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Poem

I was forced to wear a limiting mitten on my left hand
for a year when I was six, so I would be forced to be right handed.
So I knew at that age that something was wrong with me.

I was the least favorite child in my home, which validated this thought.
I cheered for the Indians, not the cowboys. My parents said things like
“Where did we go wrong?” and “What is wrong with that kid?”

I drew cartoons all the time, and got into trouble in every single class.
I did not want to have anything to do with math, so refused to learn it.
My conferences were not the best. I had a bad attitude. 
Weird since I was never disrespectful. 
I did smirk at the teachers when I caught them at a mistake.
Did not correct them, just smirked. It drove them crazy.

I did not learn that I was okay until I became a mother and did not 
whip my children into submission. I did not call them names. 
I did not hit them at all. I realized then I was okay.
Little ones calling me Mommy increased my confidence.

I began dressing, living and doing what I wanted to do.
Not pleasing anyone in my family of origin. 
And I did not issue any apologies.
I began to write, paint, and cartoon. 
I finally figured out the only opinion that mattered about me was mine.

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