In fact, as someone with spina bifida, I had always assumed that anything I did with my life would have as little to do with my body as possible. I was always a writer, a thinker, a dreamer, but I had given up on a physical future a long time ago. My body was supposed to hold me back, not move me forward.
They might not have been able to talk to me about masturbation, sexual pleasure, or consent, but they took the step to talk to me about my body changing in a neutral, non-shameful way. Maybe that was a step they took that their parents hadn’t been able to take with them.
…pect I know what they will say: “That never happened. What are you even talking about? Stop this.” I wonder sometimes about the switching of roles: my immigrant parents constructed a make-believe world to protect themselves, while I was relentless in my search for the truths that they could not handle talking to me about.