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|Product dimensions:||5.70(w) x 8.40(h) x 1.40(d)|
|Age Range:||14 - 17 Years|
About the Author
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"I don't understand." It's a puny phrase for such an overwhelming feeling."I was assigned male at birth," she says quietly. "Marcus." The name comes out scratchy, as if it's grown weak with disuse. "I had all the anatomical boy parts, and everyone assumed I was a boy. But even before I fully understood the differences between boys and girls, I knew I wasn't what everyone wanted me to be. I couldn't tell anybody what I was feeling, though.""Which was what?" I press. I need to hear her say the words."That God had made a mistake. My body wasn't right. People didn't understand trans issues then the way they're starting to now. There was no Jazz Jennings or Laverne Cox or Chaz Bono or Transparent. I never even heard the words transgender or transsexual until I was out of high school."There they are. Those are the words.I've heard about transgender people, of course. I've watched the reality shows and followed the political campaigns to restrict public bathroom access when two of your childhood idols are Billie Jean King and Martina Navratilova, it's pretty much ingrained in you to care deeply about LGBTQ issues.If it were anyone else, I'd hug them and say, "As long as you're happy. I support you." Truly. But how am I supposed to do that now, when I'm finding out my own mother has lied to me intensely all these years? Lied about my origin and her past and the baby pictures and who knows what else. She didn't trust me respect me enough to tell me the truth. I'm feeling even more lost now than I did before. Mom's confession is not an answer it's a domino that's tipped over a thousand other questions.