A Wee Little Margie

Even as a kid I knew. I knew I looked different. I knew I was of the paler persuasion. The comments, even if they were meant as compliments, drove a little dagger into my heart. Even the treatment was different than what my brothers got. It was that extra special favorite treatment and while others may welcome it, I loathed it. It just put a spotlight on how different I looked from everyone else. I thought I was adopted until I met my Grandpa and noticed we shared the same colored eyes (brown but just a tad on the light side and let's not even get into the light brown and curly hair) as well as some birthmarks and the dimple on the right cheek. However, those differences with my family are much more noticeable now. For instance, everyone is darker than me and my youngest brother, B, is 6' 3" tall. I'm 5' 1". I know that I am my parent's daughter, that's not the issue. The issue, with me, is that so many people find it hard to believe that my brothers and I are related directly. But, I get it. Look at how much more different I am from my mom when I was a wee little baby.

It got to the point that when my parents would take me to the zoo, or other public places, people would ask how much they charged for babysitting. Get it? My parents are Mexican, as am I. It solicits laughs but ugh, I just wanted to fit it. Being a girl didn't help. It added to the complex I already had. For Easter lunch last month, B and I were reminiscing about our younger days and the year other kids moved onto our block. KIDS! It was awesome. It was the year Transformers the animated movie came out. A 3D movie also premiered on network TV and you could get the glasses at the convenience store. Sleepovers were involved as well. Then, they moved away. There were sleepovers involved afterwards. However, who didn't go? Me. Why? Because I was a girl despite B being younger than me by a whole 3 years and my older brother beging 4 years older than me. At this point, there is nothing I can do about that. But, boy, it hurt bad. Which is why, whenever I could, I did what I wanted and with the boys. Damnit if I was going to be the only left out cause I didn't have a twig and berries between my legs. So back to the Easter lunch, B asks me why I never went with him and our older brother to these excursions with our neighbors. I told him to ask his mom. When he asked her, the reply was, "I didn't know you wanted to go." I almost fell over. It was then when I said to my mom, "Should I ever have children and one of them is a girl, I will tell her she can do whatever she wants. No gender rules holding her back." Bitty Girl is a cat but damnit if I don't get a kick out of her taking Logan or Apolo on. She's tiny compared to them and she will hold her own.

But, I still look different and I cannot describe how much of a sore spot it is for me. Sigh, big sigh. I know I imposed this on myself and I have no one to blame for how I feel about the color issue but, as far as the gender issue, my mom has a little to do with it. But, like I said, not much I can do about the past.

On a semi-related note, and belated, Happy Cinco de Mayo! I, in usual fashion, hung out with the loud Mexicans at my company's industry party for an unrelated issue. Orale, pinches!