As I sit down to write this, I'm in my girlhood home. My two sisters have returned, with their S.O.'s, safely home, and my S.O. is sleeping in my girlhood bedroom,
not feeling well. It is the day after Christmas, and though I know this won't post until January, I wanted to just reflect. This is all anyone's going to get of my Christmas
trip home…I'm not posting it as either a diary entry or a travel piece. So enjoy it for what it is-random thoughts on my trip home for Christmas. The name for this article
was taken from a old John Denver song. It seems appropriate, somehow.
It is good to be home, in a sense-I mean, we went through all the same kinds of insanity we always do (things like “Frah-GEE-Lay” from A Christmas Story, and all the
Monty Python stuff, and a lot of the old family stories), and we didn't kill each other or anything. We laugh a lot, which is good. I love my family; in one sense, I get a lot
of strength from my family. It is good to laugh as much as we do. It keeps us from killing one another, and it allows us to relax and enjoy one another's company.
I've found a few things from my misspent youth-the basket `o' yarn, which may come home with me this trip, for example-and took a long look at my girlhood bedroom.
Now, you must understand that The Momma has sort of redone all our rooms with things that remind her of us.
So, in my room currently is the napkin holder I made in 7th grade woodshop (and it is ugly beyond belief!), and a Maneki Neko, and some stuff from my Navy days, and
the framed Rockwell print of “Close Harmony” that was done on canvas. There's a ceiling fan where Deep Space Station K-7 hung…the glow in the dark stars are all in
my possession, as are the bookshelves.
There are a few touches that are decidedly feminine, however.
The plastic cream pitcher with the cow's head I so desperately wanted when we were on tour one year is in there too, along with a toy stove and oven. Dainty little
tea-cups sit on a shelf, along with a wall hang that was machine crocheted. (It says, “Having a place to go is HOME. Having someone to love is FAMILY. Having both
is a BLESSING.”) The room is still blue, but not the robin's egg blue it was-it's more of a sky blue now…except the trim, which is still the same color blue, even after
all these years. The ugly mustard yellow carpeting is still there, too. There is a futon in there now; I have the bed I slept in as a girl. By all rights, were I the man people
think I ought to be (or should have been), I should be very uncomfortable.
I'm not.
It reflects somewhat on the girl I should have been, and the woman I have become. In other words…it fits me well. I have come home again.
******
Twenty four hours later, and there's been an interesting interlude. Today in our travels, The Momma, Daddy and I were all together and were discussing some arcane
piece of triviata. I made a comment (something about simply asking for directions for something or other) and The Momma said, “Honey, you are thinking like a
woman.”
It makes me wonder what The Momma knows.
I've had a shower in the shower/tub combo I used as a girl. The doors are still up on the tub; I remember when I was in high school (Or was it intermediate school?) when
I had twitched and put my knee through it. I've shaved my legs (all the hair is off my legs again, finally), underarms and chest. My hair is clean, and I am in a nightshirt and
spa bottoms. While I know things are starting to need to be redone, my nails are all painted (though my fingernails are only in clear-coat), and my eyebrows are obviously
arched. My boobs are also obvious, and even without the girls in place. I look decidedly feminine.
I don't care right now what anyone thinks. I'm just glad to be home right now.
*****
I'm in a hotel room now, on my way home. I've had a bubble bath and shower, shaved my legs, armpits and chest (gently) all over again, and have a chance to reflect on
a few last things. Mostly the dreams I have had over the last six days or so. In all of them, I'm in high school, just like it was last week, and dreaming of events that were,
and boyfriends I used to have. Except these are boys that (a) I never dated because (b) they didn't exist. (Many of the events happened, but not like in my dreams. They
were vastly different in real life.) But these are pretty vivid dreams nonetheless, and I recall much of them come the morning. Like Duane, who was in choir with me. I
remember grabbing him in full view of a bunch of guys ragging on him and attempting to remove his tonsils with my tongue. (That shut them all up, except for one guy who
told us to “get a room” as he walked away, shaking his head in disgust.) He was the first one I did, sucking him one weekend not less than six times. He was also the first
guy to finger me to orgasm. He was sort of the boy next door type-always there for me, even after we quit dating each other. He was the one who took me to a formal
dance-I am not sure if it was the Junior ball, Senior Prom or Senior Homecoming. Or Mike, the wrestler, who friggin' cheated on me. I had his letter jacket, and his other
girl had his class ring. (Bitch.) We dated for months, before I found out. Or Tim, who was the first to feel me up really good. He had the fastest hands in the west. (Not
the best…just the fastest.) None of these were the one who I gave my virginity up to, oddly enough. That hasn't cropped up…yet.
I remember the dates, the dances, the study groups I went to…all as the girl I should have been. Band trips, choir tours, holding hands, hugs and kisses (and make out
sessions), teen crushes, classes, tests, sleep-overs, driver's ed, my first period, make-up parties…these are all so real, even now. And I remember them very vividly. Like
they actually happened…
…except they couldn't have.
There were no dreams where I was in college. (That might be due to the fact I passed my high school a dozen times, but never saw my college campus at all.)
I wish I had been a genetic girl. I feel like I've missed a lot.
