When I was a little kid, I used to pray,
nightly, for God to turn me into a boy. Being a boy seemed more fun
than being a girl when I was in second grade. It was much more exciting
to play kickball, baseball and bombardment with Tony, Rickey and Brad
than it was to play girls-chase-the-boys with Tina, Cheri and Amy.
I prayed every day to be a boy. I used
to make deals with God: Make me a boy and I will clean my room every
day. Make me a boy and I will make straight A's on my report card.
If I hold my breath for two minutes, will
you make me a boy? I even had a girlfriend when I was in third grade.
Other kids would ask us who we were going with, and each of us would
say the other's name. I never kissed her, but I am certain we held hands
once on the playground under the red first-escape stairs where no one
else could see.
Now I am a woman, and I cannot remember
when I stopped wanting to be a boy. Maybe it was when my fourth-grade
teacher told me I should be doing lady-like activities instead of playing
basketball. Maybe it was in fifth grade when I learned the definition
of "gay" was not "happy." Maybe it was later, after I heard my step-brother
make fun of his lezzie cousin.
I cannot recall the exact moment that
it happened, many years ago, but I truly no longer want to be a boy.
I have taken classes with enough boys and kissed enough boys and worked
with enough boys to believe that God really did know best: I was not
meant to be a boy.
I am still a girl. I even have a girlfriend.
DLW