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She made an attempt to go to the nearby drugstore, but I told her my problem didn't need medical attention. Rather, it needed answers. She looked at me perplexed, and asked what sort of answers I needed.
I recounted my ordeals as far back as I could remember. I started from how the other kids in church used to pinch my ears, how my nanny used to starve me after momma left for work, how I've been secluded from activities in school, how people glare at me on the road, how people whisper and point fingers at me, how even till that moment in junior high school, the kinds of things I've had to endure. I intentionally left out the 'bastard' part.
Momma went into a frenzy. She said she would go with me to school the following day and talk to the school authorities. She asked me the names of people who looked at me with disgust in their eyes. She was going to warn all of them, she said. She asked me why I hadn't told her earlier. She asked me this and that, but ignored the obvious - she didn't ask me why I was telling her now.
I had asked momma why people were glaring at me and whispering whenever I passed, and she had said she was trying to protect me. As far as I was concerned at that moment, it was enough with the protection.
"Momma, who is my pappa?"
As those words escaped my mouth, she looked at me as if I had dropped the whole world on her head. She was taken aback, I knew. It was obvious because she couldn't immediately summon courage to say she was trying to protect me, as usual.
Read Born This Way - Part 1
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