Today was adoption day
And we had queer little couples from all over the land
come to church
to adopt our orphans and start a family.
One child of ours was a small baby boy
With sun kissed skin and little rosy cheeks and curly brown hair which blossomed.
We found in him crying in a dumpster
In the middle of nowhere
Abandoned and unloved by the world....
But two women in love thought he was
the most beautiful thing on earth
and wanted to make him their son.
We were happy for them, of course!
We knew he would be in good hands.
But as I held him in my arms in the garden
To show him his favourite daisies
one more time
He looked up at me
As tears like dewdrops
ran down his puffed up cheeks.
He didn't want to leave.
And it reminded me of when I was a child
And I looked up at mother, teary-eyed
Because she told me boys couldn't play with flowers
And that big boys didn't cry
As she dragged me away from the dainty daisies at the park.
I didn't want to leave.
And I tried hard not to cry
Because he could not cry.
We both could not cry.
When I gave him my big finger to hold on to one more time
His little hand poked out from
the soft, pink cloth which swaddled him
to grasp it tightly.
And it reminded me of when I was a child
And father scolded me in front of laughing, jeering siblings
and scowling mother
Because I was caught wearing Sister's pretty pink dress,
which sparkled like my tears in the bedroom light.
And he said big boys shouldn't wear pink dresses
or else they would be "sissies"
And no one would ever love a "sissy".
And I tried hard not to cry now
Because he could not cry.
We both could not cry.
When he calmed himself
I gently played with the soft brown curls on his warm little head
And cherished the length of the long, silky strands
one more time.
And it reminded me of when I was a child
And how mother made sure to shave off my hair
when it was "too long"
Because she didn't want me to think i was a girl
as that was not what "God intended".
And that she would never let me
leave the house again
if I dared to "show attitude"
Else she would give me "something to truly cry about."
The boychild who couldn't pick flowers,
wear pink dresses or have long hair
Died and went with the old world.
But traces of him still remained
In the faces of those I loved
And who truly loved me back,
as a man and as a woman.
It was only then I realised
He was me.
And I was him.
And our lives were one in the same.
And then I folded
And I couldn't help but cry
And then he cried too.
Because it was safe enough to cry.
Because he was safe enough to cry.
Because
we
could
both
finally
cry
And live life the way God truly intended.