Her next line of defense was to ask “Why can’t you at least dress nicely when you visit or when we go out in public together?”
The subtext was that I should try to look normal so that no one (i.e. my grandmother or the neighbors) would know and so that my mother could pretend that everything was fine.
My mother knew that everything had gone wrong. It was only possible to deny reality. To hide the truth. To keep other people from seeing what she saw. To control what was visible. My mother believed that gay people should stay in the closet.
She tried to get me to look like the daughter she wanted. I couldn’t do it. I was born blatant. I will die blatant. Continue reading