Tomboy

Today I sold a bike to (the parents of) a tomboy. This little girl was about ten or eleven years old, I would guess. Chubby, big smile with teeth awaiting braces, baseball cap on head, cheery disposition and baggy clothes. She was there to get her first adult-sized bike and first bike with gears - very exciting.
This girl reminded me of the little tomboy that I used to be... but with one big difference: her mom.
This girl's mom seemed to be totally hung up on the fact that her daughter is a tomboy. The bike sale was quite quick, maybe fifteen minutes, and in that short time her mom mentioned her boyishness probably five separate times. For example, when I asked the girl what kind of bike she wanted, she said that she would like a mountain bike. Quickly, her mom quipped, "Yeah, because it's more of a boy's bike." First of all, it's not a boy's bike. Second, get over it, lady. You can't change your daughter. I know. As this girl was "trying on" different sized bikes and getting really excited, her mom kept trying to tone her down. It was really sad. The final piece of pie was sliced when I asked the mom if the daughter needed a new helmet to go with her new bike.
"Yeah, she could probably use one, but she would pick a boy's style so we'll just get the bike."
Are you kidding me! You would rather place your daughter in serious danger, risking her life, her intact spine, than have her look like a boy!? Please tell me this isn't happening.

What's the point of this post? Just to say, "Thanks, Mom!" for letting me do my own thing with only periodic mention of my (boyish) wardrobe, which I know you hated. You even let me think that I was the one who decided to play basketball instead of football in seventh grade. I love you.