BUCKING THE SYSTEM: GROWING UP AS A TOMBOY HAS PAID OFF IN MOTHERHOOD

A girlfriend of mine was distraught this week because her daughters had torn the arm off a doll. She couldn't believe they had so abused the mock baby and was torn between desires to either toss the doll in the trash or take her to a seamstress for mending.

If I had a dollar for every time that had happened. Turns out, I was one of those girls who tore the limbs off dolls. For some reason, I also enjoyed chewing on their plastic feet and hands and drawing on makeup in permanent marker. Perhaps the latter was an indication of my grown-up love affair with cosmetics, but I'm not really sure where my more destructive habits were derived.

I don't even know why my parents gave me dolls after I reached the age of 5. Most times, I preferred to spend my time outside with the boys playing football or climbing trees.

That is, until that time in third grade when I was nearly knocked unconscious during an early autumn game of tackle football. One of my best guy friends, Tory Brashears, helped me up, then suggested I go play a game of kickball with the girls.

How humiliating.

But even then, I didn't become one of those girly types of girls. I distinctly remember telling Tracy and Felecia, my girlfriends who were of similar age but enjoyed more genteel pursuits, that tea parties were not to be considered during play time. Eventually, they quit inviting me over, which I only regretted occasionally after Tracy learned to cook pies and cakes and would use Felecia as her official taste tester.

But my lack of experience with dolls didn't make me any less feminine. In due time, I began to wear makeup and smile as boys with oversized chests and similar egos walked by. And it wasn't long before I married and brought real babies in the world.

And now my lack of knowledge of girl play is serving me well. When my sons were infants, I was tolerant of their desire to play with dolls and wear my wigs or hairpieces. Now that they are big boys, I am impressing them with my athleticism and knowledge of wrestlers, monster trucks and assorted ball games.

Thanks to the tomboy training I provided myself as a child, I can place my husband in a headlock, put back on a set of rubber tires that were pulled off of tiny toy trucks, and complete a reading assignment for my graduate course, all at the same time.

Believe it or not, it's not nearly as difficult as taking a tackle from a third-grade male out to prove he's the man.