A
merican tennis player
Billie
Jean
King
once
said,
“Sports teaches you
character, it teaches
you to play by the
rules,
it
teaches
you to know what it
feels like to win and
lose — it teaches you
about life.”
When
I
joined
the
public-school
system, one of the
very
first
things
I did was join the
track-and-field team. I was
not sure what I was getting
into, but I did know one of the
nice ladies from my church
was the coach of the eighth
grade team. She told me I
should join the team, and in
a yearning for familiarity, I
obliged. And I never looked
back.
I guess you could say
I was fairly athletic, and
my
classmates
started
to
notice. They pressured me
to join both the football
and basketball teams and,
knowing
the
feeling
of
exhilaration the track team
gave me, I consented. As
someone who had never seen
a basketball before (growing
up without TV or internet,
on a farm in the middle of
nowhere, you don’t get to see
everything), let alone played
the game, I spent most of my
first season watching and
learning. By sophomore year,
I was playing on the varsity
team and by junior year, I was
in possession of one of the
much-coveted starting spots.
My
first
lesson
from
sports was the importance
of teamwork. Our football
and basketball teams were
plagued
by
players
who
were ineligible because of
academic requirements. We
needed every player we could
get, and when one failed, it
brought us all down. I worked
with my teammates after
school, and I would even ride
my bike to Saturday school
to make sure everyone was
passing their classes.
We
won
some
of
our
games during our first three
basketball seasons, but we
lost a lot more: We only won
exactly one game
my
junior
year.
I
proceeded
to
receive my first
lesson
in
the
importance
of
resilience.
We
continued
to
work
hard,
on
and off the court,
no
matter
what
the
scoreboard
read.
I
would
host weightlifting
sessions after school, and my
teammates would help me
refine my game fundamentals.
Our hard work paid off, and
by my final season, we had
turned our 1-20 team into the
second best in the conference,
even earning a playoff bye
week.
Not only did playing sports
teach me many valuable life
lessons, it provided me with
an irreplaceable brotherhood:
a group of guys that would
do anything to help improve
each other. Even if we didn’t
like one another initially, we
left it all behind when we
stepped onto that court, turf
or track. Some of my very best
friendships budded within
the team setting.
Sports did indeed teach
me about life. I was able to
improve what I was good at
and learn from what I did
wrong. Sports provided a
structured environment and
a controlled place to relieve any
stress or anger I might have.
According to Engineering
sophomore Travis Dantzer,
center
for
the
University
of Michigan Men’s Rugby
Football Club and former
fullback for the University
football team, high school
sports “gave me a lot of
leadership
opportunities…
I was captain in basketball
junior and senior year and
then senior year for football.”
When asked what qualities
he’s carried with him beyond
high school, Dantzer noted
“the development of work
ethic” as well as the ability
and drive to “work really
hard at something to see even
moderate success.”
In the college setting,
Dantzer states that sports
“gave me 40 good friends,
like
immediately.
Coach
Sparks
has
been
a
huge
resource to me, he helped
me a lot with starting my
blog.” As for the networking
side of things, Dantzer says,
“Most of my other friends are
from church, so by playing
rugby, I get to interact with
a lot of people who have a lot
different views than me on a
lot of stuff, that I normally
wouldn’t be friends with.”
“Not only has it made me
more resourceful, it’s also
given me initiative, I’m not as
scared as a lot of other people
are to just try new things,
knowing
that
they
might
not work, which has really
been helpful in other aspects
like clubs, doing some work
ventures I’ve been involved
in and starting a blog and
podcast,” Dantzer said.
Being actively involved in
sports has numerous benefits
and teaches many important
life
skills,
including
confidence,
optimism,
dedication and much more.
The
perks,
though,
are
not exclusive to playing a
sport. While nothing can
replicate the lessons learned
in the team setting, simply
staying active and exercising
regularly is a great way to
gain and improve those skills.
Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A — Monday, February 12, 2018
DAYTON HARE
Managing Editor
420 Maynard St.
Ann Arbor, MI 48109
tothedaily@michigandaily.com
Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890.
ALEXA ST. JOHN
Editor in Chief
ANU ROY-CHAUDHURY AND
ASHLEY ZHANG
Editorial Page Editors
Unsigned editorials reflect the official position of the Daily’s Editorial Board.
All other signed articles and illustrations represent solely the views of their authors.
EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS
Samantha Goldstein
Elena Hubbell
Emily Huhman
Jeremy Kaplan
Sarah Khan
Lucas Maiman
Ellery Rosenzweig
Jason Rowland
Anu Roy-Chaudhury
Ali Safawi
Kevin Sweitzer
Tara Jayaram
Ashley Zhang
I
’m taking a class right
now about the history of
LGBTQ studies, and it’s
having a profound impact on
how I see myself and my own
sexuality. We often discuss the
social construction of gender
and sexuality. This is what
that means: To say sexuality is
constructed is to point out that
when we describe someone as
homosexual or heterosexual, we
are saying that person has their
eyes on a love object whose sex
does not change. They will spend
their whole lives pursuing sexual
partners of this same sex, and
anything that falls outside of this
pattern is deviant, unexpected
and/or wrong. And when that
person does break out of that
dominant pattern, they are not
listening to themselves and are
deceiving themselves into some
false reality.
The
dominant
narrative
around
sexuality
continues;
nothing can throw you off that
path. Your sexuality is your
essence, distinct from all of your
other traits, not influenced by
anything that you experience,
because this thing is how you
were born. You were born this
way, and you will die this way.
We say this is constructed
because none of this is a “fact.”
Our speculation of what should
happen and what should be
people’s
sexual
desires
and
inclinations is all produced by our
collective,
culturally-produced
expectations of sexual behavior.
As we have read in this class from
queer theorists, sociologists and
historians alike, historically there
have been multiple cultures with
understandings of homosexual or
heterosexual behavior entirely
different from our own — based,
for example, not solely upon the
sex of the chosen love object
but, instead, centering on what
kind of role you take during sex:
passive versus active, receptive
versus
insertive,
etc.
Other
understandings are based on your
gender presentation, or any of
the other individual preferences
within your own sexual desires.
I’m
also
taking
this
class
while
in
the
throes
of
contemplating
my
own
sexuality. The truth is, I don’t
know. I don’t know what I like,
I don’t know who I want to be
with. I’ve only ever been with
women, but these experiences
have almost never felt as natural
or as open-and-shut as they
seem to be for all my “straight”
friends,
who
talk
about
heterosexual sex with a certain
facility and comfort that I have
always found alienating.
I also know I have sexual
desires for men every now and
then. I recently switched my
Tinder settings to show me both
men and women. And this feels
like a step in the right direction.
I am definitely swiping right on
a fair number of dudes who I can
imagine myself getting to know,
cuddling with and all the rest.
But still, there is nothing
conclusive.
No
moment
has
happened yet when I think, “This
is my sexuality, this is who I am.”
And this ambiguity tears
me up. It makes me feel totally
alienated from myself, like I
don’t know anything about who
I am. If I can’t figure this out,
who am I, at all? Not having this
knowledge when I am about to
graduate and enter the “real
world” makes me existentially
anxious, as if not knowing this
thing means I know nothing at
all. Mired in feeling sad about
this
ambiguity,
everything
around me gets sucked into a
whirlpool of negative thoughts:
a force that drains all of the
life out of everything I am
experiencing, transporting me
to a faraway place where only
I roam, a place inaccessible to
anybody else, where all that
once seemed promising and
light
now
appears
gloomy,
hopeless and unknowable.
I think part of the reason why
I feel so sad about not knowing
has to do with the pressure
caused by the social construction
of sexuality, the pressure to apply
a label to myself — in other words,
to know what I am. This system
of categorizing desires (modern
conceptions of homosexuality
and heterosexuality only first
entered our discourse at the end
of the 19th century) does not
really allow for not knowing.
Sure, there is the category
“Questioning.”
But
this,
of
course, doesn’t serve me beyond
a passive, limited way of stating
these thoughts I am having.
There isn’t any depth to this
moniker. What is the context of
these questions, and why are they
happening? It fails to capture the
context of my investigations, to
capture anything deeper than its
surface level description. It’s not
specific to my experience, to the
sets of questions I am grappling
with every day.
I also think, though, that self-
realization can only really come
through experience, through an
open and honest engagement
with the people around me.
My dear friend and roommate
lives his life with extraordinary
deliberateness
and
attention.
For example, he doesn’t like
us using swear words in our
apartment, because they taint
his ongoing dialogue with God.
As a secularly-raised person, I
initially felt this concept to be
strange and restrictive.
But now, in fact, I would
like to live with this same level
of openness. Not necessarily
in touch with God, and not
necessarily
refraining
from
swearing,
but
instead
more
generally remaining relentlessly
aware of the fact that all
interactions might contribute or
lead to something divine. That by
maintaining an open heart while
examining my own mind and
interacting with people in order
to collaboratively explore their
minds, I might come to some
greater understanding of myself
and my own (conflicting, messy
and erratic) set of desires.
The class I’m taking provides
me with a really vital education
into the experiences of people
with
non-normative
sexual
identities throughout the history
of humanity and the construction
of those sexualities according to
the cultural and social moment of
those various times.
