by JE Brock

Created on: November 09, 2009   Last Updated: November 10, 2009

I was born 9 weeks prematurely after my family was in an accident. I weighed 1.5 lbs. In 1972 the chances of survival (especially living in nowhere Ohio) were non-existent. My mother could not name me for two weeks. I went straight from womb to the incubator. There is no time for human contact when the clock starts ticking. At that point it becomes the will of your inner spirit to fight or die.

Perhaps that is why I have lived my life as a fighter/survivor. I have been beaten and found myself lying on the floor. When you turn back for your last look I will promise you I will be staring you in the face. It is at that point, You may want to hurry on your way because, you wont like what is to fallow.

When the weeks and finally the months passed along. My mother was able to take me home. I was labeled some kind of miracle child, and like one of the dolls my mother collects. She had visions of pink dresses and Cindy Brady curls in my hair. The devastation began to set in about the time she began to realize that my straight-ass hair(the only thing about me that is) was as defiant as it's possessor. Then when the time came I was pulled out from under the kitchen table (screaming the whole way) to be forced into girlie-girl clothes I am sure it deeply effected my parents dream of the Shirley Temple daughter. Then began the flood. Instead of Barbie and Ken being the happy couple in the doll-house, GI Joe was doing bombing runs through the kitchen, beating the crap out of Ken and grabbing Barbie and running off into the night. I hid all the dresses and began picking a part my brother's closet when given the chance. Complete denial set in when I was in the 2nd grade, I came home from school, and told my mother to sit down we needed to talk. I informed her that I really like girls and wanted to marry one one day. This was the 70's and there is 2 generation gaps between me and my parents......they were not ready for that announcement, and as all good old-time mid-westerners they ignored it in hopes that it would go away.

Then enters the teenage years. Instead of Home-Economics....what else.....welding and metal shop.

In a true act of expression I cut off the long hair I was forced to carry all through my life. The words that hunted me for awhile were " You were pretty. You look ugly. You are the son we never wanted."

A great deal of time has passed, and it must be understood I have never let myself be crippled by past events. If anything I am far stronger than most and I take pride in that. I know that my parents love me and I love them. The disappointment they felt because I was not the perfect little girl will never be my burden to carry. I, also, do not have deep rooted identity issues. I am proud of the person I have developed myself into...and I will continue grow every passing day.

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