A LETTER TO MY MOTHER.

Dear Mum,

You might say that 37 years ago was a long time ago, and yes, it was, but here is something that you were 100% wrong about. When I was 13, and I complained that I wanted my grandparents to see me as growing up, you claimed that there were kids older than me who came down to a younger level. A 15-year-old girl who plays with Strawberry Shortcake Dolls or Cabbage Patch Kids with her mother’s friend’s 6-year-old daughter isn’t necessarily coming down to a younger level. She might be sharing the joy that those dolls gave her as a child with a younger child. Forcing someone who was assigned male at birth who detests cricket, football and the like to play them to entertain a pesky little brother who is content in his sex is masking. And, as you saw, the mask dropped, when I snapped that I’d had a gutful of football. I had been forced to play it all day by you for him.

At the time, I was also a burnt-out autistic 13-year-old. And being burnt out like that is horrible. When I tried to speak up for my needs, you dismissed them. Just like how you asked my brother with a smile on a Saturday afternoon if he wanted you to see if you could hire the tennis court at 7 o’clock the following morning, and all I could do was inwardly sigh and hope that it might rain! I was fortunate later on when it rained for about a month! Then, the same pesky little brother would be asked to go and collect the key to the tennis court, and he would answer that he’d take my bike and then I’d have it mansplained to me that mine was the last bike in the line! I said that if Dad’s car was on the driveway and I needed to go somewhere and I was able to drive, you would have said, “Wait until I move it,” rather than letting me take it and you complained about it being thousands of dollars! Well, yes, but’s the principle!

When my grandfather, your father, stepped in and told my brother that my bike didn’t belong to him, you told me to tell him that it was okay because he took great delight in going mad at my brother. But four years earlier, my brother, wanting sympathy when my grandfather was getting a phone installed, said that I told the Telecom technician that my brother was naughty, when I didn’t, and my grandfather defended me.

You never stopped to ask me what I wanted or needed. What I needed was some restful weekends, and maybe a drive with dad or a visit to my other grandparents, but no. Swapping pesky classmates for a pesky brother was not a fair exhange.

Peter.