I'm Not A Boy

Every girl has had an experience in life that has had a distinct impact on her character, an experience that led her to find out who she really is.

When I was younger, I was a competitive gymnast. I practically lived in the gym, and my life revolved around gymnastics. I didn't want to deal with my hair flopping all around and having to re-do my ponytail every 45 seconds, so I got my hair cut off pretty short. And by pretty short, I mean it was like a boy's haircut.

To be paired with my boy hairstyle, I had the "tom boy" attitude. I rocked shorts and a t-shirt (which I still rock...). I played sports with boys; I wrested with boys. I didn't want to be treated any differently because of my anatomy, so I didn't act like I was any different.

With all this being said, here's my story.

Picture it: Fulton Grammar School, 1999. I was in Judy Spencer's third grade class. There was a new student in our grade, but I can't really remember if she was in my class or not, but it makes no difference to the outcome of the story. I will leave her name out of this, but we'll call her "Jane".

Jane was a really outgoing, talkative young lady. She tried really hard to fit in, but with Fulton being a small town, it was really hard for her to click with the majority of her classmates.

My first interaction with Jane was in the girls' bathroom. I had just finished my business and was at the sink washing my hands. Jane emerged from her stall as I was reaching for the paper towel. She says, "Excuse me. The boys' bathroom is across the hall!" I responded, "I'm not a boy," and went back to the room and held in my tears until I could get home.

Because of my upper-front quadrant, I am no longer accused of being a boy. However, because of my shoes, clothing, and over-all appearance, I am accused of being a lesbian.

I am neither.