You Write Like a Boy

I recently had occasion to
look through my ninth-grade diary, where I came upon this curious notation:
“English—Miss K. said I write like a boy! Thanks!” Needless to say, this entry
brings up some questions:



Why, exactly, did Miss K. think I wrote like a boy?
Was her comment meant as a compliment or a criticism?
When I wrote, "Thanks!" was I expressing sarcasm or pride?

I’ve thought long and hard
about my English teacher’s comment. From my current perch as a journalistic,
nonfiction author, I wonder if she had picked up on the fact that my writing
tended to be more reportorial than emotional. Was there a dispassion in my ninth-grade
writing that she pegged as “masculine”? Did I rely more heavily on verbs than
adjectives and thus not write flowery prose? Or was it the content that made
her draw that conclusion? I don’t know which piece of writing prompted her
comment, but in those days, I know I wasn’t writing about sports. Still,
perhaps the protagonist in a story I wrote was more self-confident than those
of the other girls in my class. I guess it will remain a mystery.





As for the second question,
I’m hoping it was more of an observation than either a compliment or criticism.
To put the comment in historical context, it was written in 1969, when the
second wave of feminism was in full swing. I don’t recall Miss K. being a
feminist. (She was known as “Miss” K., but that was before “Ms.” became a
popular option.) I asked my brother, who had her as a teacher a few years after
me, but all he remembered was that she was “cute.” I remember her being
relatively new to the profession, and perhaps not as nurturing or supportive as
some of my more memorable instructors. Still, I’d like to give her credit for
being evolved enough not to criticize me for my writing voice. So I’ll take her
words as either a compliment or an observation.




Alas, to the third point, I
think I really did feel proud of her assessment. In the late 1960s, men got the
great jobs and had the adventures that girls like me secretly wished we could
have. I never wanted to be a boy, but
I did read Boy’s Life and fervently wished
I could go on the escapades chronicled in that magazine. In my mind, by saying that I wrote
like a boy, Miss K. was telling me she thought I was tough and adventurous.
That meant I might have the stuff to pursue a worldly career beyond marriage
and childrearing. So I am 99 percent sure that I was expressing pride, rather than sarcasm, when I wrote, "Thanks!"




In my quest for
enlightenment about my diary entry, I pulled out my ninth-grade yearbook
and looked up Miss K. Yep, now I remember her. She even signed my yearbook.
Here’s what she wrote: “You certainly have the ambition and ability to go very
far in life. Best of luck and success to a very intelligent girl.” Now I wonder
if it was my ambition and drive that she thought were masculine. I was always
pretty competitive, whether in gym or in English class. And since this was
three years before Title IX started to level the playing field for women and
men, ambition wasn’t exactly an accepted part of a high school girl’s DNA. 



Of course, one conclusion I
could draw is that Miss K.’s comment said more about her than it did about me.
Today, when gender roles are somewhat fluid and political correctness is
paramount, I can’t imagine any teacher thinking,
let alone telling a girl she writes
like a boy, or visa versa. Though I suspect most teachers wouldn’t have voiced those
thoughts in 1969, either, maybe it was an acceptable faux pas for a young woman
just out of teachers’ college.




At any rate, I suspect I've spent a lot more time thinking about Miss K.'s comment now than I did when she originally made it.