I was taught to believe that the definition of a miracle is that which is impossible but happens anyway. Growing up is an avid student of science, I couldn't believe in miracles. Because impossible is a word that has meaning.
Now I'm over 50 and I've seen a lot of miracles. But now I define miracle differently.
A miracle is that which is wildly improbable but happens anyway at precisely the right time to do the most good. It's possible. But not very plausible.
I wish this were a more widespread viewpoint. And I wish people were on the lookout more for the miracles that happen all the time. And share them and appreciate them.
I'm thinking today about people who are raised as boys. I think maybe they struggle with identity in a different way than those who are raised as girls. They seem to look at their fathers and ask, “Am I like him?”
Maybe my memory is faulty, but I don't remember asking that about me and my mother. I do remember swearing not to be like her.
My children's father seems to be a self hater who lashes out at everyone else. Inconsistent. Rageful. Pontificating. Insecure. Craves authority and makes a complete mess of it every time he gets some.
He also lights up on everyone's gaydar but adamantly proclaims he's hetero.
And he tried to raise my children “right” – impose his values and identity on them through controlling their behavior. Disastrously.
I've watched my children, raised as boys, struggle with these. They still struggle well into adulthood.
I wonder if we'd had AFAB children instead, would they have been so tortured. I think not, because the model of maleness my ex follows doesn't invest its own identity in how girls turn out, but instead in how well they are protected. They would have been expected to follow my pattern instead of his.
My pattern is its own hot mess. A different hot mess.
So maybe, yes, they would still have big struggles, just a different set.
I've had a lot of uncomfortable showers in my lifetime, but the one I just took wins the prize.
I mixed the temperature as normal, turned on the spray, and got lathered up. And then the temperature went haywire.
I don't know what my roommates were doing in the other bathroom, but it meant a wild swing to freezing that lasted long enough to require a remix. Then a wild swing to scalding, again long lasting enough to make me readjust.
I'd step out of the stream the way you do when someone flushes a toilet in a dorm or barracks, but each change went on much longer, only to swing once more once I was getting wet again.
I would have just got out. But I was all lathered up. And my scalp really needed a treatment. It could not wait.
Thankfully I have a CON of about 16. So it's ultimately okay.