I come from a family where asylum seekers, indigenous rights and marriage equality were everyday dinner party conversation topics.
My mother raised me and my two sisters to value ourselves – our rights, our bodies, our choices – highly. Our father, in his own more fuddy-duddy way, raised us the same way.
He was less opinionated and strong in his teachings about women (do people ever fight as strongly when it’s not their fight?) But he still supports us in our wish for equality and freedom, fighting with us where he can.
So, as a child, I was admittedly more headstrong and politically minded than most of my peers. Most clearly, I remember being made fun of for being a tomboy in primary school, and for wanting to play football with the boys — only to be told by year sixes that I was ‘just a girl’.
Just a girl? Just a girl? Even as a prep, that astounded me. I was a girl and I was damn proud of it.
How could it be, when I lived around so many other people who were proud of it – my parents, my sisters, my best friend Remy (who was already taller than half the year threes and told everyone in no uncertain terms that pink was his favourite colour) – that somehow being a girl was a bad thing?
I walked away from the oval, Remy pulled out some Pokémon cards and I stopped caring about the stupid game.
But, still, you’re just a girl was there in the back of my mind and it didn’t make sense to me. It still doesn’t.
That one stupid sentence was presented as a reason as to why I couldn’t do something. It’s a reason as to why people of my gender can’t do a lot of things. Because we’re just girls. It’s just language, but it’s language that’s damaging.
As I grew older, I noticed a trend in how a lot of people in my everyday life speak. The way people use, casually and callously, language that is derogatory, demeaning and discriminatory to get their view across. Because think about it: how often have you heard comments like these in your day-to-day life?