Let me tell you the story of a close friend named Audrey.
Since she was young, Audrey loved everything about volleyball. In seventh grade, she was the only girl unable to serve overhand, but she told her coach: "I'm going to play Division I volleyball." Her coach's reply? "You'd better get to work." The words lit a fire in Audrey, and she never looked back.
She practiced for hours on end, even breaking a garage door while developing that stubborn overhand serve. Come freshman year, she lifted weights and conditioned every day at 6 a.m. with the seniors.
With her family's support, her hard work paid off. During her freshman year, she earned varsity playing time. And she did indeed go on to play Division I volleyball.
The Minnesota State High School League, in coordination with OutFront Minnesota (Minnesota's largest LGBT advocacy organization), is working to change the experience of high school athletics in a way that could severely alter the stories of kids like Audrey.
The league and OutFront have been crafting a policy that would allow transgender students to compete on teams opposite their biological sex — and, as a likely (if not certain) byproduct, also use the locker rooms and hotel rooms opposite their biological sex.
Can you imagine being Audrey's parent? All those hours driving and helping your daughter hone her natural skill; seeing her earn varsity playing time as a freshman — only to watch years of hard work and a chance at that Division I dream fall flat if a boy (who identifies as female) trumped her for her spot on the varsity team? What if that boy won an athletic award for girls — an award that could have been Audrey's? How do you stand for that as a parent, let alone find words to comfort your daughter?
This is the reality of the policy we face, a policy the Star Tribune Editorial Board described as "wise" and "the fair thing to do" ("Transgender kids have rights, too," Oct. 2).