Last night, in an epic, edge-of-your-seat basketball game, Baylor and Notre Dame went head-to-head in 40 minutes of some of the best basketball I've ever seen.
Scattered around our living room were my three sons, ages 10, 5, and 1, my wife, and I. It was deeply important to me that my sons watched the game. It was also deeply troubling to me that the championship game of the women's NCAA basketball tournament was aired only on ESPN, and not on CBS, as equivalent men's games are (and as the men's championship will be tonight). Not to mention, even more troubling that the other games of the women's tournament were aired only on ESPN2, while the men's games were on channels with far easier access.
I want my sons to be a part of stopping this kind of unequal and unjust reception.
I want my sons to get used to seeing women as powerful, poised, bold, brave, and amazingly engage to watch as they compete at the highest levels of athletic skill.
However, because the culture of inequality is so immensely pervasive, it can sometimes feel overwhelming to change.
Case in point: in earlier games, as I tried to get my oldest son to be interested in the NCAA women's tournament, his reply came honestly and quickly, "I think the men are more fun to watch. It just doesn't sound super fun to watch the women play."
Resisting the huge to respond with incredulity and shock, I stayed calm, and started to ask that key questions for parents and educators: "Why?"
As it turns out, it wasn't because he had actually seen them play and thought they weren't as exciting or interesting. Instead, it was because he had heard that the men were the most engaging to watch. He had drunk the Kool-Aid of our cultural norms, evident everywhere and ready to be received as totally legit, that the real drama and excitement in sports was in watching the men play.
All my logic didn't really get through to him, but we watched the preliminary games, and he slowly started to get a little more interested.
Then, last night, we started watching the early coverage, hearing the truly remarkable stories about players like Arike Ogunbowale and her epic buzzer-beaters from the previous season to win the semifinal and final for Notre Dame.
We heard about Chloe Jackson and her courageous decision to transfer from LSU to Baylor for her last shot at a title, having to learn an entirely new position (point guard) on the job to make the move work.
We learned about Notre Dame Coach Muffet McGraw's powerful words on equality in the workforce for women, and we heard about Baylor coach Kim Mulkey's battle back from the darkness of losing a grandchild during her daughter's stillbirth in the past two years.
And then it was game time.
Baylor came out fighting, taking a commanding lead from the get-go. But over the course of the game, Notre Dame never gave up. In the second half, led by guards Arike Ogunbowale and Carolyn Mabrey, Notre Dame went on run after run, eventually taking their first lead in the game since they led 3-2 in the first minute.
I looked over at my 10-year old: mesmerized. Literally on the edge of his seat. Hands raising in hope or fear or shock and, yes, most definitely in awe.
He was loving every minute of this tense, talent-filled and effort-fueled battle for the 2019 NCAA Women's Basketball Championship.
And as his dad, I loved watching him watch these women play.
I want him and my other two sons to learn early and often that women are leaders, game-changers, powerful and poised and worth watching, worth learning from, worth admiring, worth following.
This belief in no way diminishes my sons' own abilities or trajectories. Such a lie is far too often peddled by those fearful of change and equality.
No. Supporting, rooting for, and encouraging women to be their powerful selves does not diminish boys and men. Instead, it frees us to be fully human, too. It frees us to encourage, celebrate, and grow. It frees us to embrace equality and justice rather than harbor power and fear.
The definition of masculinity lies not in a forged and false notion of dominance, but rather in the embrace of authentic equality and progress for all people, not just those with certain attributes or labels.
That's what I want to try hard to practice. That's what I want my sons to learn from me.
