JENNIFER TURLEY

17. DYKE, DYKE, DYKE!

How does it feel to have a child who is gay? I’ve been asked that several times. Believe me, I’d rather face that question than have that ugly, accusing glare from some small-minded person who is allowing themselves to believe that I “allowed my child to choose to be gay.” How can a person best describe the cross between trying to be a responsible and well-behaved adult, and wanting to choke the very last breath out of some ignoramus who stands within earshot saying despicable and hateful things about the child who you love more than your own life? By now, many people have either read or heard about the poem by Emily Perl Kingsley entitled, “Welcome to Holland.” The poem depicts the way a mother feels upon learning that her newborn child is disabled, after preparing herself for a “typical” child during her pregnancy. I believe that all mothers have certain expectations during pregnancy, and then we solidify certain expectations upon learning the sex of the baby. I suppose that could be my segue into what it’s like to have a daughter who is lesbian, yes? You hear the doctor pronounce to all in the room, “It’s a girl!” and you begin imagining her school dances and formals, and even a brief thought of her wedding, though it’s way down the road. You have certain expectations just because the child is born with a particular set of genitalia. It’s unfortunate that it all begins that way, but I know that it’s common, no matter how erroneous. WE first noticed how different Maddy was when she was a little over two years old. You could NEVER tell her that she couldn’t do something. I’m not talking about dangerous things, but small, albeit, societal norms. She loved to mimic her father shaving his face in the morning. She would smear a small amount of shaving cream on her lower face, then scrape it off methodically with a popsicle stick, like an expert. She then showed great determination when trying to use the bathroom. She tried to urinate standing up, like her father and two brothers. Of course, this failed. When I tried to explain that she and I, (females), were very different from the other three (male) family members and must therefore sit down while using the toilet, she was even more resolved. “I can do it” she said with a determined face, “I will show you”. Sure enough, not even two weeks after this incident, Maddy came to get me. “I will show you!” she said, grabbing my hand and leading me to the restroom. When there, she hopped up on the edge of the tub, put her hand on the wall, arched her back and peed directly at the drain of the tub. “I can do it!” she declared triumphantly. It was then I knew, I was not the mother of a “regular, typical little girl.” My daughter

C. Boske & A. Osanloo (Eds.), Students, Teachers, and Leaders Addressing Bullying in Schools, 97–103. © 2015 Sense Publishers. All rights reserved. J. Turley is extraordinary. While it meant she was a very determined and creative individual, it also meant, I was in trouble. Maddy had a little “boyfriend” during pre-school, with whom she remained close for many years. I realized after one year that Colton was not really a boyfriend in the traditional sense of the word. He was more of a best friend-someone who Maddy played tackle football with, or rode her bike or skateboarded with, or just joined to go swimming. No other boy was as close to Maddy growing up, but this is probably because Colton accepted her early on as an equal, not as a romantic inquiry. In middle school, Maddy began dealing with a lot of antagonists. Because she was a little different from the other girls in that she didn’t wear make-up, or mini-skirts, or stuff her bra, she became the target for some bullying. Boys would just make stupid comments telling her that they wouldn’t date her (which made no difference to her), but the girls were much more vicious. They never missed an opportunity to make fun of her, humiliate her, or just bully her on a daily basis. Complaints got me nowhere. I ended up taking her out of the public school after the first quarter of her sixth grade year, and home-schooling her for the remainder. It was the best I could do under the circumstances. Maddy wanted to go back to public school her 7th grade year. She was ready. After spending time focusing on just academics and adjusting to “growing up”, she felt confident to begin her new journey. Though her father and I had suspected for a while that she was lesbian, the topic never came up with Maddy. She was simply…well…Maddy! She was a unique person, never really holding a sexual identity or characteristic. Maddy JUST WAS! She had male and female friends. She cared more about the welfare of others than she did for her own. The people that got to know her absolutely adored her. Her look became more androgynous. Some teachers were very confused about what bathroom she should go into, too embarrassed to ask her, or to have any inquiry. How hard is it to check someone’s sex in their records? High school was emotionally draining, to say the least. By now, I had found out that Maddy was binding her breasts, and was “out” with her friends…as well as with us. She felt comfortable talking about it. She said, “Because all your friends are gay, Mom, all your friends are gay!” Yes, the majority of them were gay. They were priceless to me! Maddy’s actual sexual identity was still a mystery to a lot of faculty. Her bound breasts, broad shoulders, short hair and swagger caused a lot of confused looks. She was a SUPERB soccer goalie, but the cruel comments that were thrown her way became too much to bare. I don’t know who was more upset, Maddy or me? She had initially quit the soccer team her sophomore year. Maddy was fed-up with a lot of the issues going on; however, her team was going to the All-City Play-offs and had come to her. They begged for her to play the championship game. Maddy agreed to do it for the team. She played very well, holding the other team at minimal points, but her defensive guards were getting tired and starting to break-down. When the other team broke through and scored, they gained momentum. The crowd got more aggressive,

98