Becoming Him

I exude comfort and happiness now, after nearly 44 years. I have been disemboweled, dismembered, disheartened and deflowered enough in this life to know I have been ring side with the count shouted at my head, swollen, used up, blood and drool puffing out from under me. Somehow I got to my feet before the bell? My life has meaning, but what that meaning is, is still unclear. I was crushed from the moment I was born. Not literally, it seems plenty of us where the second child that was supposed to save the marriage, the ones that were supposed to be a boy. Many of us were greeted as disappointments, burdened souls, our arrival was announced and our fathers never showed up. I knew even though I was barely two, the moment he left…the moment I didn’t have a daddy anymore. It wriggled in deep underneath my blue satin trimmed blankie, cause of course I was supposed to be a boy. Pain doesn’t discriminate by age either. It hurt like my heart was dislocated and popped back into place. My sister fared worse. She had been old enough to love him, to call him Daddy and wait for him to come home at night; drunk or not, she knew his smell and his touch. She was also old enough to have a babysitter break her leg in the same place twice. Turns out I was the lucky one.

To be continued……..