Life Imitates Art?

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Life Imitates Art?
by
BrandieS

I died hearing that song on the radio, I almost peed myself. No and for the record it’s not about me, but there are similarities, too many similarities. I tried not to think of them, but they and that darned song just wouldn’t leave me alone. What song, you’re asking yourself. Well I’ll tell you the first line. I’m not a good singer so cover your ears because here I go.

‘Johnny’s daddy was taking him fishing, when he was 8 years old. A little girl came through the front gate holding a fishing pole.’

I cried in public when I heard that song. Then I remembered where I was and ran like heck. Men don’t cry, especially in public. The worst was yet to come, though. What can be worse that public humiliation? Trust me, you don’t want to know.

He was always a different kid, small for his age, sheltered by his grandparents. His mom had been raped when she was 14 and nine months later Ron was born. He was a small baby hardly weighing 6 pounds, almost fitting into the palm of your hands. His mother loved him though and cared for him rigorously.

He grew up watched over by a loving mother and grandparents. Small of stature with bright blue green eyes and a constant smile, he charmed everyone he met. Truth be told, most people just assumed the child was a little girl and went from there. As the child grew, he went to school and was treated the same as real girls. In time he came to accept the fact that he was a girl and life went on. During summers, he rode a bicycle, played, went fishing with Grandpa and pretended to drive the old truck. He lived in an old house at the end of the street and had no friends nearby.

When Ron was age 8, a new family moved in next door and they had a boy child. That child was me and I was 3 years older than him. The first time I saw him, I thought he was a girl. He had on a pink top and a brown skirt. Dressed like a girl, he was running back and forth in the street playing some imaginary game. I watched from the porch as the girl twirled and jumped and made noises. I had no idea what game was being played, but she looked like she was having fun. Mom and dad watched, too, smiles on their faces.

She was shy and watched when I was in the yard. She hid in trees spying on me or from open windows. She never talked. Her mom was nice and waved and said hi. Her grandparents were nice too. They invited us over to supper and Mom gladly accepted.

The little girl just hid behind her mom as we came in the door. My mom saw her and smiled saying “Hi, honey. You’re sure a cutie.” The little girl just stood there.

Her mom said “This is Ron. He’s a little shy around people.”

My mom looked up at Ron’s mom and said “He? Why I thought she was a girl. She’s so pretty.” Not much more was said about Ron as we were called to the table and the talk turned to other things. I remember the food was good and I ate a lot. Ron ate a little, almost a girl portion, I thought. After supper there was fresh made pie and we ate it sitting on the porch. It was getting dark and dad had to work in the morning so my parents said goodnight and we went home.

The next day was ok. That was until I saw Ron. He/she was wearing a little yellow sun dress and it was so thin that when the light was behind her/him, you could see his panties. This caused me to be embarrassed and I ran inside to my room. I avoided Ron from then on. Mom was busy and Dad was at work, so I used my bicycle to go off and play. During my trips to play I heard things about Ron’s mom. I was just entering puberty and had pretty vague ideas about sex. When I heard about Ron’s mom, I was shocked. Another thing that shocked me was my parents calling Ron a ‘little girl’.

Whenever my parents talked about Ron, it was always she. To my parents, they saw Ronnie, the little girl, not a little boy. The boys I played with said Ron was just like his mother and was as queer as a three dollar bill. When the guys laughed, I did too. They bragged about kissing girls and feeling a girl’s boobs and a few even said they had felt Ron’s moms’ boobs. I didn’t know what to believe. In the end I just said nothing and kept silent. One thing I did though was to start calling Ron ‘Queer’ or ‘Queer bait’ and other bad names.

My bad behavior lasted through the summer without my parents’ knowledge. It all came to a head at the end of August. Dad and I were going fishing and he said he had a surprise for me. I was excited. What boy doesn’t like surprises? The surprise was Ron. Dad had invited Ron to come with us. He had seen Ron playing by alone and felt sorry for her. That was too much for me and like the song, I complained. My complaints fell on deaf ears and I ran off, not to go fishing that day. Ron went home crying and that was the last time I ever saw him.

