I
I remember when my child got their first real haircut. It was at First Choice haircutters. Their first real haircut, because until then I had always cut their hair myself. I remember that they exclaimed, with an orange sucker protruding from their goofy – not quite toddler but not quite child (perhaps, only, because I was unwilling to accept that they were growing up too fast) – toothy smile, “Yeah! I’m not a girl anymore!” I remember refusing to wear dresses or skirts, grade one through grade six, especially on picture day, to my mother’s great dismay. I was assertive, comfortable and cool. I remember having a crush on the older girl in the next building, but also a crush on the boy in my class. Was that allowed? Back in those days, they didn’t say. I remember being told, by a guy a thought I liked in the tenth grade, that I would be more palatable, datable even, if…if… I could just be more normal. For three days I tried. For three days I failed. It was an exercise in futility, after all. There is no normal, is there? Only others dictating what is, and what is not, acceptable. As if they had a right to tell me who I should be, who I should not be. Regardless, they persist. I remember being homeless. Sixteen, on the Toronto streets. I was not alone. There were many of us; each with our own story, with our own history, our own trauma, own selves. One day I was told, “but you’re to pretty to be homeless,” as if my worth should be based solely on appearance. Who taught us to think that way? I remember being informed by my father that we were Metis. We had always been white; how could that be? Was it somehow a lie if I (re)claimed this identity? Was I somehow a fake or experiencing intersectionality? I remember putting on a cowboy hat and using eyeliner to create facial hair. Hidden away in that bathroom, the reflection I saw in the mirror was powerful and sexy, and yes, he was me. I was a dead man for Halloween, at work, one year. “Don’t you mean a dead woman?” a co-worker asked. No, I was a dead man. Sometimes, I was also a man while holding my husbands hand, walking down the street. Sometimes, I am a man in bed too. But mostly, I am a woman. I remember a stranger accosting my friend for having too much body hair. It’s not natural! Not on a woman. In that moment, all three of us had body hair. Most post-pubescent people do. She had more than me, but so did he. I bet nobody ever told him his biology, his natural appearance, was too much. No, probably not. He is still allowed to be whole, to have hair. She (we) is not. I remember laughing at my child’s comment, stating, “you never were a girl.” Then again, maybe they were. Maybe the “rules” are too stringent. Maybe, like Schrodinger’s cat, we all are and we aren’t.
Bonus. Here is a song I love (including lyrics)! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BE5YzRr9yPo
When I Was a Boy Dar Williams
I won’t forget when Peter Pan came to my house, took my hand
I said I was a boy
I’m glad he didn’t check
I learned to fly, I learned to fight
I lived a whole life in one night
We saved each other’s lives out on the pirate’s deck
And I remember that night
When I’m leaving a late night with some friends
And I hear somebody tell me it’s not safe, someone should help me
I need to find a nice man to walk me home
When I was a boy, I scared the pants off of my mom
Climbed what I could climb upon And I don’t know how I survived
I guess I knew the tricks that all boys knew
And you can walk me home, but I was a boy, tooI was a kid that you would like, just a small boy on her bike
Riding topless, yeah, I never cared who saw
My neighbor came outside to say, “get your shirt”
I said “no way, it’s the last time I’m not breaking any law”
And now I’m in a clothing store, and the sign says less is more
More that’s tight means more to see, more for them, not more for me
That can’t help me climb a tree in ten seconds flatWhen I was a boy, see that picture? that was me
Grass-stained shirt and dusty knees
And I know things have gotta change
They got pills to sell, they’ve got implants to put in, they’ve got implants to remove
But I am not forgetting
That I was a boy, tooAnd like the woods where I would creep, it’s a secret I can keep
Except when I’m tired, except when I’m being caught off guard
I’ve had a lonesome awful day, the conversation finds its way
To catching fire-flies out in the backyard
And I tell the man I’m with about the other life I lived
And I say now you’re top gun
I have lost and you have won
He says, “oh no, no, can’t you see?”
When I was a girl, my mom and I, we always talked
And I picked flowers everywhere that I walked
And I could always cry, now even when I’m alone I seldom do
And I have lost some kindness
But I was a girl, too
And you were just like me, and I was just like you







