I Am Jennifer

Dad wanted boys, a whole slew of boys to staff his baseball and/or football teams. Mom thought I was going to be an athlete because I was more active in her womb than her two previous daughters. Living on my grandparent's farm (Dad's parents) in the 50's, I became Daddy's little helper. I became his son. Helping to weed the garden to begin with, taking lunches out to the working men in the haying fields, watching him milk the cows, being one of the first to learn how to drive a car, conversations on long car rides just the two of us, greading the gravel road togehter, helping to stack bales, getting the chop ready to feed the cows. I was a very helpful child. A brother! Wow, someone to play hockey with, hang out with, teach him what it meant to be a boy. "Why are you treated differently?" "Why won't Dad and Mom let you sleep with us girls in the attic, sleeping on the couch instead?" Puberty! "What's happening to me?" "Why am I bleeding?" "What are these bumps? Maybe I can burn them off." "Well, that didn't work." The emotional scars lasted much longer than the physical ones. I was 12 years old.