Chicks on the pond | Mary Sheehy Moe

I was a sister wedged in birth order between two brothers. All my cousins my age were boys. All the neighborhood kids my age were boys. So my childhood game wasn’t house. It was baseball.

There was always a pick-up game going on in my neighborhood — a real game or some variation like 500 or Home Run Derby or even Pepper. I loved them all. I loved judging the ball’s trajectory at the crack of the bat, running across the grass, stretching out my glove just in time to snag a would-be Texas-leaguer, then throwing the ball on a rope to oust a player who hadn’t tagged up.

I especially loved the surprise of a girl playing ball: the look in that guy’s eyes who didn’t tag up, the subtle respect of the infield as they saw you take your stance in the batter’s box, the remark of one boy to another, “She sure doesn’t throw/hit/run like a girl!”

But when Little League season came, I was sidelined. And when high school came, cheering or twirling was as close to any field as I’d get. There were no team sports for girls then. There were no pick-up games, either — just a pick-up game of an entirely different nature. (I wasn’t good at it.)

That exclusion derailed me for ten crucial years. I often wonder what direction my life would have taken had Title IX been enacted ten years earlier than it was. I’m over it now — mostly. But whenever a girls softball tournament hits town, I gotta go watch.

I did that last weekend at the state AA championship tournament. I chose a team from a town I once called home and watched them play teams from other towns I’ve called home. Sitting in the stands with their fans, recognizing kids’ names and witnessing their talents, it’s like you’re part of those communities again. I love that about Montana.

And what joy watching these girls play ball! Sure, they do these girly things like line-dancing outside the dugout and singing cheers inside it, but on the field they’re fierce. I saw a center fielder go right over the fence, nearly turning a home run into just a long out. I saw girls slide into home, steal bases, turn double plays, hit grand slams.

Of course, I have to monitor myself. I get so ecstatic when I see a girl lay down the perfect bunt or make a diving catch that I’m likely to jump out of my seat celebrating someone on the opposing team. The collective gasp all around me sinks me back to my seat to wallow in the ignominy of the group stink-eye.

All weekend I reveled in how much progress we’ve made when it comes to opportunities for girls. I helped coach one of Montana’s first volleyball teams. We could only practice when boys’ teams weren’t using the gym, which meant practice was at 6 a.m. One of our players joined several other Montana girls in the Title IX lawsuit that won girls athletics equality in scheduling, funding, and access. Practices were warmer after that. The coaches corner in the faculty room was not.

Think of all the girls we’re keeping our constitutional promise to now, girls who were ignored when I was in high school! Nothing develops your full potential like honing your skills and contributing them to a team — whether that team performs on a court, a field, a bandstand, or a stage. And just like boys, the lessons girls learn in that process are reflected in their classrooms, their communities, their relationships, and perhaps most importantly, the mirror.

In a dismally rainy championship game, “my” team lost last Saturday, but I left as I elated as I always am when I see the schools I help fund giving every student the opportunity to shine.

I didn’t get that opportunity. And Billings classmates, Flathead colleagues, Great Falls friends, neither did you. But I’m over it. Or I was until I burst into my house to share my elation with my husband and simply could not pry him away from the Caitlin Clark game in progress. Grrrr. We coulda been contenders.