I can laugh at myself now. Like many freshmen, I arrived at Stanford thinking I'd befriend all 1,600 of my classmates during orientation. I'd walk up to anyone and say, "Hi! I'm Ramona. What's your name?" We'd cover the basics -- hometown, possible major -- and sometimes move on to more personal topics, like missing our parents or worrying about whether we'd get along with our roommates. I wasn't shy; I'd share almost anything with people I'd just met.
But I tried to keep one secret: I was an outfielder on the softball team. I knew people would soon find out. And I knew being a student-athlete at Stanford, which has probably the best combination of academics and athletics in the nation, is nothing to be ashamed of. Still, I didn't want to give my new "friends" an easy way to label me -- as a dumb jock -- before I could make a more authentic first impression.
I thought they'd assume I was only admitted because I'm an athlete. That's what some people in high school said when I told them I was going to Stanford. I tried to chalk it up to jealousy, but it still hurt.
For most of freshman year, I felt secure about my intellectual abilities and didn't buy into the dumb-jock stereotype. I didn't drive myself crazy trying to disprove it, but I did try to make my actions speak louder than other people's unkind words. For example, I took -- and did well in -- upper-division courses in psychology and history. Sadly, though, I've discovered that Stanford student-athletes usually don't take that approach.
It's difficult to combat a stereotype. For many student-athletes, it's a task too daunting to undertake. The stereotype then becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. In my three years on the softball team, I've seen some of the smartest, most interesting people I've met at Stanford adopt a "why try?" attitude toward academics simply because someone else made them feel stupid.
This insecurity can also lead athletes to band together, forgoing outside friendships. In the softball team's preseason goals meeting, one of our freshmen was explaining why she'd grown so close to her teammates in the five months we'd known each other. I expected her to attribute it to the interest we share in our sport or the 20 hours we practice together each week. Instead, she said, "When I got here during orientation week with all these brilliant people who were probably all thinking I was dumb, all I could think about was, when's softball going to start?"
Many of my teammates laughed knowingly. I was surprised. Sure, I've developed some close friendships with teammates, too, but I never thought they'd be the only people at Stanford I could relate to. Despite my initial misgivings about revealing that I am a student-athlete, I've made many friends who unconditionally accept me for all that I am -- both student and athlete.
I understand, though, how that freshman felt. Like everyone else, she came to Stanford looking for a group of friends. The softball team filled her need right from the start, so she didn't have to hang around people who, consciously or not, made her feel insecure about her intelligence. But by opting for that built-in social group, she has isolated herself from many worthwhile people. She won't learn from them, nor they from her -- and that's the real shame, because, as I've come to learn, she is a deeply thoughtful person.
Stanford tries to integrate athletes into the larger student population. Two softball players wouldn't be paired as freshman roommates, for instance, and there might not even be two of us in the same frosh dorm. Athletes have a responsibility to build on the opportunity Stanford gives us -- to contribute ideas in dorm meetings, participate in nonathletic extracurricular activities and join midnight hallway chats. Similarly, we owe it to ourselves to take challenging classes, speak up in discussion sections and select majors that fulfill our academic passions.
As anyone who has ever competed in a sport will tell you, confidence comes from actions and accomplishments, not desire. If student-athletes want nonathletes to take us seriously, we have to take ourselves seriously. We have to step up academically and branch out socially, not use the negative stereotype as an excuse. And maybe if we do, tomorrow's freshman athletes won't have any secrets to keep.
Ramona Shelburne, '01, is an American studies major from West Hills, Calif.
