I only experienced my natural mother for such a short period
that most of my memories of her leave me feeling lost & lonely. However,
once in a while the sun shines brightly letting me see my mother as an adult
& not a needy child. My mother’s purpose on earth wasn’t to be someone’s
daughter, mother, wife; she was sent here to instill in me her acceptance,
tolerance, & her fight against injustices for peace. This is one of the
bright moments. . .
I asked my mother why other kids said I looked like a boy
when my jeans poked out in front where the zipper goes, & she was frank.
I was around six or so when this conversation took place,
& we were living in Kansas, I think. It could’ve been Arizona (all the
brown states looked the same to a kid riding across country), but I know it
wasn’t New Mexico, yet (we lived w/the Navajo on the reservation at Four Corners
near Farmington). That’s where my mother died, so I remember that we weren’t
there, yet.
My mom starts asking me questions, listening to my answers
& asking follow up questions (when she was attentive she was the best mom,
ever—Princess Di always reminded me of my mother, a rebel w/a fierce love). “You
know that boys’ penises are on the outside, so they make a bump in the front of
their pants.” I told her that I wanted to pee standing up, & she showed me
that it was possible but messy. She asked if I could choose, would I rather
have a penis or be able to have babies. I told her that I didn’t know, &
she hugged me.
I asked her if she wanted to be a boy, & she said not if it meant that she couldn’t have me. She asked me if I felt like a boy or girl, & I told her I felt like a girl that likes to do boy things. She snuggled me in close, booped my nose, & said, “Me, too, Stinker. Me, too.”
I asked her if she wanted to be a boy, & she said not if it meant that she couldn’t have me. She asked me if I felt like a boy or girl, & I told her I felt like a girl that likes to do boy things. She snuggled me in close, booped my nose, & said, “Me, too, Stinker. Me, too.”
