I'm The Only GIRL in an ALL BOYS Team

My name is Clary McLaren and I am twenty one years old. I am going to tell you the story of how I was stuck with joining an all boys hockey team and what I had to face because of that. My passion for ice hockey was not something new. From the age of five, I felt fast and free and electrified on the ice, and I loved it. And by the age of eight, I was good enough to be chosen for the school hockey team. The following season, when I graduated high school, and joined college, the national team was designated boys-only. I was good enough but I just wasn't boy enough. My coach fought for me, my parents fought for me, but we lost. But, I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. Back in those childhood days at the arena, all I had known was that I just wanted to play. And, I couldn’t allow them to take away that opportunity from me just when I was so close to my dreams. So, I persisted. Eventually, after many trials and tribulations, I was taken into the national team which was an all-boys team. When I first walked into the ring with my stick balanced in my right hand and my unwieldy bag flung over my left shoulder, I was met with turned heads, nods in my direction and even pointed fingers and stares. Three older boys in gold jackets standing by the canteen had turned to look at me, then put their heads together and laughed at my expense. My face had reddened and my eyes dropped to my boots. Hockey isn't something I do as a social statement or in an effort to move my gender closer to equality. But the only girl on a boys' hockey team is bound to get extra attention, like it or not. My teammates weren’t very welcoming. They looked down upon me and thought that I was weak only because I was a ‘girl’ in their eyes. “You have taken up the spot of some other worthy hockey player,” one of them, named Neil, said to me. I had no response to that. All I could do was, ignore them and continue to give my best for the sports I loved. It was always the same response, until they got used to having me there. In warm-ups there was more pointing at the uncharacteristic shock of blond hair coming out the back of my helmet. I witnessed an unusual amount of conversation and leering among the other players as they went through their drills at the far end of the ice. They started finding ways to tick me off. They would make fun of me at every given opportunity or mock me for ‘being a girl who was playing the sports of boys’ and so on. The issue was not only on their part alone. As a girl, adjusting and practicing with the boys was a tough job for me, especially, if the said boys were all against me. I felt like my performance was being affected because of this, no matter how much I tried to ignore it. Time flew and soon enough, we were out on the ice against a new team. Parents of the opposition, who usually focused on their own children, were instead watching my every stride, every practice shot I took on my own goalie, passing judgment. They wanted to see if I can play the game, to see whether or not I'm better than their sons. That's what it was all about, in the end. On my first shift, I approached the faceoff with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. The winger lined up across from me lifted his head and sneered through his mask, "Girls don't play hockey. Why aren't you figure skating, girlie?" I grimaced and blushed and tears welled in my eyes, but I kept my mouth shut. I was not angry, just embarrassed. We all had the same pads, skates and sweaters. Did it matter that I was a girl? I wanted to tell him that if there were a girls' league around here I would have played in it, but there wasn't. So here I was. Now, I look back and wish that I had had the guts to say something, anything, in response. But, that game proved to be a life-changing one for me. The puck sailed in front of me to the side boards, and I raced over to retrieve it. The opposing defenseman got there a second before me, but was faced with a dilemma: Does he play hockey, play hard and aggressive, or does he take it easy because this is not just any adversary but a girl? To him, I was a fragile, soft-spoken, doll-playing girl. He had been taught to be nice to girls. Remembering his manners he went in soft. He stopped skating, stood up straight, and handled the puck gently, as if it was not really his. But I didn’t go soft on him. I went in with speed, feet chopping at the ice, lifting his stick with mine and wedging my body between him and the puck to gain possession. I passed the puck to my teammate, who crossed the blue line to start the attack. With one move I had surprised, frustrated and embarrassed the would-be gentleman. He was playing by the rules. I was not. This changed everything. He raced back to help defend his own goal, and when we meet again seconds later in the corner to fight for the puck he was there with a vengeance, his good manners usurped by his desire not to be shown up by a girl. I didn't feel threatened or scared but relieved.