As she rose to the mike, at the front of the altar, she could feel the butterflies in her stomach. As the choir formed behind her, she turned to face the congregation. She could see them staring at her, their eyes burning into her skin, piercing her soul. She knew that there were those out there who would love to see her fail, but many more who willed her to succeed. She had worked so hard for this, fought for it, to be accepted. But now that it was here she could feel her nerves getting the better of her, fear in the pits of her being, a cold chill running down her spine. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She remembered a time when all this was different.
She was not always female and in fact was born male, a label she wasn’t too comfortable. She always knew she woman, but in a man’s body. After two boys, her mother wished for a girl, only to have another boy. She wasn’t disappointed but in a very masculine household she wished for a feminine company. Maybe this was the reason why she was more girl than boy.
As a child she used to wear her mother’s pearls and make up and used to parade in the house and entertain guest with her singing. At first this was all amusing, all funny, all very entertaining. But when it got to be an habit it turned into bit of annoyance to her father. He scolded her for not being like the other boys and constantly reprimanded his wife for being too protective and encouraging of their son.
At school she was the butt of every joke, not very well accepted. Her effeminacy was ridiculed and made fun off. She was often at the receiving end of their bullying. Her brothers stood up for her, often getting in scraps with other boys, but there were times when even they couldn’t understand her, couldn’t take her behaviour.
Finally her father decided to pack her off to a boarding school so that they could make a man out of her, away from the influence and protection of her mother. Life at the boarding was another nightmare. In a building filled with testosterone she stood out like a sore thumb. Once again she found herself being bullied, being harassed mentally, physically and sexually. There were other effeminate boys but they too fell in line with the straight boys.
Once while showering at night , she was accosted by her tormenters. They tried to force her to perform oral acts on them and when she refused they nearly raped her. When she begged and pleaded and cried they finally let her go. Not before kicking her and beating her, especially in her privates saying that she had no use for them and threatened that if she ever opened her mouth to anyone she would face a worse faith.
This was the final straw, she couldn’t take any longer. But she didn’t know who turn to? Who could help her? Who would believe her? She did the only thing she thought was right and ran away from there. Her father flew into fit of rage when he saw his son standing at the door. If it wasn’t for his mother he would have physically harmed him. That night his parent got into a huge argument. She could hear them no matter how much she tried to drown them out. She decided to put an end to it all. If it weren’t for her mother’s timely intervention, she would have been six feet under. And when she saw all the bruises and marks on her body, she swore to stand by her son, no matter what, even if it meant crossing sword with her hubby, with society, with the world at large.
From that day onwards she became her biggest supporter, her advocate, the one who stood by her, the one who fought for her. She wouldn’t spare anyone. Even though she was deeply religious, she accepted her son for who he was and who he wanted to be. She gave the local parish priest, who spoke to her about her son, a piece of her mind, or for that matter anyone who spoke ill of her son. Knowing how maternal and protective that she was of her youngest, her father didn’t dare to rub her the wrong way. He made his peace, even slowly beginning to accept his son the way he was. People spoke, made fun, cooked up stories, it just rolled off her back. If she would have to go against the world for her child, she would. She would even give up going to church if it weren’t for her staunch faith. She always told her children, especially her youngest that Jesus loves you all no matter who she chose to be and how she chose to live. It was this faith that stayed with her and kept her going and believing in god and Christ, no matter what people or even the priest and other religious said.
When she went to college she happened to come across the choir, a bunch of kid from all walks of life, all strata of society who came together to sing. They were in their own way an outcast to social but they held their own. She found her voice here, the thing she would love to do. They accepted her for she was without any prejudice and it was with them she came into her own. Together with their melodious voice they grew in popularity and fame.
As the years went by people became more accepting of who she was and what she represented. There were still those religious bigots who passed judgement on her. The parish priest changed and
in his place came a more open, tolerant and accepting and wiser priest. He had heard her and her choir before and encouraged her to come more often to church, much to the delight of her mum. He finally invited to sing for the Christmas midnight mass. And it was here where she found herself.
As she opened her eyes, she saw her mum wearing the biggest smile, her chest swelling with pride for child. She saw her father and brother and their families, who were smiling and waiting for her to sing. There was anticipation in the air. She drew in a deep breath and began to sing Oh Holy Night, starting slowly and then building a crescendo, soaring on every note, with the choir behind her giving her able support. When she belted that final
Note there wasn’t a dry eye in the church. The whole congregation rose to their feet and greeted her with a rapturous applause. She couldn’t help up but tear up, and in that moment she whispered “Praise you Jesus, thank you Jesus!” Like her mother taught her.
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