To think of all these little moments that create the lives we lead. How different our lives become with every choice that is made. I marvel at the things not said. The untold stories floating silently in the air.
It seems like, even 40 years after the sex wars, “sexual preference” is often treated as inviolably personal and therefore immune from scrutiny. What if the new standard was to insist that no, you’re not allowed to hold any set of desires without explaining why?
It was always a source of comfort to tread those paths, racing my sister through the balmy summer air, narrating a book in intricate detail to my mother, or laughing as we slipped on ice in the winter.
Everyone has that “thing” that makes them stick out. As an atheist, mixed-race, nerdy 10-year-old living in “Pennsyltucky,” I had more than a few “things,” but growing up in Amish Country, it was my lack of religion that most obviously separated me from my peers.
I window shop for a middle name too. I spend so much time on babynames.com that I feel like an expectant mother. Elizabeth, Isabella, Valerie—I try them on in my mouth, in doodled script, in the mirror with my best ‘ello guvnah accent.
So I have the important decision to make. Do I tell my dad the truth and dash his efforts out of convenience like some heartless beast, or do I endure a barrage of spam emails for the sake of deepening our familial bond?