I was only on the recess kickball team for a year in the second grade. The rules are like baseball, only there’s no baseball or bat or gloves, just a big rubber ball that you kick, the ones used for Wall Ball or Four Square. There would be twenty of us behind the fence around home base, and I would always be a little scared. Always. ‘Cuz I couldn’t kick hard, or run fast, and my dad used to make fun of me when I whiffed, saying, What, did your dad never play catch with you as a kid?

I never learned how to talk back to him—Not intelligently, at least. I never learned more than cusses and Shut up, old man, no one asked. My sister did, though, and sometimes when she speaks she sounds exactly like our father. Our aunties and uncles agree. You have his sense of humor, too. That makes her uncomfortable.

When it was my turn to kick, I did it without grace or technique because I was not taught. I kicked that red rubber ball with all my might. Sometimes I’d miss, which embarrassed me, but every once in a while I would get it and look on in shock. Boys would yell at me to RUN, and since I do what I’m told, I’d run as fast as I could to first or second base, but not more than that, ‘cuz I’ve always been slow for a boy.

My team was nice to me. Mark was the tallest, with brown hair and tan skin, and I was jealous ‘cuz I noticed the inside of his elbows were smooth where mine were dry and scabbed over from eczema. When I kicked the ball, he would tell me Good job, and that I Did it, so I told myself I was in love with him.

If they saw me as a boy back then, I wonder if they would still say Good job. Maybe they were just being nice, because a gentleman is polite to young ladies, even when they’re weak or foolish. Especially when they’re weak or foolish. If they knew I was a boy back then, I wonder if they’d hit me when I got annoying, if they’d kick me under the chair for reminding the teacher of the assignment that was due. I wonder if, as an equal, I’d be seen as a threat, seen as anything.