Nine
O when I was nine
I was still a child
there was no instant communication
news travelled slow
on the radio TV newspapers
that provided an innocence
I knew about war
because my Dad had fought in one
he was a man
my mother was a woman
I was a boy child
who only knew what the culture
of the time
expected of my gender
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O when I was nine
I did know I wasn’t like other boys
I played backlot baseball
I played with dolls
I wasn’t the boy my dad expected
I didn’t like to fight
like other boys
I never understood
why physical violence was required
to be accepted
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O when I was nine
I learned to swim
looking at the differences
between boys and girls
anatomy I didn’t understand
the boys where more interesting
I knew shame
when we were caught
I had fear
but no closet
sex was dirty regardless
of the gender of the object
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O when I was nine
I don’t that I was making waves
as I waded from nine to nineteen
by the time I left nineteen
I knew
these were dangerous waters
at nine there was only
the fear of getting caught
not the fear
of my culture drowning me
like an unwanted litter of kittens
I heard on a TV documentary about children that our sense of self was basically formed by the time we are ten years old. By then we have absorbed the ‘teachings’ of TV behaviours that inform our subconscious. So, back in the day, I was aware of what the culture of the time expected of my gender. I was also aware that it wasn’t the right fit but I hadn’t developed the language for that beyond feeling it was the wrong fit. Today thanks to instant communication children have a greater knowledge of gender variations. I doubt that at the age of five I would have understood what a faggot was, children today do know what it means.
Where was I when I was nine? We had just settled in Sydney, Cape Breton after moving across Canada for a couple years. My mother & I had spent some time with her family in Wales during this time as well. I remember ‘living’ in Moncton, Stellerton or was it Truro for short periods of time & going to schools there, briefly. Finally in Sydney, were we lived in three different neighbourhoods before my dad bought a house in Ashby.
One result was that I spent those formative years as a displaced person – someone who was different. My Dad prodded me into things that could show me how to ‘fit in’: cub scouts, YMCA. I did the best I could but felt like an outsider &, as I recall, was fine with that. I did get these weird mixed messages ‘why can’t you be like other kids’ then when I wanted some fad item ‘why can’t you think for yourself.’
I survived partially by hiding in booze & partially by writing & painting as I gradually found language for what I was. Though then that language was loaded – an abomination unto the Lord – sort of stuff. Today I know the tragic flaw wasn’t my sexuality but the way culture regarded not only lgbtq but sexuality itself.
TOpoet 