Thursday, May 20, 2010

confessions of a feminine Rosie O’Donnell

Last night, while my family and I were trying to find blank tapes so that we could tape the upcoming episode of The Bachelorette, we stumbled upon a couple old tapes of when my brother was a baby and I was ten or eleven.
It’s amazing the things you forget. I had seen some videos of me in high school, but it had been so long—and I had already changed so much by high school.
It was my brother who summed things up: ‘I don’t remember you having an accent like that.’ and ‘Seriously, how did everyone not know?’
Before my brother starting talking as a baby—and never ceasing since—I was the one who did ceaseless talking. About everything and everything. I was OBNOXIOUS! When he started talking, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. According to my folks, I almost changed overnight. From endless chatter to a near-mute.
I swear I sounded like an obnoxious southern-belle. My Missouri accent thick and femininity radiating off of me—both in voice and in actions. It was actually rather disturbing. I’ve talked about it before—desperately wanting to be a girl when I was a kid; until I was twelve or so that I made up my mind I was glad I was a boy. I remember watching tv and movies specifically to learn how men walked and talked. I hadn’t realized what a drastic education it must have been. I also didn’t realize what a good teacher I really am. You might see and hear many feminine tones and actions in me now, but compared to the little boy I was, I’m Rhett Butler.
My freshman year in college in Colorado, I remember people teasing me for my hick accent. Since that time, I thought it was mainly the words I said/say wrong—worsh, etc. No, it wasn’t. Good lord. I don’t even remember other people back home sounded like I did.
I have to echo my brother. Not even including the hundreds of My Little Ponies, Barbies (etc.) I had, how didn’t every single person below the Confederate line not know I was a biggest little fat fairy in Dixie? Denial must also be a trait I picked up from my fellow Missourians.
It made me think twice about my desire to produce offspring. If that little boy was running around my house I think I’d shake the shit outta him. Of course, I’m sure the high-pitched screaming and flailing of dramatic arms would be enough deterrent to ensure survival.

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