The Recessive Allele

The Child’s Beginning

Some days, I wish I could hide a part of myself—the part of me that gets laughed at or made fun of by the other kids. They tease me about the way I feel for a boy in class, or how I can ace all the math tests but never understand the way they talk. I just want to be friends with them. I want to be able to play with them and tease them back.

Dad doesn't play with me either. He keeps telling me he's too busy, or that work comes before playtime. I miss him—even when he's close to me. I try not to let it show. He says it's weak.

Momma does what she can. She has to keep busy with making food for us and cleaning up the messes I make. I don't mean to. I wish I could hide the spills, and the part of me that makes them too.

I wish I could hide myself. I'm getting better at it.