Originally posted on FB, November 16, 2021

• Written by Lesa Quale Ferguson

As the boys and I were driving atop the Skyway one morning, the sun skimmed off the water and glass buildings, casting everything in golden-hour light. I glanced at Cal in the rearview mirror and Sam beside me in the passenger seat. They were bathed in that sunshine, and I thought, Damn, your sons are so handsome.

Out of nowhere, I thought about my first boyfriend. He was some woman’s son, too—her youngest. She had all sons, just like me.
As a total non sequitur, I decided to tell my boys about how he broke up with me.

It was the weekend before my sophomore year of college. I’d gone back early to spend time with my boyfriend. The whole ten months we were together, it felt like he couldn’t decide if I was Ally Sheedy post-makeover quirky or Ally Sheedy pre-makeover weird (this was pre-Breakfast Club, but you catch my drift).

That weekend, we played tennis, pinball, and ping-pong all over campus. And I beat him at everything. With each loss, he got more agitated, scrambling to find a game he could win. I was heartbreakingly in love, the kind of love only a girl with horrible self-esteem in her first real relationship can feel. Neither of us liked me as much as we both should have.

Desperate to save the day—and us—I tried putting myself down, playing poorly, calling the games stupid. It only made him angrier. By nightfall, I half-expected the Feminism Fairy to swoop in and confiscate my membership card.

Finally, he looked down at my shoes—one green Converse, one purple—and picked a fight. “You’re just… weird. Not socially acceptable.”

I wondered if my first boyfriend’s mom stopped letting him win—and if she ever beat his dad at games in front of their boys. But is blaming her really fair? Isn’t it less about what women do and more about how the men in our lives react to our wins? Not to brag, but my boys know I’m the house tetherball champ, thanks to Dave, my husband, who loves to regale them with tales of the ball soaring over his head.

As I exited the thruway, I told them, “If a girl ever whoops you at something, remember: the only thing it says about you is that you have the good sense to hang out with a badass. Even if the badassery is just pinball.”

After all, as Elton John pointed out in the movie Tommy, badass pinballers make the best wizards.