All boys want a letterman's jacket
All boys want a letterman’s jacket
I told my brother today
“What’s wrong with you?”
I asked him
He said he didn’t care.
“What’s wrong with you?”
I asked again
“All boys want a letterman’s jacket”
“Well, that’s not fair”
My mother chimes in
“You shouldn’t stereotype”
I shouldn’t stereotype?
I shouldn’t stereotype?
I shouldn’t stereotype?
Says the mother who bought me a Barbie
Instead of a baseball bat
Because I was meant to be a lady
Says the mother who pinched me hard on the side
Whenever I forgot to cross my ankles
Because that’s not how little girls sit
Says the mother who told me
On a day that I only remember as dark
That if I turned out to be gay
She’d be sure to beat it out of me
And it’s me
Yes, I suppose it’s me
Who shouldn’t stereotype
But then again I suppose people change
And that woman’s done more for me
Than I often give her credit for
But still
Isn’t it true?
Don’t all boys want a letterman’s jacket?
To have others admire
To display their many talents
To give to a girl
They think worthy of their love
I wanted one
But not for me
I wanted to be that girl
With the symbol of love
The symbol that’s fleeting
But feels like it lasts
But I just got stuck
With a letterman’s jacket
And my brother, the boy
Doesn’t want one
So maybe it’s possible
It may be quite plausible
That it’s me who wants
All boys to have letterman’s jackets