Burn the Ships

It was 1999. I had the fortune of box seats to the WNBA all-star game. The league was young (one or two years old) and while I have never been a basketball fan - it was encouraging to see a women's league that was seemingly well funded relative to other women's sport leagues. It seemed we were heading in the right direction.

Pat Summit and her former assistant coach and then head coach of the Mystics, Nancy Darch were also in the box watching the game. I eased into a conversation the two women were having about the inequities of pay for WNBA coaches and players compared to the NBA. I naively suggested, that thanks to them and other of their generation, women were on the right trajectory and it was now up to me and my generation to keep it moving up and along this path of progress. They both smiled a little – the kind of smile that tells you someone thinks you’re cute. It was the kind of smile that said – we wish you the best of luck, but, but we are keeping our expectations low. At the time, it annoyed me a little. It actually annoyed me a lot.

I have re-told this story many times since my original encounter with these two coaching greats. Early on it was a story of defiance: We had to be the generation to succeed, we had no choice. Later it became a story of hope: Maybe if we just keep plugging away, things will get better. Recently, it has been a story of defeat: Why didn’t my generation do more for our daughters? How could we fail them so miserably?

Soon after the 2016 election, while I was playing frisbee with the usual lunchtime pick-up crowd, one of the guys took several steps towards the other goal while kicking off. Another guy yelled out “What? Are you hitting from the lady’s tees now?” I lost it. I got angry, and I lost my composure. Sure – you could argue the comment was in jest - no harm, no foul. But there is harm. I can go into all the reason why the “lady’s tees” are actually called “forward tees” and why many men with whom I have played business golf should play from them, but it more important to understand that the comment was pejorative. Plain and simple, it was one man was telling another man that he was was “less” because he was playing like a girl.

I was admittedly raw when this incident happened. After all, we had just elected a man that made jokes about groping women, and passing it off as “locker room talk”. No harm. No foul. And certainly, no apologies. In the last several weeks, politicians are being called out for past sexual harassment and assault transgressions. Many people taking sides and defending or repudiating the (alleged) offender along political lines. Let’s be clear - this is not about politics and to politicize the actions of these men is wrong. As the #MeToo movement illustrated, the sexual misconduct outed for politicians and media moguls happens everywhere.

Recently, I have been so angry I want to cry. But I can’t. Not in public. Because I must be strong. Only women cry. And women are weak. You can’t cry in public. Unless you are a man. A man who cries in public is sensitive, well rounded, humble. A man who cries in public is strong. I want to cry, and I want it to be okay.

I watched the documentary “Burn the Ships” on Hulu last night. The movie chronicles one team’s season in the women's professional softball league. As I watched, I realized that our trajectory to equality is slower than I could have imagined in 1999. I was going to be part of the movement that put women in the C-suites, on corporate boards and in the Oval Office. I am starting to feel that my time is passing me by and that my best hope for the future is setting young women and girls up for success. I am admittedly struggling on what that looks like; but I know I’m not ready to give up quite yet.