2/10-22 

One of the few memories I have from my childhood is when me and my mother took the bike to parent/child football sessions (it was mostly us kids running around and playing, with the mandatory mariekex and saft break). It was called [REDACTED] and happened every week.

There was a boy at the [REDACTED], I think he was [REDACTED], called [REDACTED]. He had big, blond curls. I made it a routine to wrestle him to the ground every time I saw him at practice.

I think I was a little in love with him. (Love language from 4 y/o and counting: Wrestling.) That is until I found out that he was a boy. There is a picture of me from that very moment when I ran, crying into my parents’ arms. Why did that make me so upset?

(Before every practice, I would fight my parents to let me wear my purple and green football pajamas. They found it hilarious, but I thought it was the most important piece of clothing I owned.)

I miss that child. I can relate to that child. If I was in love with [REDACTED], and I was a girl, there was social pressure. It was my turning point from “child” to “girl”.

Why did it upset me so? I think it grew a principle in me that loving a boy made you a “girl”. That principle is like a scar in my thoughts, it is somewhat healed, but very much still there. My values healed it, but I have yet to forgive it.