I had one little brother and I would use him as a scapegoat to

Hear, O seekers of laughter and truth, the words of Beth Phoenix, the warrior of the wrestling ring, who remembered her childhood with candor: “I had one little brother and I would use him as a scapegoat to get us games. Obviously, I would get the more girly toys like dolls and Barbies, yadda, yadda, yadda. But I really wanted video games or action figures or something so I would send him to ask mom, ‘Hey, I want this video game’ when it was really we wanted this video game.” Though she speaks with humor, within these words lies a reflection on childhood, gender, family, and the clever strategies of youthful longing.

First, let us see the wisdom in the innocence of her ploy. A young girl, given toys that reflected society’s vision of what was “appropriate” for her—dolls and Barbies—longed for something more adventurous, more alive: video games and action figures. Yet knowing the path was not clear, she called upon her brother as a shield. In this simple act we see the ingenuity of children: when the world imposes limits, they find ways to bend them, to carve out freedom through cunning.

Her use of her brother as a scapegoat reveals more than humor—it reveals the deep bond between siblings. For though he carried the requests to mom, it was not “he” alone who wanted these treasures but “we.” The games and figures were not for her alone, nor for him alone, but for the shared joy of their companionship. In childhood, such alliances are forged—alliances that teach us the value of partnership and the strength that comes when two hearts unite against the rules of the world.

This story reflects a greater truth: society often assigns roles and expectations, saying to boys, “You must play with this,” and to girls, “You must play with that.” But within the heart of every child there is a yearning that defies these limits. Beth Phoenix’s desire for action figures was not rebellion, but authenticity. And by finding a way to pursue that authenticity, she was already living the strength she would one day embody in the wrestling ring—refusing to be confined, choosing instead to claim her own destiny.

History offers echoes of this struggle. Recall Joan of Arc, who, though expected to be silent and domestic, donned armor and led armies. She too lived in a world that told her what she “ought” to do, but her heart demanded otherwise. Just as young Beth enlisted her brother to win toys that fed her spirit, so Joan enlisted faith and vision to break through the limits placed upon her. In both, we see the timeless struggle between expectation and authenticity, and the courage it takes to find one’s true path.

The meaning of Phoenix’s words is thus twofold. On the surface, they are playful—a child’s scheme to get video games. But deeper still, they reveal the longing of a soul to break free from assigned roles, and the resourcefulness by which she did so. They remind us that even in the smallest acts of childhood—asking for a toy, borrowing a sibling’s voice—there is already a glimpse of the adult we will one day become.

So let the lesson be this: do not allow the world’s narrow labels to define your desires. Whether in childhood or adulthood, pursue what your heart longs for, even if you must be clever to obtain it. And if you are a parent or a guide, listen closely to what children truly want, not just what tradition says they should have. Take practical steps: encourage exploration, celebrate authenticity, and support those who seek more than the roles assigned to them. For in doing so, you may give birth to strength, creativity, and resilience—the very qualities that transform a child into a legend.

Thus, as Beth Phoenix reminds us, even the small victories of youth—the video game, the action figure, the laughter of siblings—carry within them the seeds of a larger triumph: the courage to be oneself, even in a world that would prefer otherwise.