Last summer, a play I wrote called "Boy" was produced in San Diego. "Boy" is about a girl named Boy whose parents raise her as a son because they already have 3 daughters. A newspaper reporter interviewed me and asked me questions like:
Considering all the things I talked about, I was surprised to see the article headlined"Tomboy Writer."
I don't consider myself a tomboy anymore. I was a tomboy when I caught grasshoppers in Mason jars, played war in my backyard with yardsticks as rifles, built a treehouse and posted the sign "no girls allowed" outside of it.
But even back then, I had mixed feelings about being called a tomboy. On the one hand, I liked being put in a different category than the girls who played with dolls and wore pink dresses to imaginary tea parties. I remember one time going to a girlfriend's house after school, and she made me pick up a plastic teacup with a stuffed bear's paw and hold it up to its lips and tilt it. I was convinced I was on "Candid Camera" or in some other way being set up. I couldn't possibly be expected to think this was fun.
