When Life Gives You Lemons

Death. It’s a natural part of life. Someone once told me that there are only two things in life that we are absolutely certain about. Death and taxes. Since I detested the thought of both, I was screwed either way. My name is Nicholas and this is how my story begins. This story has a beginning, because I had to end.

I was born to Mike and Shirley Wilcox of Red Deer, Alberta. The area was small and great for farming. Fertile land stretched out for miles around. Seclusion was the town’s motto. Well, it wasn’t really because you hardly ever saw anyone. But I bet that if we had all come together for a town motto consensus hearing or something along those lines, we would all agree on seclusion.

From the moment I was born I was a disappointment. My Mother had desperately wanted a girl while my Father wanted a boy. I was born and my Father was pleased. For the moment that is. When my sex was announced he was overjoyed, but when he looked at me he announced, “He’s too small to be my son.” And that was probably the most positive thing he ever said about me while I was alive. Even though I was a baby at the time and my Father had only acquired a third grade education, one would assume that a grown man would understand that babies are born small and grow as they age. Apparently no one had told my Father this vital piece of information.

My Father left us shortly after that, which was completely unheard of back then. He just packed up his rucksack with his limited, torn clothes and walked out. Said he was going West to British Columbia to work in the lumberyards. We never heard from him again until I was in my late teens.

Since my Father had abandoned us and my Mother was left to tend to the farm, she decided that because her dreams of a perfect life had never come true, she was going to force a perfect life instead. Well, perfect for her. Mother worked and toiled out in the sun all day, every day while I sat inside. Now, many would say that this sounds like a great treat having to do nothing all day. It was nice for a while, but there was a catch that I never realized until it was much too late.

I was a girl. Or really, I was being turned into a girl. By the time I aged enough to understand what was happening, I realized that I didn’t own one pair of overalls. When all the other neighborhood boys happened to walk down the dusty dirt path that was our road, their clothes would be muddy, dirty, or they would be walking along with their Fathers. They never had to hold their parent’s hand when they went out. Instead, I was put in frilly dresses and lace and I never once remember wearing a pair of pants during my childhood.

I would stay inside to cook and clean the house like a “proper lady” should do. I could never go outside in fear that I would get my outfits dirty and when we did venture out, I was told to hold my Mother’s hand because it was the “ladylike” thing to do. My hair grew long and my fingers were always manicured so I really did resemble a little girl.

When I turned eight, it was time for me to start school. The school started later in this area because it was expected that the children would stay in Red Deer and become farmers like their parents so they wouldn’t need too much education. But I was scared to death. Mainly because I knew that something was wrong with me, but the fact that I actually had to learn stuff bothered me a little as well. When the first day of school arrived, I flew through it without a hitch. Everyone was very friendly and I got to know my classmates and teacher. I still felt a little uncomfortable but eventually I inched out of my self-conscious shell.

I was called Nikki, close enough to Nicholas but feminine enough for no one to guess what I really was. My Mother couldn’t have been happier. She would come and get me at the one-room schoolhouse and ask me about my day. I would answer each question and articulate each word because that was the way ladies talked. She would always interrupt me and talk about how all of the girls must be jealous about my long curly hair, because that was the style back in the day. Or how all the boys would think that I was the prettiest of all the girls. There was no end to her babbling.

I still remember that day as clearly as if it happened mere minutes ago and my heart still aches when I recall it. I had been in school for over two months and I was beginning to love each and every day. I would wear my prettiest dresses and my hair would be done. My shoes would be polished and my stockings would have no rips. It was recess and the other children were playing generic games like jump rope or hopscotch. I was on one side of a seesaw with one of the other pretty girls at the school. We giggled and laughed as we bounced up and down. The odd time, someone would play a trick and jump off their side at the last minute and send your side crashing down to the ground.

Now the problem with this was that I am a boy so I had all of the natural boy parts. If this were to happen to a girl, they would fly to the ground and land heavily on their bottom. Maybe get a bruise, but ultimately they would be perfectly fine. This was not the case for me. Whenever someone would play this trick on me, I would come crashing down and the first thing to feel the impact was my male part. No one really understood why I would still be in pain minutes after this trick while all the other girls got over it in a few seconds. No one understood until that day.

I had just gotten over the pain of another seesaw trick and was walking towards the shade of a large oak tree that stood near the back of the school. Mother always said that it is unladylike to sweat and I must try to avoid it at all costs. It happened to be quite hot that day so I decided to relax under the cool shade of the tree. I made sure to fix the ruffles of my play gown so as to prevent too much dirt sticking to them. I had my ruffles in hand and was just about to sit down when I heard a voice behind me. “Hey Nikki, how are you?” I turned to see Kevin, one of the older boys who attended the school. He was about four years older than me so I didn’t talk to him very much. “Can I join you?” He asked politely. I looked at him questioningly but I nodded my head in agreement.

I fixed my ruffles one last time and sat down on a large root that had grown up towards the sky instead of down in the ground. Kevin sat beside me. He offered me a sourball candy but I refused. Mother always said, “ Boys with sweets only want your treats.” I never understood what she meant until after the fact. Kevin sighed and looked towards the other kids at the playground. We were towards the back of the school. Far enough away to relax without all the noise and commotion but close enough to feel safe within the school grounds. “They’re beautiful aren’t they?” Kevin asked out of no where. I turned and he was looking towards a group of girls my age playing foursquare. I furrowed my brow, “Well, I’m not quite sure what you mean by beautiful but I think that all the girls here are pretty.” Which was true. No one here resembled a warthog or had any extra or missing limbs.

I didn’t notice at the time that Kevin had moved uncomfortably close to me until he put his hand over my shoulder. I tried to shrug him off but she turned and was leaning right over me. I tried to push him off but I was weaker and he had his knees pressing on my legs to keep me from squirming. I tried to scream but I had been taught not to raise my voice so I found it hard. Suddenly I felt his hand beneath my dress and he was feeling his way towards my crotch. He grabbed me and he stopped. His eyes widened and he pushed himself away from me in disgust. Obviously he had done this before and knew what to look for and I was definitely not it. Before I knew what was happening he was running away screaming for the teacher as I sat staring blankly into the eyes of my confused classmates.

Needless to say I never went back to that school ever again. Turns out the Kevin had done this to some of the other girls before, but he must have believed that this discovery was worth the thirty lashings he would receive for it. My Mother was ashamed. Not at the fact that my secret was out, no, she was mad at me. She told me that this was all my fault and that it was unbearable to look at me. “Why didn’t God listen to my prayers and give me a girl?” She continuously pleaded.

That night the local Sheriff and Deputy came by after the teacher reported the incident at the school. Discovering what my Mother had done to me they immediately took me away. I was given a regular buzz cut like all the other boys had and my long nails were clipped down to the nub. My dresses were replaced with a pair of jeans and an old worn flannel shirt with the sleeves too long. None of this mattered though. I finally felt right.