A boy’s two hands in the middle of my back
Didn’t bother me one bit.
Even if the force was strong.
Even if I fell to the ground.
I’d get right back up
Back to the line of scrimmage.
Yes, I know what that means.
I did as a child, too.
I’m not one of those dumb girls.
I know things.
The neighborhood boys taught me.
Only because I was
Teachable,
Curious,
Brave,
Not like the other girls.
Those boys took the pigskin into their hands first,
Placing their throwing fingers on the laces,
Like this- see?
Your thumb goes on the underside
While your pointer finger goes here
And your pinky, stretched out to here.
Now you do it.
I concentrated as hard as I could
To lengthen my small grip,
Pulling my pinky
Away from my thumb.
Tight grip.
Thumb underneath
Fingers on laces,
And launched…
Yeah! See!
Now try and spiral it
In my quarterback stance,
Right arm rared back,
Left, ready to step
Into the toss
Into the spiral
Into the game,
And into the gang.
I’m not one of those dumb girls.
This was written by our contributing writer, Nina Graue.
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