Picture day

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Adults are weird. I don't understand them at all.

I know I am a girl named Cynthia Peters. Just that, however the adults keep trying to make me a boy. I just don't understand.

I was playing with my friends on the floor each of us with our dollys. And this lady comes and grabs me by the arm and hauls me away and then plunks me down with the icky boys. My dolly was left behind, It hurt. The icky boys wanted to play with cars and bash things together. They never wanted to play house or tea or anything nice like that its always hurt this bash that. They of course didn't want to play with me either.

"Oh look its the weird Thomas. The girls complain about you again?"

"My name is Cynthia!"

"Sure Thomas and I'm the king of boston."

"Thomas"

"Thomas"

"Thomas"

The boys continued to call me that horrible boys name until, as usual , I cried. I got up and waddled to my corner and cried and cried. The lady took one look at me shook her head and let me cry. It was always like this. Day after day. Even the adults would call out Thomas and I of course would never answer because my name is Cynthia. They would always come and roughly grab me put me in a chair and tell me over and over that Cynthia is a girls name and you are a boy named Thomas. Like this was supposed to mean something to me.

Some days the other girls got to wear really pretty dresses and blouses and skirts. I was always in a stupid boys shirt with that ugly horrible disgusting tie. I hated it! Always pants, never a nice pretty skirt always the pants. The adults would then move us all into a bus. The trip to the big fancy house with the pretty windows was on every Sunday. We would go in kneel and then sit on hard wooden benches, Girls one side boys the other. I kept trying to sit with the other girls but they always made me sit with the boys.

I tried many a time to explain that I am a girl. This got me hits on my bum with rulers, belts, or hands. Even in the big house I got a spanking. I cried alot and was told boys shouldn't cry so much, so that just proves I'm a girl. As soon as we got back to the home we would have to change into cleaning clothes. I at least got a kerchief for my hair sometimes. Like the other girls all wore. When I did I would happily scrub the wood with my brush or rag. Many times during cleaning the girls and I would giggle and chat about how silly boys were.

One time I snuck into the girls dorm and got myself dressed up in descent pretty clothes and underwear. I looked pretty and got out of the home and went walking around town with my little purse. I got complimented on how pretty a girl I was a number of times. It was so good. I felt so happy for once. An old man even gave me a piece of chocolate candy for being so pretty!

The adults caught me and brought me home. They took my clothes off me then buzzed off my hair. I cried the whole time. I just wanted to be pretty like all the other girls was that so wrong? Of course I got teased by the boys time and time again for going out dressed as a girl.

As I got older I started to wonder why adults were all so weird. Why did they all keep trying to make a girl a boy. I just didn't understand. In kindergarden I would sit there and patiently try to spell my name. The teacher got so mad that I got a spanking at school. I have always tried to be a good girl. I spell my name Cynthia Peters and they always tell me its spelt wrong.

Today is picture day. I am wearing a nice pretty white dress with lace gloves and lace socks. Black sandles and I have a bow in my hair. I am a girl and I will show them.

"My aren't you the prettiest little girl. What is your name sweetie?"

"My name is Cynthia Peters I'm 6 yrs old!" I say proudly.

"Just sit here with your hands in your lap and show me how much a princess you are"

The camera flash goes off while I can see the Matron from the home coming towards me. I Just smile wider and wait for the next picture.



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