I began playing drums after joining band in 6th grade. I wanted to play saxophone. My parents couldn't afford to rent a sax for me; my mom told me to pick a different instrument, or I would have to quit. I was a little lost. I didn't know much about any other instruments, and truth be told, I only wanted to play sax because Lisa from the Simpsons rocked it out. I went to band the next day and looked around. I didn't know at that time that percussion was an option, let alone a section I could join. To me the choice was clear; nothing else seemed appealing. I got myself a starter kit consisting of a tiny xylophone, mallots, a drum pad, and some sticks. I figured making the decision was the hardest part; that was not the case.
The day that all of our sections came together and got organized, I was met with four boys and one girl. I remember specifically a boy named Eric, who looked at me skeptically and said, "you're playing drums? Do you even know how?" I looked at him, and thought, "No, d-bag, I don't. I'm 11. I joined band for a reason." I shook it off, and then for a solid six months I was forced by my male counterparts to play bells. I already played piano, so I knew what I was doing. Beyond that, none of them knew what the musical staff was or what a treble clef looked like. I was a clear scapegoat. I remember the day I got fed up. I didn't choose percussion just for mallots. I joined to play all of it. So I forced my way to the bass drum and slowly to the snare. It took me a minute to learn how to roll. I was made fun of. A lot. I was degraded and pushed aside. There was a a week when I seriously considered quitting. And then something inside me pushed me to "stick" to it. I knew somehow in my pubescent years if I gave up because of the harassment, then I'd never find and develop the things I am truly passionate about. Which just happen to be male-heavy hobbies.
After a few weeks, I surpassed the other drummers and was a full-time snare player. There was a point when I sensed that the boys were resentful of me. It was at that time that I knew I was doing it right. I wasn't pulling favors or playing the favorite. I was just good at it. And at that point there was very little they could say to me. And that's when the sexual harassment began.
While a lot of it was just kid stuff -- snapping bras, talking about sex, asking inappropriate questions, some of it was downright inappropriate at any age. And I shrugged it off. I read some of it naively as acceptance or as genuine interest in me. I should note that I became very close friends with my drumline. And most of the comments were friendly and fun, not meant to demean or intimidate. But looking back, I realize that some of it was abuse and female objectification. Until this day, I still have a hard time deciphering the line between a person complimenting me and a person blatantly sexualizing me. It's a lesson that I continue to learn.When I hear things like, "you're really good at drums... for a girl," I want to kick a bitch. I'm good at drums. Period. It doesn't need to be gendered. I do it, not because it's a rare hobby or profession for a woman, I do it because I love it. I receive a lot of attention because I'm a woman. I understand the mechanism behind it, but I want to make it clear that it isn't my sex that makes me who I am. It's not my gender that typifies my talent or skill. It's my desire.
The next time you see a woman doing something you discern masculine, do me a favor - either tell her she's awesome and badass, or shut the hell up. She doesn't need to hear how she's so awesome because she's doing a man's job as a female. She just needs to hear she's awesome.
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