Like many boys, I grew up bonding with my dad over catch. If others joined, we’d lay floppy plastic bases out in our tiny urban backyard and whack a wiffle ball around. Often, we’d have to run around the block to retrieve our ball after it flew over our neighbor’s fence. My family would go to Cape Cod League games in the summer and root for the Orleans Cardinals (now Firebirds). After the final inning, I’d have the MLB hopefuls sign my ball, mitt and T-shirt.

At a week-long Cardinals summer camp, everyone treated me the same as all the other boys. But on Friday, when counselors set up a slip-and-slide under the scorching August sun, my one-piece swimsuit revealed something unexpected by my peers: I was born in a girl’s body.

I didn’t come to terms with my identity as a trans man until I was 17. At the time of that camp, when I wasn’t more than 9 years old, I called myself a tomboy. My dad never tried to steer me toward softball instead. We bonded over baseball, and if his “daughter” wanted to play baseball, why shouldn’t “she”?

A big reason I wanted to play baseball and not softball is because I wanted to be a pitcher. I knew how to pitch overhand. I liked pitching overhand.

My school didn’t have a baseball team, so I joined our city’s. I didn’t know anyone on the team. At our first practice, I scrambled to the mound to run drills with the other pitcher hopefuls. Immediately, I was pushed off by the other boys and told to learn how to throw from the outfield.

I only endured one more practice after that. It was obvious to me that my time to pitch would be a long time coming, possibly never. I went on to take karate lessons instead, which were co-ed. It’s no wonder I went on to practice martial arts through college.

Gender inequality in sports primarily targets female (cisgender and transgender) and nonbinary athletes. Because of this, it is portrayed as a “women’s issue,” to be dealt with disproportionately by women. This make it more vitally important that men (cisgender and transgender) show up as allies in support of the young trans women currently being targeted in our state.

Men, I hope my story speaks to you. If you are struggling to see why this issue should be important to you, take a moment to reflect on your own experiences in sports.

Do you remember how you fell in love with basketball, hockey, football? Do you cherish the Saturday afternoons you and your son spend cycling, lifting weights or cheering on the Sea Dogs? Were you ever pushed off the pitching mound like I was? What would your life have looked like growing up knowing you were not welcome on a team before anyone even saw you swing, shoot or run?

To support trans youth in sports is to support someone’s kid, someone’s teammate. They need adults they can trust to treat them just like the other kids. To coach them through a play, to help them learn how to lose, to cheer for them when they shine. Just like you needed those adults, perhaps just like you do for your kids.

I can only imagine how my youth might have been different had not all those barriers been in place to keep me from pursuing baseball. Now, all I want is to dismantle them for the next generations. Will you be a man trans youth can count on?