All my life I’ve been trying to keep up with the boys. I had two brothers and not a lot of girlfriends, so I’d hang out with them and all their friends. Where they went, I would tag along like a puppy not wanting to be left behind or left out. When they would climb trees or shimmy up the wall between our house and the lumberyard next door, I would follow- and get stuck. My mom or dad would have to come haul me out of the tree because I couldn’t get down myself. I would follow my brothers on bikes and on cross country excursions through town before one of us got picked up by a police officer while the others ran off into the bushes. My parents always found out.
In high school I joined the boys’ freshman football team because I just wanted to play like I had with my dad and brothers. The difference of course was that my dad and brothers didn’t tackle or run into me. I stayed on the team even though I couldn’t run as fast, hit as hard, or kick or throw the ball as far as the boys could. Always trying to keep up.
When I joined the Forest Service and started working as a firefighter on a wildland fire engine, I was once again trying to keep up with the boys. Whether it was on a run, a hike or a hoselay, I was bringing up the rear, trying desperately to keep up. I wanted to be as strong as the boys, as big as them, as fast and as fearless.
Now when I hike with my Hotshot Crew I’m once again bringing up the rear, scurrying up the mountainside falling behind the pack. Every once in awhile I’ll look up and see the line of guys tightly knitted together as they march up the hill and the big gap between me and them. I feel so small buried under my heavy gear and moving my little legs as fast as I can. I hear the voice from my childhood in my head- Wait for me guys, I want to come too! I keep my mouth closed and the voice hidden because I’m an adult now, I’m supposed to be able to keep up. We aren’t kids anymore, this is serious business. But there I am, tagging along behind the boys, just trying to keep up.
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