Gay test for kids girls
I thought of myself as their opposite, but I wanted their approval. In high school, outside of my regular crew of friends, I was drawn to cool, confident girls. “How can there be so many designations?!” (“Demisexuals,” for the record, do not experience sexual attraction unless they form an emotional connection.) “You’re in fifth grade,” I sputtered. She returned from sleepaway camp last summer and announced, “Everyone in my bunk is bi, pan, ace, or demi.” I had to google some of this verbiage. But my daughter, in just her first decade in this world, has acquired a litany of terminology. When I started to develop feelings for girls - well into my late teens - I had no language for what I was experiencing. It took years to admit I didn’t want to be a cheerleader, I wanted to be with a cheerleader. Gay identity for me was a complete unknown, sort of like the coast of Italy, the magic and mystery of which I would not discover until years later when I had a passport. I’d never met a gay person, that I knew of anyway, except my mother’s hairdresser (everyone’s hairdresser in the ‘80s was gay, right?) and one of her female bosses, which wouldn’t be revealed to me until I was older. This was the Reagan ‘80s: Being gay wasn’t something one felt comfortable openly aspiring to, but in my house at least, it wasn’t something to be reviled or feared, either. Over the next ten years, Mom worked and had a boyfriend or two, but we weren’t one of those touchy-feely progressive-talky households. When I was 11, my mom and I moved to California. Afterward, my dad remarried and stayed in Texas. We didn’t talk about being gay in my family, but then, we also didn’t talk about being straight. But growing up in the mid-’80s suburbs of Dallas, and then San Diego, I also didn’t have a template for such conversations. I wasn’t one of those kids who knows with certainty at age four that they’re different. In part, I wasn’t developmentally there - I didn’t yet harbor any sexual feelings. I was busy being a sixth grader with too-big glasses, trying to avoid being the least popular kid in the room. I didn’t “identify” at all, much less question my sexuality or my gender. At her age, I didn’t identify as at-least-bi, or maybe-straight. I came out as a lesbian my junior year of college, when I was nearly a decade older than my daughter is now.
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“I might be a totally different person today if I’d had a friend to talk with openly about my sexuality and desires at your age.” My daughter rolled her eyes at that point, because A) as an 11-year-old, she’s required to do so, and B) tweens don’t like when you emote or express sentiments that might embarrass them - aka, talk. “Wow, it must feel great for your friend to have someone to confide in about this,” I told her. Hashtag middle school, amIrite? But I also teared up a little. I think I just don’t like anyone at my school.” I don’t think I’m gay, but I’m not sure if I’m straight. Then I asked, Do you have any crushes? “Not really.
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“At least bi.” I practiced active listening. “She has a crush on this kid who was born a girl but who is now a boy, so she assumes she is …” she paused, searching for the right descriptor. “She doesn’t know what she is, but she assumes she is at least not straight,” my daughter reported. Earlier this year, my 11-year-old came home from school and told me that one of her sixth grade friends had come out to her.