"Does My Mother Know About Me, Does She Know Just What I Am?"
My mother died over 16 years ago, long before I came out to myself, never mind to anyone else. I don't know if she ever knew about me, but every now and then, I remember things like watching her bake a Duncan Hines cake or an apple cobbler, or stir up maple walnut fudge on the stove, the radio in the next room tuned to some Saturday night oldies program or a Motown record on the stereo. Of course, now all of those things are fused in mind. I also remember the occasional "Are you sure you don't want to be a girl?" I would usually say, defensively, "Yes!" I know now that if I had come out then, I would have been in big trouble; but I wasn't even aware enough to know who I was ... on any level. At 13, I had the reputation of being a "brain," but emotionally I was probably about 9 or 10. For reasons I'll explain in later posts, I would be stunted throughout much of my teens and early twenties.
But maybe she did know. Or perhaps, somewhere out there, she knows now.
Mom ... if you do know, rest easy ... I'm doing okay, taking one day at time.