Saturday Afternoon In The Kitchen

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A mother shares a secret with her daughter.

Saturday Afternoon In The Kitchen

By J. L. Wendelin

Recently I found a box of my mother’s pictures and sat at the kitchen table looking through them. Little did I know that my trip down memory lane would lead to a conversation with my daughter about a subject I’d long avoided. Kelley, at 15, was old enough now to understand — probably well past; the subject needed to be broached. I’m a wimp and always hate the hard parental subjects such as sex, drugs, drinking, smoking — and the occasional bad grade. However, we have a good relationship, better that most I think, and I’ve always answered her questions about anything she’s asked. She’d never asked about this before; I never volunteered. She would today.

“Hey, Mom. Whacha doin’?”

“Looking at some of Grandma’s pictures.” In that instant I felt a brief wave of panic; I knew this would be it.

“Cool. Can I see?”

“Sure,” I said with a nonchalance I didn’t feel. “Grab a chair.”

We leafed though the first album; mostly pictures of my older sister and brother and me as toddlers. One the first page of the second album was a picture of me, on my eighth birthday, in a cowboy hat.

“Who’s that?”

“Me. My birthday.”

“That’s so cute,” she said. “That hat.” She picked up the book to look more closely. I held my breath. Her forehead wrinkled. “Why does it say ‘Happy Birthday Bill?” She looked up, “Did they make a mistake with the cake?” This asked with a grin.

I let out my breath. “Honey, you need to know something.” Her grin disappeared at the seriousness of my tone. I stalled. “You know that I can’t have children?”

“Yeah. That’s why you and Dad adopted me.”

“Okay. You know your friend Sarah?” Sarah had recently moved to town. She and Kelley were becoming close friends. Kelley had told me about her a couple of weeks ago.

“Yeah?” That threw her for a loop; she was completely baffled.

“The thing is, is…I can’t get pregnant because I’m like Sarah. I was born a boy.” There, I’d said it.

She looked at me for several seconds while the gears turned and she tried to get her thoughts around this. Finally, very slowly, she said, “Holy shit.”

I didn’t bother to scold her for that. Another few moments passed.

“But… Wait a minute. How come you never told me this before?” — a hint of, almost, anger there.

“Well,” I started, paused to collect my thoughts; I’ve never been very good at speaking under pressure. “It’s hard. I didn’t want to tell you when you were younger because…because there’s still enough discrimination out there, at least in this town, that I didn’t want it to get out. I didn’t want you hurt because of it, and you might have been. I was afraid, for you, for me, for Dad.” I was on the verge of tears but trying hard to hold them off. “It’s better now. People are more accepting. But it’s still not easy; look at all the…the problems that Sarah has had. I’m still not sure they would accept me at work.”

“But that’s discrimination. That’s illegal, isn’t it?”

With a snort, I said, “Not in this state, honey. Not for people like me.”

“Oh.”

“You told me how hard it’s been for Sarah. I did this twenty years ago. It was harder then. I transitioned and left behind Bill for good.”

“Oh, Mom.” She came over to me and hugged me. “Will you tell me about it?”

So I did.

We spent most of the afternoon talking. I told her about growing up confused, finally figuring out who I was, transitioning, the whole story. She asked questions about what it was like, if friends helped, things like that. I think she was, to some extent, thinking about Sarah as much trying to learn about me. We had a couple good cries and came away closer that we’ve ever been.

As we finished some tea we’d made towards the end, she asked, “Can I tell Sarah?”

I’d expected that. Had some reservations but said, “Okay.” She hugged me again. If nothing else, I’d gotten more hugs this afternoon than in the last couple years. I wondered if I had made a mistake giving her permission when, a few minutes later, I heard her on her phone say, “Sarah? You’re not going to believe this…” in a classic teen way. Oh well, the cat’s out of the bag now. If it can help Sarah get through… Maybe I’m too paranoid. Maybe things have changed enough. Maybe…

A short while later, Tom returned from his golf game. As he came in the door from the garage I asked, or started to, “How was your ga–?” Kelley came bustling through the kitchen. “Hi Dad,” to him, “I’m goin’ to Sarah’s,” to me. She then gave me another hug. “Love you Mom.” And she was gone.

“What was that all about?” he asked as he watched her leave.

He turned and saw the tears returning to my eyes.

“Honey?”

 © 2007 JLW

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Comments

My, my

Nicely told. Question is, does Tom know? I'd guess so, but you never can tell.

KJT

"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose"
Janis Joplin


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin

interesting slant

kristina l s's picture

on that conversation, explanation, historical imperative. I suspect there's a bit more talking to be done, some here, some there. Nicely done Jamie.

Kristina

What a precious family....

Andrea Lena's picture

...I came across this in the random feature and I'm awfully glad I did. I can't see her not telling her adopted child without telling her husband. To accept her and for the two to build a family base on love and acceptance; truly a very good story. Thank you!


She was born for all the wrong reasons
but grew up for all the right ones
Con grande amore e di affetto, Andrea Lena

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena