The difference was that, back then, words like genderqueer and non-binary were unknown to me. The room spiraled in on itself and I was, again, a budding teen, standing in front of a mirror, trying and failing to verbalize what was happening in my mind and to my body. It had been a long time since I lacked the language to explain my own identity, but there I was, at a loss. ![]() “You wore little bows and dresses.” She reached her manicured claw towards my plate and snatched a chunk of cheddar. “You were a very feminine child,” she said. She sipped her drink and cocked her head to the side, taking in my buzzed hair, green vest, and slacks. I was standing in the kitchen, picking cheese from a platter, when a relative resembling a Disney villain pronounced that I looked more masculine than she remembered. Picture a dimly lit room filled with candles and wine, cheery tunes, and garlands twinkling in the background. Two years ago, I attended a Christmas party at my parent’s house in California.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |