boys in general, actually
when they drop a new petname on you, their smiles, their hair, when they tell you "i love you", when you say something about them and they go "am i now?" when they do that thingg where they put their arms above their head and they kinda show their muscles, when they kiss your cheek, when they give you their hoodies, when they wear yours, when they tell you how much you mean to them, when they tell you you're interest and you show them yours and they like it, when their eyes look like they're glowing when the sun hits them
i like boys lol
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The one thing I can say about this year is how I feel like I am healing my inner child.
The older I’m getting, the more I’m settling into my skin and loving the man I’m becoming but also honoring the child inside of me. I feel like I’m finally acknowledging him and finally letting him shine through my eyes.
Recently, I re-bought the first Barbie I ever had growing up. Nichelle, a Generation Girl doll, from 1998. I can still remember the Christmas Santa had brought me her, along with another Barbie, and both Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears’s first albums on CD. I was so happy. I remember how I would play the cds loud in our house in Monroe, Washington and would imagine that those Barbies were singers on stage and I with them in my imagination. I must confess that I wanted to be everything Nichelle was. Beautiful, Black (I was already that 😉), and from the coolest place on earth, New York City. The world of play seemed to open up to me as a kid.
At some point, however, when I got my first bike, which had me equally excited, I can remember my dad wanting to take off the training wheels, much to my dismay. Truth be told, I was never good at accepting change and even at that age, I was not good at hiding my emotion. Dad wanted me to try riding without them so I gave it a shot. Like most kids, I was nervous and shaky. No matter how hard I tried, my balance was off and wobbly. I felt like an idiot and I could feel my dads boiling frustration, embarrassment and disappointment surfacing. Upon reflection, I think my dad really wanted a traditional, pig skin loving, all about wrestling son. Mind you, he already had that in my older brother, Gregory, who was all that and a bag of corn chips. Be that as it may, my dad tried hard to “man me up.” As you can probably guess by now, that didn’t work.
Exasperated and extremely over it, I ended up telling my dad that I had had enough bike riding (if you could call it that), and I can remember him just being so incredibly furious with me. He was so hellbent on me getting this right. The one thing all boys and girls can do. Ride a fucking bike without training wheels. He let me to go to my room and then when he followed me up the stairs, rage ensued. He barged into the room, his anger filling every inch of the room and with this rage, he took my Barbies, my dollhouse and believe it or not, ripped my Christina Aguilera poster off my door. I was left on the floor, crying, uncertain of what I truly did or what drove my dad to near madness.
That memory hasn’t left me and while mine and my dad’s relationship has mellowed over the years (which took more work than I care to write), I still felt like I never made amends with the kid in the picture on the right. I wanted to forget him so much because he was small, played with dolls and had this small voice. I didn’t want to reach him because he was different and didn’t know how to protect himself from the world or his dad. How could he?
As I’ve gotten older, with all of the hurdles I have faced, internal shame and insecurity were the seemingly insurmountable leaps I felt I couldn’t master. In my teens and early 20’s, I didn’t feel like I ever was 100 percent okay with being “me”. Even after finally coming to terms with my sexuality, I still felt ugly, unworthy, unloveable and no matter how hard I tried, I was left feeling I wasn’t good enough. That little boy, who was told he was too black, too girly and fat, grew into someone who believed all of those things. You wouldn’t think of it to look at me but even confidence can be a mask.
I am recognizing how much that kid is in me still. I want to protect him so much. I want to shower him with love. The world can be immensely cruel and all I want to do is hold him in my arms and remind him of how loved he is and will be. I want to make him aware of the energy he holds inside him. How he is going to be alright. It’s okay to be all of the things he wants to be. As of late, I feel these wounds healing through conversations with family, writing and escaping into books; expanding my mind, being constantly reminded I’m not alone.
Recently, when I saw the Barbie movie, all I kept thinking of was my first Barbie, Nichelle and how much I loved her. I wanted to low-key retrieve what was taken from me. So, I scoped Ebay and luckily found her. Actually, I found MANY versions of her, which was cool. When I clicked the order button, I felt myself get excited. She arrived yesterday and coming home from work, I slowly opened the package and saw those curls, I saw the overalls and beautiful black skin shining out at me. I was incredibly happy, just as I was when I was a kid. I placed her right next to a photo of my mom, who, even as a kid loved and protected me, no matter what.
I feel like I’m beginning to love me, genuinely. That kid in the photo; I have grown to hold onto that kid and love him for all he’s worth because he needs that. We all do as kids. We want to be loved for who we are and know that we aren’t wrong for loving the things we love so we can shine unashamedly. Allowing all the stardust inside us to burst out and shine. Just as we were created to do.
So, here’s to little Andy and his Barbie, Nichelle.
Reunited and it feels so good 😊
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