First Grade Gender Studies
First grade is different from kindergarten. In kindergarten, we got to play a lot. In first grade, we spend more time sitting and writing. My classroom doesn’t have as many toys, but the shelf has different books. Some don’t have pictures, and I’m excited about those. Our new teacher, Mrs. Thrush, comes right away when I raise my hand. I like that. In kindergarten my arm would get so tired waiting for Mrs. Schmeedle to answer my questions.
We can’t wear our own clothes anymore. In first grade, you have to start wearing a uniform. Everyone has polo shirts with the school logo sewn on. Boys wear dress pants, and girls have to wear plaid skirts. We can wear our own clothes on Fridays, but you have to pay a dollar. I’m seven! How do you expect me to find a dollar every week, only to have to waste it on wearing my own clothes?
The school even has rules about hair. Girls have to wear ponytails, and boys have to keep their hair short. My hair is short, so I don’t have to wear a ponytail.
Our recess is different. Recess is in the parking lot, between the church and the school. Lines were painted to keep us safe. In kindergarten, we could all go wherever within the lines. In first grade, girls and boys have to stay on separate sides unless it’s Friday. I stand on the line, calling for my friends, unless it’s Friday.
I don’t think girls and boys are supposed to be friends. Or maybe it’s allowed, but you still shouldn’t do it. It’s like bringing a book into the bathroom to read when you’re pooping. On my first day of kindergarten, during dinner, my mom asked me questions about my day. She asked me if I made any friends, and I told her about my new friend Christopher. We had spent recess drawing with chalk. My big brother started singing about us sitting in a tree, then spelled something. I didn’t know what he spelled, but he sounded like he was making fun of me, and my mom yelled at him. I stopped talking about my friends at home after that. Unless they’re girls.
This separation is important. Everyone automatically knows who’s a girl and who’s a boy, and everyone automatically knows if they are a girl or a boy. I don’t know who makes the decision to begin with. No one ever asked me. Maybe it’s something the doctors need to figure out when you’re born.
The separation must be important, or it wouldn’t exist. There are differences I can see between boys and girls. Boys get to wear pants all the time. They have short hair. They like video games. Girls can wear pants, but a lot of the time they have to wear skirts or dresses. They have long hair. They like dolls and pink. Boys grow into men, and they’re allowed to grow beards and so much other hair, maybe to make up for them having short hair on their heads. Girls grow into women, and they have to wear makeup and jewelry.
The thing is, my hair doesn’t go past the tops of my ears. I only wear pants and shorts at home. I don’t look like the girls. I look more like the boys, except for the dumb uniform. Maybe I’m half boy, half girl.
I don’t know how to read chapter books yet. I don’t know why I can’t wear pants to school, even in the winter. I don’t know if the doctors got it wrong when they decided what I am. I don’t know if I’ll grow up to be a woman or a man.
But it’s recess. It’s Wednesday. I’m going to stand by the line, freezing my legs off in the dumb uniform, wishing I could step to the other side.