Fast forward 20 years. Why am I telling you this now you might ask? Well, I was out of town on a business trip and was able to get through early. I flew back and retrieving my car from the parking lot, I drove home. About 20 minutes from my home, I answered a call on my cell phone. It was my wife. She was crying and clearly upset. She urged me to come home immediately. I told her that I had finished early and was almost home. Her relief was evident by the sound of her breathing into the phone. I reassured her that I would be home shortly and asked what was wrong. She declined to tell me, saying for me to hurry.

My street was empty of traffic and my wife’s car was parked in the driveway. Outside of the house there were no tell tale sign of anything wrong. I wondered why my wife was so upset. I parked and disregarding my briefcase, I opened the front door and walked inside. I called out and my wife replied, saying for me to come to the family room.

As I stepped into the family room, I saw my wife sitting stiffly on the couch. Across from her was a cute little girl. My wife heard me enter and turned towards me. “Honey, this is Amelia. Your daughter.”

“Huh, what daughter?” was I crazy. I had been gone two days, leaving a wife and a 10 year old son. NO DAUGHTER! Then it dawned on me. I sat down stiffly as I heard a whimper come from the young girl.

I took a breath and knew that for some reason, life has to get back at you. I remembered Ron and all the bad things I had done. I felt 2 inches tall. Composing myself, I looked and the girl and said “Eddie, is that you?”

His small head bobbed up and down and a loud sob came from his mouth. The noise was heart-wrenching and I shuddered in my skin. My wife was watching me and I turned to face her. “When did this happen?” I asked.

My wife just shrugged her shoulders and bit her lips. She moved her eyes from Eddie/Amelia to me and back. I sat and watched the child of my loins as the past came back to haunt me with a vengeance. I started crying and somewhere in the middle of things, I hugged my wife and new daughter. “I love you, Amelia. Know that always. Your mommy and I will be here to support you regardless.”

We cried off and on the rest of the day talking about Amelia and Eddie. Plans were made and we listened as Eddie told us his story. I finally told about Ron. That night before I went to bed, I said a prayer for Ron. I didn’t know where she was, but I prayed God would watch over her.

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Comments

How Many Times?

How many more times do we have to relive history before we learn from it? Thank you for writing this.

As many...

...as it takes, unfortunately, or until we lose the chance to keep learning.

Thank you, for a lesson repeated, and finally learned by at least one.

-Liz

-Liz

Successor to the LToC
Formerly known as "momonoimoto"

Life

littlerocksilver's picture

There are tears on my keyboard. If only I had that opportunity. I have learned much over the years, but the evil done still lurks. Portia

Portia

So sad

makes me feel guilty for the times I said something unkind to fit in.

I like to think I have been better than most but even one unkindness is too many.

Thanks for this reminder, Brandie.

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

A heart felt

thanks for your comments. Know that I have been working on this story for a long time. There was just something about the song that captures my imagination. I was happy to share it with you.

I would like to think...

that I would have acted better as a kid, but I'm not so sure. Being socially inept, I took too many cues from the more popular people -- while trying to deny that that was the case. [sigh]

But, fortunately for them, I never met any GLBT people as a kid. By the time I did, I strongly practiced the Judge not lest ye be judged ethos.

Now, I'm facing the fact that my youngest son may be TS. His mother has the 'God made you male, so you are male' attitude, but she has enough experience with special needs children that, with my prompting, she ought to be able to treat him right. What it means, though, is that I have to become a stronger person and gain more credibility with her.

Gabe is a wonderful child. I hope that he can happily live out his life as Gabriel, rather than Gabrielle simply because the whole transition process is so costly emotionally.

Still, if he is happier as a she, I'll support her 100%, and love my new daughter.

I think that, a lot of the time, the pressure to act male drives people to see transition as the only solution. I'm hoping that he can find happiness as a sensitive male.

It's ironic that the adults' attempts to make their kids 'man up' is part of what pushes them to feel that their only option to be themselves is to transition.

For some, that's the case no matter what. For others, such as myself, a good life can be had as either gender.

I didn't mean to pontificate so much.

I really like this story. It's thought-provoking.

Ray Drouillard