.andrew mattachine.

Comment:
This was written when I was coming out to my mom and dad, right before I told them, when I was very scared. It worked out fine though.

 

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Firstborn Son

 

Once upon a time, Rick and Janet fell in love, got married, and had a child. They were pleased with their little daughter. Their child grew, a fine young girl. She was outspoken and brash, but a good daughter, by and large. When she was four and a half years old, Rick and Janet had another child, a boy. He was small and sweet, a quiet child, but intelligent and self confidant. They were very happy.

Time passed, as it does, and things changed, as things are wont to do. Janet tired of Rick, and after a period of discord, they went their separate ways. The little girl, by now ten or eleven years old, and her brother stuck together throughout, and were able to retain their love and respect of both of their parents, to the extent that was reasonable. The little girl, who by now resented those who called her little, grew steadily more perceptive and intelligent, as did her brother. Rick and Janet carried on with their lives, making their best attempts to raise the girl and her brother well, give them an education, and nurture their respective quirks and diversities.

 

Several years later, the girl was thirteen. She fell in love, madly in love, with another girl, two years her senior. Rick and Janet were very accepting of their daughter's sexual identity. They did not hesitate to speak honestly and frankly to their children, and they were overjoyed that their daughter had trusted them with knowledge of her sexuality. Her brother embraced this development in his sister. They were very happy.

 

A year passed, and the girl grew sad. She had felt in her from birth a presence supposedly unfamiliar, but still she knew it to be herself. One night the presence spoke to the boundless night, and this is what it said:

 

"I am my parent's firstborn son. In simpler times, I would inherit all my father had inherited and gained in this world. I would marry before my brother. But these are not simple times, and my father does not see his son. He sees his daughter, a good daughter, intelligent, independent, talented. He is unspeakably proud. My mother sees me not, she sees a girl with a face much like hers, she sees a decisive, if hot-headed, young woman who will do well in the world. She is obscenely proud.

 

I know not if they would mourn the demise of the daughter they never truly had. They are proud of their daughter, they love her, they think her wonderful. They have made me theirs on this condition, accepted from birth, known to all, borne like a brand and twisted like a shackle round my wrists. But I am not this person. I am all they say I am, it is true, they know me well. What they hold with such pride in me is true. But I am still their son. I am the son they do not know, but know so well, I am their firstborn, their child, their flesh, blood and spirit. I am still the child born to them fourteen years ago. But I am not their daughter. I would pray they could see their child still. But I have forgotten how to pray."

 

The girl is gone now. They do not see it, but she is gone. She was never really there, they put her there. The boy begins to sing a song he will sing for a long, long time:

 

Mother, could you still see me?
Mother, could you love the son you bore?
Mother, could you look into my eyes and tell me you love me?
Mother, what would you say?

 

Father, could you still hear my voice?
Father, could you love the son who bears your image?
Father, could you still keep me safe?
Father, what would you say?

 

I will stand, through the storm, if there is to be a storm.
Father, you taught me to be strong. I will be strong
Mother, you taught me to see. I will seek my path
Your daughter is still here, as much as she ever was
She is me
She is your firstborn son
And she will love you as a child loves a parent
For I am your flesh, blood and spirit
Mother, I love you
Father, I love you

 

The boy will sing for a long time, perhaps the rest of his life. Other voices will add to his melody sometimes, and he will smile. He will sing alone sometimes, tears mingling with the notes, but he will sing. He will sing until the song is done, and when the last note has died away, they will know he is their son. He knows it now. And so he sings:

 

I am your flesh, blood and spirit
I speak in your voices
I cry in your tears
I shout in your anger
I am your son

 

I am the one you bore
The squalling child born that cold December day
The heartbeat you measured from birth
The eyes as blue as yours
I am your son

 

Mother, I love you
Father, I love you

 

I will be strong.