Not Who You Wanted Me to Be

I remember when I was a little girl. I played with barbies, and had tea parties with my teddy bears, wearing a pink sparkly dress. My room had been painted pink, and someone had given me princess blankets to match. I remember how everyone used to tell my mother, "she's going to break a lot of boys' hearts someday." Well, I guess I'm going to break their hearts when they find out who I really am. I grew up in the small town of Aspendale, where people were generally accepting of you, no matter what your decisions were in life. But my mother certainly was not one of those people.

Looking back, I guess I was what my mother wanted me to be: her little princess. But not anymore. In middle school, I started to dress and act more like a tomboy, trading frilly dresses, pink barrettes and pigtails for jeans, flannel button-up shirts and short hair. That was when everything started going downhill. My mother had a fit over me wanting to cut my beautiful, long red hair. We had gone to the hair salon. My mother had wanted me to get my hair trimmed, and maybe even layered, like all the other girls were doing. I had sat down in the black leather chair. The hairdresser had draped a black cover over me so that I wouldn't get covered in hair. As the hairdresser was raising the chair up to her height, I decided that it was time for a change—my mother might have wanted me to keep my long hair, but I didn't.
"I want short hair." I told the hairdresser, who nodded and smiled slightly, spritzing my hair with water. My mother was quick to object to this, saying,
"No, Avery. You'll look like a boy."
I was baffled. She thought it would be a bad decision for me to cut my hair short, just because I'd look like a boy?
"I don't care, mom. I want a change. I'm sick of this long hair." I argued. My hair was straight, plain, and dull. My mother tried to compromise.
"I would let you dye your hair. Do you want it dyed?" She asked, sounding desperate. She had been against dyeing it in the past, but I knew she would do anything to change my mind. But it wouldn't work. Meanwhile, the hairdresser was just standing there awkwardly. My mother was making a scene.
"No mom," I repeated firmly, "I want short hair."
My mother crossed her arms, sighing loudly, indicating that she was disappointed.
"Fine. But you'll regret it."
What she had said that day had hit me hard. My own mother, the one who was supposed to love me unconditionally and accept me for who I was, thought I looked too much like a boy? At least I wasn't dressing in revealing clothing like all the other girls my age were doing. I had a feeling she would take that over me looking like a boy. It still wasn't good enough for her.

In high school, I was still sporting my short hair cut, and dressed boyish. I was interested in things like video games, and was on the school baseball team. It seemed like my mother was finally starting to accept me for who I was—but I was dead wrong. I was starting to become scared of my mother. One thing I had chosen to confide in a lot of people, excluding my mother, was that I was a lesbian. I knew my mother would hit the roof if she knew. My friends were encouraging, and tried to convince me that it might not be so bad if I came out to my mother. Deep down, I had a feeling she wouldn't accept it—like she seemed to do with everything else in my life. When she didn't like something, she would have her way, and that was that. I was afraid of her.

One night, I decided to do something risky. I decided to bring home my girlfriend. Hazel was the girl of my dreams, the love of my life; I wanted to show my mother that. That a loving relationship didn't always have to include a man and a woman.
I thought it was time to finally come out to my mother. And I thought that, with Hazel by my side, it would all turn out okay. I was 16 now—and I felt that my mother shouldn't get to tell me who I had to be. I was confident that my mother would finally respect who I was, and the choices I made in life.

Hazel and I had gone out on a date that evening, and we came back to my house after so that I could come out to my mother.
When I got to my doorstep, I was shaking. Hazel stood behind me, hair dark brown hair flowing in the wind on that chilly, fall evening. Hazel was a great girlfriend. She was shy, but had a kind, caring heart. I knew she, of all people, would support me no matter what I would go through when I walked through that door. I looked over my shoulder at her, hesitant. I had thought this over...but was I really ready?
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked, my green eyes staring intently into her gray ones. She showed nothing but courage. I wish I could be as brave as her right now. She nodded, encouraging me to open the door.
This is it, I thought, as I shakily turned the cold doorknob and entered the house.

A rush of warm air hit me as I stepped inside. The smell of freshly baked rolls and soup wafted from the kitchen, and I knew mom was preparing dinner. My stomach growled in hunger, but I knew if I ate, I'd throw up.
"Mom," I called, my voice echoing through the empty house. It had been this empty since my older sister left for college. I gripped Hazel's hand, leading her into the kitchen. I would've taken my shoes off before leaving the hallway, but I had a feeling I would still need them.
"Yes, Avery?" A familiar voice sounded from the kitchen. My mother was taking a pot of soup off the stove, and had her back to me. She was wearing pale blue oven mits that had been singed by the stove, and her hair was up in a loose ponytail. She turned to face me, and wasn't surprised at seeing Hazel with me. I had introduced Hazel as a friend before, and she knew her quite well. But now, she was going to find out what Hazel really meant to me.
"Mom," I began, taking a deep breath. I couldn't look her in the eye.
"I have something to tell you." I looked up, searching her face for any emotion. She had raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. I closed my eyes, hoping, praying for the best possible outcome.
"Mom....I'm gay....and this is my girlfriend."
Silence was all I got from her for the first few minutes. Then, she shot Hazel and I a cold glare and said,
"You are not my child. Leave this house."
I lowered my head as I began to cry a little.
"Mom...please." I cried.
"I said leave." She repeated more firmly. My mother, the one who gave birth to me and was supposed to love me unconditionally, was disowning me.

It had taken me 20 minutes to pack up my stuff and leave. Hazel called her parents, who were kind enough to let me stay with them until I made proper arrangements. I put my bags in the trunk of their SUV, casting one final glance at what I used to call home. My mother was standing at the window, staring at me. Was that...hate I saw in her eyes? Or pain?
We drove to Hazel's house, which was thankfully far away from my mother. The whole time, I was resting against Hazel's shoulder, trying not to think about what my life would be like without my mother. I knew one thing for certain—nothing would ever be the same. I wasn't on my own, but I knew I was going to have a hard life, from here on out. I wished my mother was more accepting, like Hazel's parents, but that would never be reality.

My sister Sara came and got me a week later. I thanked Hazel's parents before we headed to Sara's apartment. It seemed like the longest drive I've ever had in my life.
"I'm proud of you, Avery," she said, looking at me through her rearview mirror, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.
"What you did was very brave. Mom had no right to kick you out. And, to be honest, I want nothing to do with her after that."
I smiled slightly.
"Really?"
"Yes, really. If mom doesn't respect you, she doesn't get my respect either."

It was unbelievable that my mother kicked me out. For something as ridiculous as me being different from everyone else who was considered, "normal" in society. What started out as me simply choosing to wear boyish clothes, cutting my hair, and liking girls, turned into a nightmare. All because I wasn't who my mother wanted me to be.