Sports have always played an invaluable role in my life. When I was a kid my parents thought I could become a star ballerina and had me wearing pink leotards and a tutu. Eventually they gave in to my pleas (and those of my frustrated ballet instructor) and let me put the tutu in the closet. What I really wanted was to accompany my father to his many basketball practices, which he allowed after much begging on my part. After practice I would listen, rapt, to Dad’s stories about trying to play for the whites-only basketball team of his alma mater, Louisiana State University, in the 1960s.
That’s how the love affair began. I didn’t care what venue or team it involved—I just needed to be around that brown bouncing ball, either playing or watching the game. I wanted the sense of strength and fortitude, the team-oriented atmosphere—and yes, even the power—that comes with being an athlete, all of which are rarely offered to African-American girls.
So I practiced...a lot. Fifty free throws a day, jogging two to three miles before I went to school, three hours of shooting, and of course, I could never actually play enough. Being a girl, a lesbian, and an African-American can make a person’s life challenging. But sports evened the playing field. You weren’t alone; you had a support system that exemplified the old American adage “If you work really hard, you’ll succeed.”
Fast-forward to my early teens in the mid ’80s, and my love of sports was confirmed by the way I felt when I first saw a televised game of Cheryl Miller taking her University of Southern California team to the NCAA championship. It was easily one of the defining moments of my life. Here was an African-American woman, on one of the earliest nationally televised women’s sporting events, playing like she had every right to be just as good as the guys. It was the grooviest thing. I wanted to be just like her—without the perm.
Now WNBA All-Star Sheryl Swoopes has come out. “I’m at a point in my life where I’m tired of having to say, ‘Don’t tell this person or don’t tell that person,’ ” Swoopes told The Advocate for a November cover story. “Hopefully many other people out there will look at this and say...‘If she’s doing it, why can’t I?’ ”
I was reminded of the photo of Swoopes, during her pregnancy years ago, that was featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated’s inaugural women’s magazine. The message that photo sent to me was that it wasn’t good enough to be great at sports—it was also necessary to exude heterosexuality. I imagine that as Swoopes continued to grow as an athlete, the sacrifices required by this team mentality shortchanged her personal life, and she became an actor in a role she never realized she’d signed up to play.
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