and asked me why I wanted to be a boy?  I was a puzzlement to her!  I gave her my reasons, and she spoke these life-changing words to me:  "Well, that means when you grow up, you will have to join the army."

Crash!!  With that one simple statement, my dreams came tumbling down!  I was committed to the cause - but not to that extent.  That was going too far!  Reluctantly, I accepted my fate as a member of the female species, and began embracing my femininity.

Whenever I get into a philosophical state of mind, I muse on the role my tomboy days have played in my life.  My attitude growing up was often, "You cannot make it too tough for me."  While other girls were screaming and fainting, I would boldly push through with the attitude, "Allow me to show you how it's done."  There has always been a side to me that said, "Life is tough.  Just get on with it."  This outlook stood me in really good stead for the mission field!  Senegal was not a place for sissies!  It was a tough environment to live in, and raise babies in.  I don't think I would have made it had I been faint-hearted.  And here's the interesting thing - the more wives of missionaries I speak to, the more I find out one interesting fact: many of them were tomboys growing up too!

Oh and one more thing - living in the mountains isn't for sissies either!