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Valerie Lawson is a poet, publisher, and teacher from Robbinston.
When I was a child, I wanted to play hockey. Not just street hockey with the neighborhood kids, not just on the sidelines, but really play — on the ice, on a team, with the same opportunities as the boys around me.
But back then, there were no girls’ teams, no leagues, no locker rooms set aside for us. We weren’t told outright that we couldn’t play; it was assumed we wouldn’t; we were never given the space to belong.
So I played where I could — on the street in front of a neighbor kid’s house, where my brother and his friends played pick up games. I fought for every turn, every moment with the puck. I got beat up, that was part of the game, but there was a bit extra because I was just a girl and girls don’t play hockey. I got pretty good at it, still, there was a limit to how far I could go. The structures weren’t built for me.
Decades later, I sat in a rink in Vermont watching my daughter step onto the ice for her first college game. It was astonishing, something I didn’t even know how to dream of when I was a kid. Two full teams of girls geared up and ready to play, no questions asked. That moment filled me with joy, but also reminded me how long it took for girls to get there, how many had been left behind along the way.
Across the country, lawmakers have introduced and passed bills that ban trans girls from playing sports. In some states, even young children are being targeted, forced to prove their gender just to play a sport they love. Here in Maine, state Rep. Laurel Libby was censured by the Maine House of Representatives for essentially doxxing a minor on her Facebook page — all because a trans student wanted to compete and belong.
These policies don’t come from a place of fairness; they come from fear. True fairness in sports has never been about excluding people. It’s about opportunity, dedication, teamwork, and respect for the game. If we truly care about fairness, we should be making sure every child has access to coaching, equipment, and a safe space to play, not shutting the door on them before they ever get the chance.
Now, I hear echoes of the same old arguments — this time directed at trans girls and nonbinary kids who just want to play. The same excuses: “It’s not fair.” “There’s no place for them.” “They don’t belong.” “They take something away from the girls who play.” I recognize these arguments because I’ve heard them before. I’ve lived them.
When I was young, fairness would have meant having a team to play on, not having to fight for a spot that boys were freely given, not watching from the stands, longing for a game that didn’t want me.
If fairness means anything, it must mean inclusion. We found a way to make space for girls in sports. Inclusion means making room for all kids to play. Because every child who is told they don’t belong — because of their gender, their identity, their very existence — is another child sitting on the sidelines, just wishing for a chance.
I think about my daughter, her skates carving clean lines in the ice, unaware of the battles fought before her time. I think about the kids today, fighting their own battles for the right to belong. And I remember my brother’s words all those years ago, simple but defiant:
“Let her play,” my brother said. And now, I say to you: Let them play. Figure it out and let them all play.
