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Reflections of a Former Athlete as a Young Woman Growing Up Under Title IX Anne Marie Lofaso* O ver thirty-five years ago, Congress passed Title IX of the Education Amendments Act of 1972, which prohibits any person in the United States from being “on the basis of sex . . . excluded from participation in, . . . denied the benefits of, or . . . subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance.”1 Notice—Title IX does not specifically mention athletic programs. Nevertheless, Title IX has been credited with having its most prominent impact on girls’ and women’s athletics.2 When Title IX passed in 1972, I was six years old and finishing the first grade. At that time, although elementary school girls and boys attended gym class together, their activities often were segregated with the girls playing volleyball and the boys participating in wrestling. In fifth grade, I finally protested. I asked my gym teacher for permission to participate in wrestling. I’m not sure I really wanted to wrestle, but I did know that I did not want to be excluded.3 My male gym teacher looked at me, and in a tone signifying disgust he said, “Don’t be so boisterous, Anne!”4 As a child experiencing this reprimand by a significant authority figure, I felt ashamed and silenced. I may not have understood the word “boisterous,” but I knew how it made me feel. As an adult, I have come to know that the word “boisterous” means “noisily turbulent.”5 And as an adult, I can rationalize the experience of my inner child: Rather than taking seriously my protest about a legitimate instance of discrimination, my male gym teacher belittled my feelings by casting my protest in a negative light, then insulting and silencing me in front of my peers.6 My story brings to mind the remarks of NCAA senior vice president, Dr. Bernard Franklin, who recounted another story told by President Lincoln to some disgruntled members of Congress, critical of his leadership during the Civil War.7 Lincoln’s story tells the tale of a farmer who encounters a torrential storm—complete with “ample doses of lightning and thunder”—on his way home 236 Anne Marie Lofaso from a trip to town. In the midst of this downpour, the farmer searches for the river he must cross to return home but cannot find the bridge.8 With each flash of lightning, the farmer tries to survey his surroundings to determine his location.9 Lost in that turbulent storm, the farmer thinks what he needs is “more lightning and less thunder.”10 Paraphrasing Dr. Franklin, the principle of Lincoln’s story is that in the midst of critical challenges, we need more lightning—which illuminates—and less thunder—which serves only to create noise.11 Let me extend Dr. Franklin’s point: One man’s thunder is another woman’s lightning. Individuals in the majority often silence those in the minority in the guise of keeping out the noise created by the minority’s complaints—“Don’t be so boisterous.”12 In reality, the minority’s critical voice may be illuminating, but the majority simply doesn’t like what he sees.13 Perhaps many of today’s law students have never experienced such gender stratification. If not, they owe that to Title IX and a host of other civil rights statutes that have helped to reshape our collective thinking about gender.14 Notwithstanding these advances, most of us do remember a time when opportunities for women to become professional athletes were rare, a time when those who did become professionals were always paid less,15 and a time when no professional women’s sports teams even existed. For example, when I was growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, the four dominant professional team sports were men’s baseball, men’s basketball, men’s football, and men’s ice hockey.16 The dearth of female professional sporting teams also had a profound impact on me as a little girl. Growing up in New York in the 1970s, few children could resist the temptation of becoming Yankees fans. I vividly recall asking my mother why there were no girls on the Yankees, and my mother explained that “big girls simply cannot compete with big boys because boys are stronger and faster than girls.” So I asked, “Why can’t there be an all-girl Yankees team?” “Because no one would watch them,” my mother replied. “No...

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