But it is also really helping
me
deconstruct
a
pressure
I feel strongly but do not
remember learning, a pressure to
categorize, name and know my
sexuality in some irreversible,
definite way that defines my
essence, forever. Instead, I’m
trying to buck this trend. By
demanding something deeper
than these labels, than this path
that everyone expects me to
take, I am opting out of sexuality
as a system. My thoughts about
my own sexual desires are trying
to work against this dominant
paradigm by cultivating a new
voice, one that is accepting and
wildly supportive of my — and
everyone’s — messy process of
coming to a place that works
for us, distinct from any label or
culturally produced expectation.
Opting out of sexuality
ISAIAH ZEAVIN-MOSS | COLUMN
W
hen
I
was
in
elementary
school,
I had a laminated
placemat with the presidents listed
on it. Presidents were
always interesting to
me. George Washington
had very different hair
from Bill Clinton. And
wasn’t it crazy that
John Adams was the
father of John Quincy
Adams? My very liberal
mother
often
talked
about
and
involved
me
in
supporting
Democratic presidents;
We canvassed for John Kerry in
the 2004 presidential election,
and I was confused waking up
and seeing that George Bush was
our president. I remember hearing
her say, “It is going to be a long
four years.” This always struck
me, because Abraham Lincoln
was celebrated in school since I
could remember — but he was
a Republican. I never stopped
thinking about it.
As I grew up, I learned about
the
history
and
foundation
of
political
parties,
and
understood
that
they
were
very different in the past. But
why, even as a young kid, did
I question the character and
beliefs of Abraham Lincoln just
because our placemat said he
was a Republican? Because I
had thought for a long time that
one side was perpetually in the
right, and one was in the wrong.
But in reality, I was the culprit
of affiliating vague ideologies
with beliefs that differ from
person to person.
There is power in asking
questions, recognizing what you
do not know and finding someone
who does. But there is also
power in questioning what you
do know: your core beliefs and
your understanding of the world
around you. A question. Seems so
simple, right?
We live in an extremely
politically-divided nation, where
one side is always pitted against
the
other.
Blame
comes
from
both
sides, with different
perspectives
and
multiple reasonings.
There
is
very
little room for any
“in-between,”
where
you
are
not
reprimanding
someone
for
misspeaking
or
supporting
the
“wrong side.” And it is easy to
revert to outright dislike of people
solely based on their political
beliefs before hearing about their
actions or their thoughts.
It is easy, whatever side you may
be on, to automatically classify the
opposition as “the other.” When
you disagree with the beliefs of an
argument, it is common to associate
those beliefs with the person who
holds them, thus further promoting
our partisan society.
I am a culprit of acting in
this manner, regardless of the
political knowledge I have gained
since the time of presidential
placemats. I was a politically-
active student last fall, and I
definitely
remember
President
Donald Trump’s election. After he
became president, it was very easy
to blame the Republican Party for
his actions. This overstatement is
glaringly wrong, and within the
last year, I have recognized the
power of a question.
Last year, I remember sitting with
a friend during class right after the
election. I knew this friend had
voted for Trump and I was still
upset by his decision. When Trump
fired James Comey, I was confused
and overwhelmed by the changes
that our nation was experiencing.
So instead of attacking my friend,
for one of the first times in my life I
civilly asked him what he thought of
the Comey situation; did this change
his views about the president?
Did he believe this was infringing
upon a supposedly independent
organization? And, of course, what
did he think about the border wall?
Instead of attacking his views, I
questioned them. To my surprise, I
was able to engage in an hour-long
discussion about the reasoning
behind his political beliefs. This did
not make me support his decisions
whatsoever, but it did help me to
understand the logical thought
process of the “other side.” And this
was a powerful moment.
This is the time for critical
reasoning. To look at a situation,
a person, a candidate and truly
think about what they are saying,
proposing or doing. And, more
importantly, why they are saying,
proposing or doing these things.
So, question your peers on their
beliefs. Question your family, your
professors, your mentors. We all
have something to learn from the
other side. Talking about politics
with a Republican, Democrat,
Libertarian — whoever it may be
— does you absolutely no harm.
Questioning someone else’s beliefs
only allows you to understand
them more, and to understand your
position more, too.
The power of questioning
JULIA COHN | COLUMN
The value of sports
LUCAS DEAN | COLUMN
Lucas Dean can be reached at
lbdean@umich.edu.
Julia Cohn can be reached at
julcohn@umich.edu.
Not only did
sports teach me
many valuable
life lesons, they
provided me with
an irreplaceable
brotherhood.
Isaiah Zeavin-Moss can be
reached at izeavinm@umich.edu.
NATALIE BROWN | CAN BE REACHED AT NGBROWN@UMICH.EDU
Within the last
year, I have
recognized
the power of a
question.
JULIA
COHN
LUCAS
DEAN