Family Matters

“I'm your mother.” That is what the IM window said back to me. I laughed it off. I mean, this was the mid 90's. It was still cool to punk people you didn't know on AOL Instant messenger. I told the person that they weren't funny and closed the window. “How's Lamar doing?” That was when my heart stop.

The story started off on the wrong foot. Well, to be honest, it started at the beginning without contextual information. I was only fourteen years old when I first heard from my mother. Until then, I knew very little about her. I knew she left me when I was eleven months old and that was the short and long of it. Until that moment, my idea of family was simple. I had my parents and my brothers Corey and Adam. And then there was Lamar, who I didn't know how to describe.

But the revelation that my father was Lamar, that my parents were his parents, and that Corey and Adam were my uncles dealt me a blow. Reality had become instantly distorted. Up was down, left was right, and my family was not my family.

Here were all these people who were once one thing. In an instant they became my extended family. I was left feeling discarded. But I put on the brave face. I was going to be the good little trooper. But I ramble.

I can just say that an early age I had found out that family is what you made of it. It took being practically disowned for being transsexual to make sense of it all. There are simple lessons you learn in life. Look for people that do approve of you.

You ask about my family lineage. I really can't tell you much about that. I know that there is an entire Caucasian half of my heritage that doesn't acknowledged my existence. Or maybe I could tell you about the African American side that decided to raise me, but now sees me with wool pulled over their eyes.

Instead, I'll tell you about a girl name Hazel who took me in for three weeks when no one else would. Friends like Jon and Jeremy who have taken black eyes for me while we dished out our own fair share. There is this girl name Dana. Who has pulled me off the brink more times than I can count. These names are my family.

I could have done the research. Delved into my dark past. Talked to my grand parents about where we came from. I could have reached out to my half brother Eric about his mom's family. But what would that have done?

It would have told you nothing about me. It would have had no bearing on my moralities. My values. I can't remember a moment my grand parents talk about our heritage with any revere. My point, my point being background doesn't tell the story. Doesn't tell my story.

So, what tells my story? I do, all you got to do is just sit down and listen.