I remember watching your face as we drove, the radio narrating the recent coming out of Chaz Bono. You said, slapping your hands on the steering wheel and raising your voice in a strident tone of righteous indignation, “Thank God Sunny Bono is dead so he doesn’t have to see what his daughter is doing to herself!” Turning to watch the passing scenery of a Chicago neighbourhood, I sighed softly. It wasn’t the reaction I’d hoped for. We were in town visiting an old flame of yours, Hassan, and you were so enamoured by his company that day that you didn’t seem to notice when I didn’t say another word to you.1-1
I knew I wasn’t a boy by the time I was five. Soon after, you knew too—though, this is something I wouldn’t realize until some time later. …show more content…
It was a late night phone call, and I had broken down crying after admitting to her that I was suicidal. I read a letter to her that I had originally written for you, and we spent the rest of the night crying, with her reassuring me that she still loved me, and me promising her I wasn’t going to become a drag queen. Around the same time, you began questioning me.
“Are you gay?” you blurted out one afternoon on a drive back from dropping my brother off for a visit with his father.
“No,” I said quietly, staring out of the window. I fidgeted, folding my hands in my lap.
“Would you tell me if you were gay?” you pressed.
“No, probably not,” I chuckled nervously.
“Why not?” you replied, glancing over from the steering wheel.
“I just don’t think you’re the type of person who’d be very receptive to that.”
You looked a bit hurt, then said, “Well, I hope you’re not gay, or else we’ll have to get you a sex change.”
And there, that afternoon in the car, you’d said it.
Not a week later, you came into my room and sat down on the bed across from me. I stared at the floor.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
“No?” I said blankly.
“What’s going on with …show more content…
Where were you when I got engaged?
Where were you mom? What was so wrong with me that you spent so many years acting as though you’d have preferred having another dead son over a daughter? Why was I never good enough for you?
It’s been seven years since I spoke to you. Seven years since your last words to me, “You’re the worst mistake I’ve ever made.” Seven years I’ve spent putting my life together and healing the cuts you made.
All this time, you’ve asked for an apology from me.
I demand an apology from you.
You knew, for so many years, who I was. You knew the pain you’d caused me and you stood silent, failing me in the one way I needed you more than any other: to accept me, to love and protect me, as the human being you brought into this world.
I’ve made something of myself. I am someone. And until you recognize who I am and who I have become, as your daughter, and accept responsibility for your abuse and your failures, I cannot forgive you, and I cannot accept you in my life.
It hurts too
I knew I wasn’t a boy by the time I was five. Soon after, you knew too—though, this is something I wouldn’t realize until some time later. …show more content…
It was a late night phone call, and I had broken down crying after admitting to her that I was suicidal. I read a letter to her that I had originally written for you, and we spent the rest of the night crying, with her reassuring me that she still loved me, and me promising her I wasn’t going to become a drag queen. Around the same time, you began questioning me.
“Are you gay?” you blurted out one afternoon on a drive back from dropping my brother off for a visit with his father.
“No,” I said quietly, staring out of the window. I fidgeted, folding my hands in my lap.
“Would you tell me if you were gay?” you pressed.
“No, probably not,” I chuckled nervously.
“Why not?” you replied, glancing over from the steering wheel.
“I just don’t think you’re the type of person who’d be very receptive to that.”
You looked a bit hurt, then said, “Well, I hope you’re not gay, or else we’ll have to get you a sex change.”
And there, that afternoon in the car, you’d said it.
Not a week later, you came into my room and sat down on the bed across from me. I stared at the floor.
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
“No?” I said blankly.
“What’s going on with …show more content…
Where were you when I got engaged?
Where were you mom? What was so wrong with me that you spent so many years acting as though you’d have preferred having another dead son over a daughter? Why was I never good enough for you?
It’s been seven years since I spoke to you. Seven years since your last words to me, “You’re the worst mistake I’ve ever made.” Seven years I’ve spent putting my life together and healing the cuts you made.
All this time, you’ve asked for an apology from me.
I demand an apology from you.
You knew, for so many years, who I was. You knew the pain you’d caused me and you stood silent, failing me in the one way I needed you more than any other: to accept me, to love and protect me, as the human being you brought into this world.
I’ve made something of myself. I am someone. And until you recognize who I am and who I have become, as your daughter, and accept responsibility for your abuse and your failures, I cannot forgive you, and I cannot accept you in my life.
It hurts too